#pin collector ideas

[welcome-to-craftyland]

DIY felt banner pin display

If you collect enamel pins or cool old brooches like I do, it’s nice to have a place where they can all live together. This pin display is a tiny lil felt banner made from scrap felt and a chopstick. 

Fold a piece of felt top to bottom. Fold the felt in half again and cut the bottom to make the pointed shape.   

Make sure the chopstick fits, and trim it down if you need to. Next, I pinned the sides together, folded over the dowel.  

Use a simple running stitch to secure the dowel at the top of the banner. Next, sew all around the edges of the banner using a blanket stitch.   

Tie a string or twine for hanging on each side of the dowel. Hang it up and you’re all done! It’s ready for all your favorite pins to move on in.  

Supplies: - Chopstick - String - Needle & thread - Nice felt - Scissors - Sewing pins

[cozylittleartblog]

playing neopets again. finally used my last pet slot to make a faerie ixi, which was one of my dream pets as a kid 💜 she ended up with a big flower theme

look at my deer

[fiona-stabler]

snow deer pin ❄️

link here! ~

[sailorastera]

Guardian Planet Crystal Pin Set Limited Edition Preorders END THIS WEEK! Don't wait - order yours now!! This is last call to guarantee your relics of the ancient Moon Kingdom from this beautiful @amunetgfx collab set! 😱✨

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

okok i’m doing prep for d&d later and they’re arriving in a new town so i’m working on that community and ohhhhhh my god i think this is my favourite npc i’ve ever created i hope they dont ignore her or kill her bcus i want 2 be her more than once pleaase

[sudenlyanime]

Taigen’s love confession NEEDS to come before he finds out Mizu is a woman.

Listen. I have given this a lot of thought and the more I think about it, the more I’m sure. When looking at Mizu and Mikio’s marriage, we can see how Mikio was in to the idea of a strong woman only so far as he was still stronger than her. This is clear when Mikio insists that he wants to “see all of [mizu]” and insists that they spar; Mikio doesn’t unsheath his blade even though Mizu tell him not to hold back. He assumes he is stronger than her and when this is proven false, like the beta bitch he is, he bails.

But with Taigen it’s different. Mizu and Taigen’s relationship has been a power struggle from the start. Taigen wasn’t introduced to Mizu as a woman or a wife. Taigen has always seen Mizu as a swordsman first. And when the hostility between the two starts to cool, it is because of their mutual admiration of the other’s skill. Mizu’s strength and boldness are what win Taigen over in the first place.

We also see a very important juxtapose between when Mizu pins Mikio to the ground and when she pins Taigen to the ground. In the first instance, Mikio pushes Mizu off him and calls her a monster. He feels put off and emasculated by being overpowered. In the Mizu/Taigen scene, however, once Mizu has Taigen pinned, he stares, awestruck, into Mizu’s eyes and gets a raging hard on. Instead of feeling emasculated, Taigen get so aroused that he has a full blown bi awakening.

So we know that Taigen is different to Mikio in that he is attracted to Mizu BECAUSE she can kick his ass, not in spite of it. But Mizu has been burned before. Badly. So if Taigen were to confess his feelings and tell Mizu that her strength is what he adores most about her, she’d be like, “right, sure, heard that one before.” And that’s why Taigen needs to confess his feelings BEFORE he finds out what’s in Mizu’s pants.

In my daydreaming about a Migen love confession, I find myself reminded of this quote. How Mikio was like the exotic bird collector. He only liked the idea of Mizu knowing her way around a sword so long as at the end of the day, he can still put her back into the caged-in roll of the house wife.

Taigen is also guilty of this with Akemi. I sure there is still no small amount of attraction and love between them, but I think Taigen pursues Akemi mostly out of the personal fable he has written about himself; the poor fisherman’s son who raises himself up to be the star of his Dojo and then marries a princess. He might not have wanted to cage Akemi as much as other men would have, but he still sees her as the exotic bird. The prize. And thats why I can’t ship them.

But with Mizu it’s different. Taigen even admits that Mizu is a better fighter than him. He KNOWS he could never cage her and by the end on the first season he strops trying, opting to stand beside her instead of against her (“it’s your fight, so it’s mine” 😭) So when he does confess his feelings, he has to do is as one man to another and make it clear to Mizu that her strength is what he loves most and that he would never want her to be anything less then the superior swordsman she is.

Only then will Mizu have a chance of believing that Taigen wants to be with her, not to subdue her into a wifely role, but to stand beside her in all her greatness. If Taigen’s confession were to come after he finds out she’s a woman, Mizu might just think, “oh, NOW you want to be with me, cause you think just because I’m a woman I’ll eventually submit to you.” Mizu needs to know she is loved AS SHE IS.

Also, I just think it would be HILLARIOUS if Taigen confesses, and Mizu is like, “ well then….. I guess I should let you know…” and then Taigen spends the rest of the episode with his mind fucking BLOWN and complaining that he has spent the last several months coming to terms with the fact that he is attracted to another man only to find out the man he is attracted to is a woman! He goes through a whole bi awakening for nothing!

[jessicalprice]

So I've spent a lot of time untangling Christian exegesis of parables and talking about how the way Christians interpret parables almost always ends up being antisemitic.

But aside from how it makes them think about Jews and Judaism and Jewishness, I also want to talk a bit about how it makes them sympathize more with abusers than with victims.

The easy-to-point-to culprit here is the trilogy of parables that culminates in what most Christians know as the Prodigal Son story.

The common interpretation of these parables is that God does (and therefore Christians should) value a repentant sinner over someone who's never sinned.

The problem here isn't the stories themselves--they're pretty enigmatic as far as their actual meanings--but Luke's gloss:

"Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."

(Mark says, "So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost," which is very different.

So on its face, in 2023, that's a blatantly dangerous, abuser-supporting belief. What is it like to be a child sexually abused by your youth pastor and to hear that the fact that he hurt you is part of what makes him somehow spiritually "better" than you?

And we can see it play out in the way Kevin M. Young, a popular progressive pastor on Twitter (who describes himself as "post-evangelical" and was the senior pastor at a Quaker congregation) responded to being told one of his tweets was antisemitic, and then jumped in to support a woman who responded by identifying herself as a fan of John Chrysostom (the literal author of "Against the Jews" and the most antisemitic of the Church Fathers, which is saying something).

I'm not going to transcribe the whole thing, because it's not all that important for what I have to say about this, but I am going to call out a few lines:

"The American Christian approach to t'shuvah sees the victim's spirit, character, and speech as equally important to the offenders. I.e. in Christendom, the victim can exceed the sin of the offender simply by their reaction (if it be in sin or acted in a way that is not Spirit led)."

So, to be clear, if someone assaults you, and you don't meekly forgive them in a "Spirit led" way, you're somehow worse than they are.

The uniquely Christian brain rot here is in seeing every sin as an opportunity for forgiveness. After all, if being a repentant sinner gives you a higher spiritual status--if there's more "rejoicing in Heaven" over you--than that of your victim, then you have to sin to get there. It treats other people as props in your salvation journey, not as fellow humans whose suffering matters. (Combine that with the Christian idea that suffering is somehow virtuous in and of itself, and you've got a very toxic recipe. Not only, by abusing others, are you guaranteeing your own value as a repentant sinner, but you're giving your victim the opportunity to ennoble themselves through suffering.)

Of course, a key word here is repentant. Put a pin in that.

These sort of exchanges on Twitter--a Christian being outright genocidal toward Jews, and a supposedly progressive Christian figure jumping in to defend the Christian, with seemingly no ability to comprehend that the Jews in the conversation are human beings who may have their own trauma around violently antisemitic language, with boundless empathy for the Christian abuser and none for the Jewish targets of their abuse--happen frequently and just as frequently leave Jwitter baffled in addition to angry.

Why all this empathy for the abuser and none for the victims?

I think a lot of this comes out of progressive Christian exegesis of parables, which is frequently looking for the radical "twist" to the story.

E.g. in the story of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, the assumption is that the audience of the time would have empathized with the Pharisee, and thus the twist is to make them empathize with the tax collector. In the story of the Good Samaritan, the assumption is that they would have seen the Samaritan as a threat, and the twist is to make him the hero.

The thinking goes that the audience would have had empathy for certain groups and none for others, so the stories push them to feel that empathy for the latter, and that this was needed to balance the scales, to make sure everyone was receiving love and empathy and care.

Except that this, in modernity, has the effect of simply reversing the roles, not balancing them. The groups that are assumed to be in good social standing get no empathy, even become the implicit villains, and the groups (supposedly, since this is now a Christian-dominant society) traditionally looked down on get all of it.

That might still be a balancing act if the "looked down on" groups were actually marginalized. But in the Christian imagination, that role is filled by sinners in need of Christian grace, not necessarily demographically marginalized groups.

The idea seems to be that the victims are getting sympathy from elsewhere, so it's the Christian's job to make sure the abuser/sinner gets sympathy too.

But I'll point again to that pesky word "repentant."

Ultimately, when it comes to treatment of Jews and Muslims and anyone else who points out that a Christian has in some way harmed them, Christian sympathy goes immediately to the offender before the offender has even expressed any repentance.

The repentant sinner is so much more valuable, at this point, than their victims that they must be preemptively forgiven, that they are more valuable purely because they now have the potential to repent.

And this seems to be lurking under not just how "progressive" pastors act on Twitter, but in a lot of our cultural narratives around, say, college rapists and their futures, around white people who are publicly called out for racist acts, etc.

[alottiegoingon]

hc!lottie spoiling her gf <3

lottie matthews x fem!reader

summary: how i imagine you and lottie in a relationship with her spoiling you all the time

all characters are aged up and in college!!

warnings: pretty much just fluff, daddy issues if you squint, established relationship, characters are aged up, nsfw content (mdni), fingering and oral (lottie receiving)

at first, the idea of letting lottie buy you stuff was absurd. yes she was your girlfriend but why would you let her spend her money on you?? didn't she have other things to spend with? (no)

it first started when you two had just started dating. on the very first day, she met you outside the uni so you could walk inside together and she had a small bag on her hands

you look up at her feeling embarassed cause you didn't buy her anything and didn't even know that you were supposed to

"dont worry baby, its just a little something that reminded me of you while i was going home yesterday!!" she has the cutest smile ever and kisses you on the cheek before giving you your gift

she didnt buy it while walking home. she has been looking desperately for it ever since you guys started to hang out as friends and paid a ridiculous amount of money for it

you open it up to find the collector's edition of one of your favorite books, little women. you know how expensive it was, you had been wanting that special edition book for ages ever since you first read it when you were thirteen

lottie was nervous while waiting for you to open with her arms practically glued to her body and rocking her body slowly from one side to another. then she sees the surprise and happiness expression on your face and immediately relaxes. shes smiling from ear to ear and looking at you like a puppy with shiny eyes, come on :((

lets be honest, lottie was not a popular girl like jackie!! everyone knew that her parents had money but that girl was just an awkward lesbian girl failure with daddy issues and didnt know any better than showing her love without buying things until you showed up

it was saturday and you two were just hanging out in the mall one day and she noticed how your eyes were sparkling while staring at a cute dress from a very expensive clothing brand. you were scared to even look at the price tag. you didnt say a word cause you knew that lottie would buy it for you in a blink of an eye but she noticed it

lottie would always pay attention to you and read you like a book, she knew you too well

"thats such a pretty dress, look y/n!" she says excitedly while dragging you by the hand into the store "i need to try it on!"

you sighed in relief knowing that it wasn't for you this time

you watch lottie try the dress in fitting room and you can feel yourself drooling at how stunning she looked (so real of you)

"you look so hot, lott..." you say and the next thing you remember is burying lottie's panties onto her mouth and pinning lottie against the mirror

she was very tall so it wasnt very hard for you to get on your knees and shove yourself right between her legs. you held her thighs by placing your arms under them and were eating her out like a starved woman

lottie's head would have gone through the other side of the glass if it was possible due to how hard she was leaning her head backwards. she had her hands tightened to your hair and the dirtiest and whiniest muffled sounds would come out of her mouth, especially when you inserted two fingers at once inside of her very easily

in less than five minutes you were wiping your mouth with your forearm while lottie was still recovering from her orgasm. her chest was rising as fast as it was falling down and her legs were so sensitive that she needed help to stand up for a few minutes

safe to say that shoving her own panties in her mouth wasn't a very safe option. the message was very clear when you left the fitting room and a bunch of mid aged women that looked like had enough money to buy an entire town were looking at you with death stares

surprisingly (or not), lottie ended up not buying the dress. you two would never come back to that store ever again!!!

the next day you wake up to find a package from that same fancy store on your front door with a note saying "sorry for not being there to see your beautiful smile, i had to buy it online :( hope you like the dress, angel."

and then you remembered that you and lottie had the same body type. oh she was smart.

god, you were already scared for her bank account when your birthday month comes up.

[shadeysprings]

YOU

—Art Collector!Steve Kemp x F!Reader

Summary — Your unexpected meeting with the famous art collector takes a dark turn when you learn the secret of his private collection.

Warnings — oral (female receiving), dismembered bodies, disrespect to the dead, entrapment, plots of killing, serial killer vibes, Steve being a calm psycho. There may be more I haven't mentioned but please read with caution.

Word Count — 5.4K

A/N — Story #1 for my FREAKtober Fest. The fic was heavily inspired by the movie itself and House of Wax. I'm happy to finally explore Steve's character in writing and I must say, I enjoyed every bit of it. The title was taken from the song You.

Gif by the amazing @steve-kemp

Shout out to @vellicore and @sgt-seabass for bouncing ideas with me and being my beta.

As always, your feedback is highly appreciated and your reblogs would be amazing. And of course, I hope y'all enjoy! ❤️

They didn’t come.

It was all you could think about as almost 2 hours had passed since your grad show started. Despite your parents’ — mostly your mom’s — disapproval of pursuing an arts program, you still invited them to the show. You hoped that if they saw what you were truly doing, they would understand your passion for paints and charcoal.

But it was a long shot, and you knew that. Though at least you tried…right?

You envy your classmates who carry bouquets while they present their artwork to their families and strangers alike. You were lucky enough to have a few come by your cubicle, delighted to explain the medium and process of your work. Some seemed genuinely intrigued while others, you can tell, only came by and endured your talk for the free stickers you offered at the end of your spiels.

Another hour passes by and you look up front when you hear an announcement being made by your instructor; a class photo. You’re reluctant to join, seeing no value in such a thing to be done as it’s obvious that once the day ends, they will be strangers once again. But another adamant call from your instructor has you heading to the front, a frown forming on your face when you’re pushed at the back, towered by your classmates—unseen once more. 

As parents and several others grab the opportunity to take a photo, your eyes suddenly divert back to your cubicle when you see someone looking over at your main art piece. You can’t put a pin on his face but you know you’ve seen him before. 

Once the group photo has ended, you immediately head back to your spot, catching the familiar stranger taking one of your stickers as well as a business card that sits beside it. It’s when you finally recognize him—and you’re in utter shock that he would be looking at your work. He finally notices you, a smile on his face as he holds out his hand. 

“Hi.” He begins, “I’m—”

“You’re Steve Kemp.” You finish for him, the confidence you suddenly displayed startling the both of you. But you push on when you see a smile of amusement on his face, taking his hand to shake. “You’re the famous art collector.” You wouldn’t have known it was him with how dressed down he looked with the corduroy jacket and navy jeans, but you’ve seen his face several times in art articles that you wouldn’t miss it.

“I wouldn’t say I’m famous.” He humbles himself but he lacks the conviction to make it believable. “I think I’m just skilled in finding pretty things—like this one.” He gestures towards your charcoal painting, the look of interest evident on his face. “What compelled you to incorporate a whale and an astronaut? What’s the story behind it?”

His question makes you smile. Maybe he is interested, you think to yourself and look towards your artwork before diving deep into your answer. 

“The artwork was inspired by the 52 Hertz Whale.” You begin. “Just to give you a little background; out of all the whale species, it’s the only one that makes a call with such a distinct pitch. Researchers had guessed that it could be a hybrid of two whale species but any attempts to search for the creature for further study have failed. Though some have been saying that it’s not a whale but an entirely different animal.

“Loneliness was the main theme of the piece—just like the whale, if it truly exists, it is alone in the vast sea; with no family to call its own and with it being different from the others, no one would listen or understand their cries. Akin to the lonely astronaut floating in the endless void of space. Though the flowers and the seagull represent hope and freedom—that one day, everything they thought to be true would change, that someone is there to listen and welcome them in their arms.”

You feel yourself shiver and your heart race as you end your interpretation. How the art piece truly mirrors your life and your cry for recognition from the people who truly matter. You try your best not to shed the tears that well in your eyes, presenting the collector with a smile and hoping he sees it as passion and confidence. 

But the look on his face startles you; there’s no judgment but you see a hint of amusement in his sapphire eyes. You think he’s about to say something, to comment on what you said, instead, he looks back at the artwork, seemingly appraising it. 

“How much?” The question stuns you. Did you hear correctly?

“I’m sorry?” 

“I want to buy your art piece.” He expounds. “How much are you selling it for?”

That’s the last thing you expected to be asked in a college grad show. Was he seriously wanting to purchase it? You try to answer, to tell him that you’re not really looking for buyers nor expecting to sell any of your work but no words come out of your mouth, still taken aback by his surprising inquiry.

“I don’t—” You stutter. “I’m not really—”

The chuckle he makes has you pulling on the cuffs of your oversized flannel, feeling slightly anxious at the thought that he’s making fun of your state of shock. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He says with a smile, one that you mimic if only to ease the tension building within you. “But I am serious. I do want to buy it.”

Still, you don’t know what to say. Do you just give him an amount and call it a day?

“Why don’t you sit on it? Let’s say two days and I can give you a call for your price.” He holds up your business card between two fingers, the smile on his face turning into a playful smirk. “What do you say?”

Under-dressed.

Not that it was a concern you realistically should have but the patrons of the bar made you feel as such with the men clad in suit jackets and the women, either in dresses or whatever you call the style of attire that was classier than your hoodie-jeans-sneakers combo. At least you brought a coat—that’s fancy enough, right?

You nurse your Bellini cocktail and thumb through your phone while waiting for Steve, popping your conversation thread with him every second or two just to assure yourself that he confirmed, or rather, planned the night of drinks to discuss your “Lonely Whale” piece as he coined it. It seemed odd at first but his determination was what compelled you to agree to meet him. 

The hiss of the straw fills your ears as you suck the last dregs of your drink. You shouldn’t have come early, you tell yourself, then you wouldn’t need to order another glass to accompany you on your wait. 

“Need a top-up?” A familiar voice from behind startles you and you look up to see Steve, decorated in a maroon wool sweater and that tantalizing smile he seems to always have. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was bad coming here to this part of town.” He says as he takes a seat beside you in the booth. 

You scoot over to give him room, surprised that he didn’t take the one across from you. “Please, don’t be sorry. I wasn’t waiting long.” You assure him with a soft smile, tapping a finger on the rim of your glass. “The drink kept me company.”

“Are they any good?” He asks but he’s already called the attention of a server before you can even reply. He orders a Bloody Mary—quite peculiar, you think, but you’re not one to judge someone's preference. “And the lady will have another, please.” 

Silence envelops the both of you as you wait for the drinks to arrive, feeling shy and anxious when he rests his arm against the back of the booth and turns in his seat to face you. You’re not used to being seen yet here’s this man, well-known in the field you didn’t think to excel in giving you such unwarranted attention. 

“Uhmm, so I asked my instructor about the painting,” you begin as you try to break the ice, “and he said that—” but stop when he shakes his head and lets out a gentle laugh. 

You think he’s playing at your lack of knowledge of these types of transactions that it makes you second-guess your words. Maybe you should have come off more confident and prevented showing him an inkling of your cluelessness. But the smile he sends your way speaks of something different. There is no presence of ill-intent yet you still keep your guard up. 

“We can talk business later. I’d like to get to know the artist more first.” He says and for some reason, it could be how comfortable he seems to be around you, that you nod at his request, a soft smile forming on your lips. 

“Well, what do you want to know?”

Giggling. 

It’s been a while since you’ve done it but you guess after 4 glasses of the Bellini and a sip of his Bloody Mary, anyone would be in a lighter and more carefree mood. Just like how you are. 

The anxiety that filled you when you first walked into the bar seems non-existent with how well Steve carries a conversation. He listened to you complain and laughed at your sarcastic comments, throwing back another to keep the exchange alive. There was no dull moment to be recorded, only understanding when you shared the struggle of an art student living in a fast-paced environment. He’s probably the first person in your life who knows almost everything there is to know about you and even if he is a total stranger, he feels more familiar than any other. 

The night rolls by quicker than you’d hoped and the next thing you know you’re in his car, the alcohol messing with you as you begin belting out garbled lyrics to an Adele song. You’ve never felt so free and relaxed, and who would have thought you’d find it in someone who simply wants to buy your art project? 

You arrive shortly at your apartment building, a curious thought passing through your head as you don’t recall typing in your address in the GPS. But it goes just as quickly as it came when the passenger door is opened and Steve holds out a hand to help you out. 

He says your name, the syllables rolling like honey on his tongue and you don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the way the moon shines against his face, but you truly notice how his sapphire eyes glow brighter with how close he stands to you, his cologne permeating your senses and his warmth mixing with yours, keeping away the cold autumn breeze of the night that surrounds the both of you. 

“I had a lovely evening.” He breathes, allowing him to take your hand in his. “And I don’t want it to end just yet.”

And it doesn’t. 

You invite Steve into your apartment for coffee, something to help completely sober him up and drive home safe. But as soon as you close the door and toe off your shoes, his hands are on your face and his lips capture yours, a soft grunt escaping you when he presses you against the door. You’re too stunned to process that he’s kissing you, only finally realizing it when he breaks the kiss and looks at you with his eyes so blue. 

You think he’s about to speak, to apologize for his forwardness, but instead he smiles while his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. You don’t understand what he sees in you to warrant such soft affection, or to even consider you as someone to kiss. 

He leans closer once more, this time you sense the apprehension in his movements and with the way his eyes linger on your face. You shut your brain off completely, not wanting reason and rationality to stop whatever force that was pulling you together. So you meet him halfway, hands resting against his chest when you press your lips against his, a moan escaping you as when you feel him pull you further into the kiss. 

To say he was a good kisser was an understatement with the way his wet muscle caressed your own and how his lips wrestle you into a passionate exchange. He chuckles when he bumps against a side table while walking backwards, blindly into the living room, hands pawing at each other, groping, touching, and you lift up his sweater as the desire to feel his skin blooms in your head. 

But he doesn’t give you that chance as you drop back onto your loveseat couch, Steve’s hands pushing up your hoodie to expose the tank top hidden within. His fingers tickle your skin, teasing, taunting, and in one swift move he pulls down the cups of your bra having your tits spill out from them. 

Mewls and moans are the only sounds that leave your lips, coherent words nonexistent with how his lips wrap around a mound, sucking, licking, and dampening the fabric to expose your stiff nipples which he gives his undivided attention to. You try to reach for him, to at least make sure that this is all real and not a dream, but his hands take yours, preventing you from even running your finger through his dark hair, the act only heightening your senses further. 

But his venture to your breasts eventually stops and you look down at him when he trails butterfly kisses against your stomach, hands releasing yours only to undo the button and fly of your jeans. The garment flies but your panties stay, and you swear you could almost combust just from the way he looks at you—his eyes swirling with hunger, eagerness, and desperation for a taste. 

Slowly, he trails kisses against your inner thighs, lips, and teeth meeting skin, not hard enough to hurt but enough to feel. The nervousness swirls around you like twine, making your heart beat loudly against your chest as everything feels too new, too alien, despite this no longer being your first. But you’ve never encountered anyone as captivating as Steve and you feel as if he would run away once he sees you completely. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers into the air, his warm breath grazing against your heated core. 

It’s only then you comprehend what he’s done, your panties pushed to the side to expose you completely before him and all at once you feel your body burn when he laves his tongue against your pussy lips, gentle at first, testing the waters which shift to intent as he pushes them apart with his fingers, your sacred bud caressed by his expert tongue. 

You whisper his name as he begins delving into your pussy, strong hands keeping your thighs apart and pushing them down against the couch with his groans of pleasure filling your ears and fueling your desire for him. You reach down to run your fingers through his hair which you end up grabbing as a gasp is pulled from your lungs when he begins to suck your clit. 

The room feels like it's spinning with the ecstasy that climbs higher within your body, your senses no longer feeling like your own as Steve pushes on with his pursuit, his mouth dancing beautifully against your clit, his fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. But he stops, and a small wave of panic arises in your chest. Though it washes away like footprints on the sand when he ventures lower, his thumb taking purchase of your clit, rolling and adding pressure while his mouth ventures lower, teasing your slit at first before slowly pushing inside. 

Oh, how your body sings. Your back arches from the coach and you call out his name, louder this time, turning into a moaning mess as his regard to your cunt never wavers. You then feel the dam filling up at the pit of your stomach and all you can do is buck your hips against his mouth, encouraging—no—pushing him to pull you over the edge. 

“Steve—” It’s all you manage to say, your breath catching in your throat. 

His actions then become erratic, as if he can feel you teetering towards your peak, pulling you more to his mouth and devouring you whole. Sloppy, wet sounds of his mouth echo from below your waist, Steve letting out a low and guttural growl which only sets you ablaze. His thumb pushes more onto your clit, the pressure digging into your pelvis and finally having the dam at the pit of your abdomen burst.

Your body shakes and you grab onto Steve as your pussy walls flutter from your release, choking a sob as your sweet essence flows out of you. His awaiting mouth then laps each and every drop you offer, the sensation making you shiver yet at the same time cocoons you in euphoric bliss. 

The alcohol in your system then appears, mixing with the pleasure that continues to loom around you, and your eyes begin to droop, a smile forming on your lips. Your limbs ache deliciously, cunt buzzing from the orgasm that has taken over. You feel tired all of a sudden but happy at the same time and you forget all, even Steve, as you’re ready to end the night with such a good note. 

But a tap on your thigh pulls you from the serene moment, startling slightly to see Steve looking down at you with a grin painted on his face. “Stay awake, Baby.” He says, his hand running up your side and grabbing the hem of your hoodie. “I’m not yet done with you.”

Nervous.

It’s all you feel as you stand outside of Steve’s home—if you could even call it that. With the modern exterior and floor-to-ceiling windows of the one-story home, you’d think you’re about to enter a museum. But it’s only reasonable for him to have such a lavish abode; he is an art collector after all. 

“You okay?” You turn your head to the side to face him when he stands beside you, his warmth brushing against your skin as he wraps an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“A bit—but more excited really.” You tell him, the giddiness of seeing his private collection dominating the restlessness you felt earlier. 

“Only the people who matter have seen it.” The smile he gives you is so contagious that you give one back and follow him inside his home.

After the night spent at your apartment, your life slowly revolved around Steve. Mornings begin and nights end with him and his attentiveness—one that you found more endearing than suffocating, as what some people you assume would say if they knew of your relationship. 

You don’t even know if you both have a relationship as neither of you discussed anything about labels, simply enjoying each other’s company. But you know that Steve has rooted himself deep in you, and you know that no matter how hard you try if anything comes that would sever you both, you’d have a hard time letting him go. Steve is the only one who has truly seen you and accepted you as you are.

A chill brushes your skin when you pass through the threshold of his home which has you pulling your knitted jacket more around your frame for warmth, and the first thing you see are the gallery lights mounted on the wall, with each one shining down on art pieces of different forms. The ones that stand by the door are wax figures of a woman’s pair of legs, one on each side. You look at it closely, the craftsmanship so intricate that you’d think it was real. The ones that come after it are different sets of arms and hands of women, again, each one posed differently and elegantly, as if welcoming you further down the hall.

It gives you pause with how unusual of a collection it is—women’s body parts—but you suppose that the world of art is filled with oddities. There was even one you heard who collects glass eyeballs, not caring if it was worn or not.

What greets you next are several paintings—if you can even call it as such—that litter the wall just the same, though you’ve never seen anything like it; one is of a canvas that houses different strands of hair that form into waves. You’re in awe with how they mimic the raging seas and how detailed and time consuming it must have been to complete. There’s even an image of a boat topped over it, as you inspect closely, you assume is made of leather. 

There’s another like it, though this seemed more like a showcase of all types of tresses, spaced out perfectly in rows of five. Each one portrayed a distinct person, with colors ranging from blonde to black and textures from curly to the straightest you’ve seen. The urge to touch it grows strong, wanting to check if they’re real or not.

“They’re real,” Steve answers your unspoken question, and you turn back to face him, feeling shy all of a sudden when you see him staring at you. “I call it live art.”

“You made this?”

“Oh, no.” He smiles as he nears the artwork, Steve’s hands tucked inside his pockets while he looks up at it. “I had it made. Though I did provide the materials—volunteers donated the hair.” His explanation has you thinking; you never knew people would donate something so personal for art. “I’m hoping to add more to the collection—a prized one that can be my center of attention.” He says and you catch him looking at you from your periphery. 

“What kind of prized piece?” You ask, curiosity nipping at the back of your head. 

“Something I could never get tired of looking at.” The smile he gives you sends a chill up your spine but your mind flows out into a daze when he steps forward and takes your face between his hands, his lips meeting yours in a soft kiss. “Like you.” He whispers and you can’t help but feel your face heat up with how beautiful he makes you feel. 

“Come on. There’s more in the living room and I wanted to show you where I would place your painting.” He says, giving you one last kiss before taking your hand and leading further inside. But you don’t miss the piece that sits just at the end of the hall; a torso of a woman, the composition almost similar to Alexndros’ Venus de Milo, except this one was missing its head. 

The living room is a sunken living room and it’s just as exquisite as the front of the house with paintings and figurines scattered in an organized fashion. Two couches sit on either side of a low table with a small cart that holds an array of spirits. You look around, mesmerized at the beauty he keeps within but stop when you notice a small greek style column sitting in the corner of the room. 

“What’s that?” You ask, pointing at the unusual fixture. 

“That’s just a chair a friend of mine made.” He responds while pouring the both of you some drinks. “It’s pretty cozy even if it’s made out of stone. Why don’t you try it out? Pretend you’re an art piece.” He urges and the giddiness you feel allows you to humor him. 

Soft jazz music then begins to play as you run your hand against the top, having a feel of the material before you take a seat, grabbing onto the sides to properly set yourself on top of it. The smile you catch on Steve’s face is wide as he approaches you and hands you your drink, his hand reaching up to caress your face. 

“You look perfect on it.” He sips on his drink and so do you. 

You can’t help but look at his eyes, how soft they look yet full of amidst the muted lighting that surrounds the both of you. You feel his hands continue to linger on your skin, resting gently on your shoulder with his thumb caressing the expanse of your neck. 

“Dance with me.” 

It’s all he says and you don’t have time to respond when he takes the glass from your grasp, setting both of them on the shelf that stands nearby and he reaches for you, his hands taking yours and placing them over his shoulders while his own finds purchase around your waist.

It feels like you’re walking on clouds with how he sways the both of you, his movements in sync with the music that fills the air. He holds you close, feeling his fingers drumming lightly on your back and how your feet follow him aimlessly, blindly with each step he makes. You’re suddenly aware of the intimacy that slowly winds the both of you, much different from the times he’s slept on your bed, and you feel shy, eyes casting down to stare at the edge of his navy turtleneck.

“Don’t hide from me, Baby,” He breathes softly, tilting your head back when he pinches your chin and feeling the warmth of his breath ghost against your lips. “I want to see you.”

Giddy.

It’s the only feeling you describe as soon as you wake up, your body sore but in a good way and the sheets atop the mattress warm, not just because of you but from the man that sleeps soundly at your side. You turn to face Steve and examine his face, his beautiful pointed nose and his dark hair askew from the pillow underneath his head. 

You couldn’t believe your luck that someone like him would find interest in someone like you. You must have done something good in your previous life to feel such happiness that the neglect and disapproval you once received from the people you expected to love you is being provided by someone you’ve barely known for a week. 

Good things come to an end, you hear the pessimist in you say but you push it down, deep down where you cannot hear its cry. You’re going to enjoy this, whatever this is, and if time comes that it should indeed come to a stop—well, you’ll cross the bridge when you get there. 

You move to cuddle closer to Steve, wanting to feel more of his warmth but it’s interrupted by your need for relief that you settle on placing a kiss on his forehead before turning to leave the bed and find the restroom.

Washing your hands when you finish, you find a robe hanging at the back of the door and boldly take it, putting it around you to shield you from the cold that continues to circulate within the house and venture back to his room—back to Steve’s arms. Except the lone light that shines in the darkness catches your eyes and you glance towards the bedroom. You don’t want to be caught snooping but the call of the void is too strong for you to ignore. 

Silently, you pad down the hall and find yourself face to face with a staircase that leads to a closed door. Must be the basement, you think to yourself, taking one step at a time, you descend to your destination. You hesitate to hold the knob, not wanting to spoil your welcome but you soldier on, pushing through the barrier. 

A row of yellow muted light illuminates the entryway, and you see nothing but several black barrels neatly pushed against the wall and a few scrubs hanging from mounted hooks. You thought you would see more artwork but are left disappointed, deciding to turn back but the white light at the end of the room stops you, curiosity once more taking over your senses.

Fear then grips you tight when you step into the light, hands flying to your mouth and a gasp unwillingly escaping you when you see a woman laid down on a metal table with her lower half missing and her head free of her scalp. What hangs on the wall makes your stomach turn even further, body parts—arms, legs and a severed head coated in something you can only assume to be wax.

You run. Your heart beats hard against your chest as you make it back again to the door and close it as quietly as you can, not wanting to awaken your host—a monster you never thought him to be. Carefully, though quickly, you climb the steps and the only thing you could think of is to leave and run as far as you can where he cannot find you. 

Relief slowly washes over you when you get to the last step. Now all you have to do is go—call the authorities and—your thoughts take a dive when you feel someone grab you by the waist, trapping your arms along with it and a hand covering over your mouth as well as your nose.

“Where were you, Baby?” Steve’s calm voice forms from behind and your panic only rises further. You struggle against his hold, flailing as much as you can for him to let you go but he’s too strong and you feel the tears spill from your eyes as you think that this is the end. He’s caught you. You’re going to die. 

“You never should have seen that.” He simply says and you grunt when a stabbing pain forms on your neck, a cool sensation flowing through your veins. 

It’s then that he lets you go, your hand flying to where you felt the sting before turning to look at him. What did he do to you? You notice the syringe in his hand. Is it poison? Your vision almost instantly goes blurry, your limbs heavy and you drop to the floor, eyes cast to the ceiling as you try to make out your current state. The last thing you see is Steve, a sinister smile on his face and incoherent words coming from his lips before everything goes dark. 

You’re dead.

It’s the first thing that comes to your mind when you come to. Everything slowly comes into clarity; the room you’re in is somewhere you’ve not been and the cool metal you feel around your ankle only solidifies the fact that he’s successfully trapped you in the hell he dwells in.

A door opens and closes and you curl up small on the bed you lay in to hide yourself from him. You’re crying once again a multitude of emotions surge from within—is it fear? Hopelessness? Anger? Towards him for lying to you or to yourself for believing him. 

“I never wanted you to find out this way.” He sighs. “I never wanted you to find out at all.”

“Are you going to kill me?” You can’t help but ask, even though you know what the answer is.

“Not yet.” His calm in his voice brings a chill to your spine. “Despite what you believe, I meant what I said; you matter to—”

“Stop lying to me!” You shout and sit up from the bed, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it at him. “Why are you doing this?! What did I do to deserve this?! Why me?!” You shout, the anger that was settling in your bones turns into a raging fire. You go to lunge for him, wanting to rip his skin with your bare hands but the cuff on your foot stops you, making you fall to the ground in front of him. 

He tuts and you see his leather shoes in front of you. A groan then leaves your tongue when he grabs you by your face, your hand taking hold of his wrist as you try to pull away from him. But he only pinches tighter, making you shout in pain that fades all too quickly when he shakes you and makes you face him dead in the eyes.

“The more you fight, the harder it’ll be.” He snips. “I enjoy you a lot—don’t make me kill you so soon.”

“Just fucking do it!” You spit. “Do it! Kill me now!”

The laugh he gives you is menacing. He shakes his head, his other hand moving to run his finger on the side of your face. You see the darkness swirling around the sapphires of his eyes and you question yourself why, for the many times he’s stared at you, you’ve never seen it before. 

“Soon.” He promises. “For now, I’ll keep you. I don’t mind that column being empty just a little longer.”

[fermented-writers-block]

With the revelation of the Collector being just one out of a whole species and the whole “Collector creed” as in the book King read, it really has me thinking on the mural in King’s tower and the name of the Titan Trappers as a group. What if the big battle between the Titan Trapper and Titan was not about slaying the Titan, but rather about the Titan Trapper trying to subdue the Titan long enough for the Collectors to collect and preserve it?

After all, the comet IS headed towards the Titan’s face, and as we saw in this episode, well…

But given the established fact that Titan magic cancels out Collector magic this episode, as well as the mystery of how that battle ended, I feel the story of the Collectors and Titans may have gone in a direction like this:

Countless eons ago, the Collector (who shall be referred to as Cole for ease) came into existence to a group of Collectors. At some point, he was brought along to observe and participate in the collecting of a new planet as part of his training to be a proper Collector...

Amongst the creatures they set out to collect, they came across huge, powerful beings known as the titans whose magic, curiously, made them resistant to the Collectors’ magic. Desiring to collect such powerful creatures, they empowered and created the Titan Trappers, who would ideally trap and pin down the Titans long enough to actually collect them.

Practically though, the Titan’s magic proved too strong of a counter to the attempt to collect them, so while the adult Collectors tried to figure out how to preserve the adult Titans, Cole was sent out with the task of collecting the much weaker - and thus easier to collect - baby Titans.

However, instead of preserving them, Cole wound up playing and having so much fun with his unexpected new friends that he went to the other Collectors to argue for his new friends to stay UNcollected and UNpreserved. Aka going going directly against the “Collector creed.”

But rather than punishing Cole for deviating from their book of conduct and beliefs, the adult Collectors took outrage at the Titans who had “meddled” in their affairs and “corrupted” their poor, innocent, rule-following child.

To the adult Collectors, their precious Cole could not have come up with such heretical ideas on his own. Surely he could not have fallen into such a transgression against everything the group is meant to stand for out of his own free will.

No, it must have been the influence of the Titans and their horrific magic, and as decreed in the book of the Collectors, these meddlers in personal affairs MUST be eradicated. Thank goodness they caught this in time and prevented their precious Cole from forsaking their family and everything they believed in.

As for the demons who dared try to “corrupt” their child and by extension the rest of the Collectors, the the stars would descend from the heavens above to strike the world below in fiery judgement - a world which would be immolated as part of the efforts to prevent any swaying away from the truth that they all follow and have been teaching Cole to follow.

In other words, sounds an awful lot like a Puritan colonist getting so swept up in the fervor of burning witches at the stake as their interpretation of the Bible decreed - so swept up that they cannot accept a loved one’s true self could deviate so far from the norms of society and blames such deviancy on witches and demons, amiright?

[miraitrunks]

okay, so… here it is: a larger post of most of the treasure planet merch i’ve received but haven’t shared here. this stuff gets more and more niche/rare the further you scroll, so check it all out! let’s start from the top:

first up— we’ve got my complete collection of all the loungefly products. each one has jim on it so it was a must <3 personally the first release (middle) is my favorite but i think the pink backpack is prettier

second up— my 20th anniversary pin as well as my cursed concepts pin. such lovely grabs <3 then we have the pin i bought off the artist Dean Grayson from his “Heroic Rides” series on etsy. it’s fricken huge!

third— probably one of my favorites, my hallmark treasure planet cups. i got these off ebay and i have absolutely no idea what year they’re from. aren’t they so cool?! i got so many and they’re brand new. the print of jim on the cup is just top tier. “honey, we’ve got guests. bring out the fine china!” 10/10.

number four— my jim & silver keychain toys. these are olddd! if you know me though, you know i don’t keep stuff in the packages. silver could stay, but jim definitely had to come out. he zooms forward like a toy car when you pull him back and then let him go!

item number five— treasure planet for the playstation 2. i’m especially fond of this one considering the ps2 was my first ever gaming console that i owned myself. so many fun memories!

number six— my japanese art promo book featuring some of the japanese voice casting! as an anime fan, collecting japanese promotional material for american media is something that i’ve always wanted to do. i haven’t gotten my hands on a japanese movie poster yet, but it’s on my list for sure. this is a pretty close runner up though! i love all the pngs used for this booklet! (sorry for my weird hand placement in some of these, as the pages folded out and it was hard to photograph with one hand)

number seven— last one for now! i think i saved the best for last personally, but this is my disney adventures collector’s edition magazine for treasure planet back from 2002, the movie’s release year. let me tell you, this thing is such a throwback from the events of the year to the ads that come in the thing.

…AND THERE’S A WHOLE CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE COMIC IN HERE?! i had no idea! it was like striking gold! this is also one of my favorites of all the things i own. can we get a load of how cute he looks on the cover? he almost looks like he’s aware he’s posing for a magazine cover. so adorable!

…wow, that’s all from me for now! while it’s definitely not all i own, this is just some of the newer stuff i’ve gotten since i’ve been away and/or some of the stuff i think is cooler. did you recognize any of this stuff? find anything new? lemme know!

[lace-coffin]

How would the collector react with a very Neuodivergent m!reader who has a hyperfixation on things like barbed wire, eye, scorpions and centipedes (totally not projecting or anything) but anyways, after a few months Asa had kidnapped him he's picking up all of the curious looks and sudden happy moods at seeing certain parts of the hotel.

Asa Emory x Neurodivergent!M!Reader with a fixation on centipedes, scorpions and barbed wire

Hi thanks for the request! What’s the point in fanfiction if not projecting onto your fav characters? Hope u enjoy this!

Requests are open!

Asa was beginning to think something was different about you, something separating you from the other hoards of hopeless fodder projects in the basement. You’ve quickly become Asa’s favourite for reasons he can’t really place.

You tend to keep to yourself most of the time whether this is out of fear or general boredom he has no idea, only jumping in when a subject you care about is raised. Once you start it’s hard to get you to stop, not that Asa minds, it can get lonely in this dilapidated hotel in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, even for antisocial people like himself. So it’s nice to keep someone around to fill the silence.

He’s realised by now the younger man in his possession seems to light up when certain subjects are spoken about, it’s happened so many times in the same kind of environment that he’s been trying to dwindle down the variables to pin the behaviour down. Asa loves to dissect people hypothetically and physically so this is just the icing on the top for him.

“Come on pup, we’re seeing over the specimens today.”

Asa tugs the lead connected to your collar harder than necessary just to watch you stumble and try keep up behind him on all fours, being the merciful master he is, he’s provided you with knee pads as not to mark your pretty skin. How kind. Unseen on the other side of you a dumb sweet smile graces your owners lips, loving the way you gasp for air.

Asa knew the mention of the specimen room would have you excited, pace quickening on the other end of the lead as suddenly unable to wait. This he already had figured out, you love bugs and invertebrates,doesn’t matter what kind, however some clearly stood higher in the hierarchy in your brain.

Holding the dense metal door open for you to crawl through, you both enter into the dim room, the lights from the tanks and vivariums providing a warm and cozy atmosphere. Instantly perking up you come to a stop Infront of the masked man, moving to sit on your knees.

“Can I check the centipedes and scorpions please? I’ll do such a good job sir I promise!”

You beg, practically vibrating from your spot on the ground.

“Calm down pup, of course you can, just be careful and if you’re unsure of anything ask for my help, understood?” Your sir asks, holding your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him.

“U-understood! Thank you thank you!”

———————————————————

Outside time was important for your health and important to Asa’s schedule, he loathes being made late or doing something in the wrong order, it can ruin his mood for hours.

Usually a walk around the perimeter of the hotel suffices a few times a week, this can be on or off lead, depending on how well you’ve been behaved. Unharnessed time is reserved for good boys who know where they belong.

If you’ve been particularly well behaved recently or seem like you could use a pick me up then Asa will walk you down to the garden-esque area out the back of the hotel. there isn’t anything specifically special about this area, overrun with weeds and over grown plants that are hard to see through, just as broken down as the rest of the building, however the perimeter is lined with barb wire. Just your typical cheap barbed wire to keep pets in and keep pests out.

To you it was more than that, you could wonder the edge of the garden for hours at a time, running your hands along the chainlink and gazing at the twisted patterns.

Sometimes he would ask you about, listening along contently as you ramble about barber wire, hopping from subject to subject as they enter your mind. This is how Asa loves to see you, carefree and expressing your passions out on the makeshift patio, it wasn’t a lot but it keeps you happy. Asa would do anything to keep his boy happy.

[fiona-stabler]

ahoy!

a swashbuckling enamel pin designed by me, right here! ~

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1936 Bugatti T57S Atlantic Coupe

The third of four Atlantic coupes built by Jean Bugatti, this one is famously known for having been hit by a train at a railroad crossing in the French countryside in 1955. Much has been written regarding this car's authenticity, and it is true that not every panel is original. Yet before that tragedy this car had experienced a storied and historically important life. Many a race car has been saved from the scrap heap because it had a unique provenance. This car was worth preserving for its unique beauty alone, as well as for the same reasons that any unique historical object is saved: to continue its history, to honor the craft of the original builders, and to illustrate it's story to those who may not already know it.

This car is uniquely different from the other Atlantics as it had been restyled soon after it was built. The evidence indicates that the styling changes had been commissioned by the car's original owners and completed by renowned coachbuilder Joseph Figoni, who had his own singular ideas about flowing surfaces and shape.

The first owners, Jacques and Yvonne Holtzschuch, took delivery of 57473 in 1936. In the earliest known photograph of the car, taken at the Concours d'Elegance de Juan les Pins in 1937, the body was black with a light beige pigskin interior. In the next known photograph, taken in 1951 at the Circuit International de Vitesse de Nice, the body and interior had been significantly restyled. In order to participate in the race, the body had also been repainted blue in accordance with the Code Sportif International de la F.I.A. After changing hands several times, the car was eventually purchased in 1952 by René Chatard, who had it repainted gray near the end of 1954. Chatard and a female companion were driving near Gien, France when they were struck and killed by a train on August 22, 1955.

Paul-André Berson recovered the remains in 1965, and started a decade-long project to rebuild the car. In the restoration he chose to work with the intact right-hand coachwork, and replaced the damaged parts. Upon completion in 1977, he sold the car to collector Nicholas Seydoux, who later had it restored again by André Lecoq. In 2006 the current owner purchased the car from Seydoux, and the unused dashboard, trim pieces, engine block, mechanical parts and original damaged body panels from Berson.

The car was then on display at the Pebble Beach Concours d'Elegance, the perfect environment for the world to rediscover this very special car.

[speedycoffeedelight]

Hello! I've returned with more 'Reader helps get everyone a job' scenarios! And this time, not anon ✨️

Also, so happy to see you referenced my first ask, really made my day!

Anyway, scenarios begin.

~

Reader: Velvette, this is the second job you've been fired from since you got here. There isn't exactly many clothing store in town and if you keep getting fired, you'll be deemed 'unhireable'.

Velvette: *Rolling her eyes on her phone* I don't see why you're so bothered by that, I'm already a small time influencer and with the way I'm manipulating the algorithm, I'll be monetised in no time. Besides, the clothes they sold there weren't even good enough for a dumpster fire.

Reader: Anyway... There's atleast 2 more clothing stores available before we have to start looking elsewhere, a sports clothes store and a thrift shop.

Velvette: Pfft, thrift shop? You can't in your right mind think I'd be touching second han- wait. *Types on her phone* Thifting is in, sign me up! And then call Princess in here, her little lamb form is guaranteed to get me more likes then that bitch Geraldine's yappy mutt in socks and sunglasses.

~

Reader: Lute, I don't mean to be insulting or anything but I'm not sure if you could handle being a supermarket security guard. It can be a very dangerous job.

Lute: I understand you're concerns but allow me to lay them to rest with a quick demonstration of my capabilities.

*Lute quickly tackles Sir Pentious to the ground and pins him as he shouts a quick 'Why me?!'*

~

Adam: Listen Babe, I don't see what the issue is.

Reader: Adam, the bar is looking for a live band to there regularly, not a solo guitarist. Now I'm sure you are a wonderful singer-songwriter but they're not looking for a solo musician.

Adam: *Crossing arms* Fine. What other jobs are there.

Reader: Plenty, and almost all of them are places we've already got someone in so they can recommend you and you're pretty much guaranteed to be hired.

Adam: Okay Babe, fire away.

Reader: Well, the local cafés looking for another waiter (Charlies workplace).

Adam: Uh, pass.

Reader: The fast food joint needs another cashier. (Vaggies workplace)

Adam: Next.

Reader: The restaurant-dinner is willing to train up a sous-chef with no prior experience or qualifications (Angels/Husks workplace).

Adam: Eh, I don't cook.

Reader: The council is hiring more trash collectors, it sounds bad but has incredibly good pay (Niftys workplace).

Adam: As much as I'm down for driving a massive truck, somethings telling me to stay away from that little freak. She might stab me in the back or something.

Reader: You also don't have a driving license. Anyway, the radio station is hiring a files clerk (Alastors workplace).

Adam: They play rock or metal?

Alastor: *From another room* Nope!

Adam: Then, nah.

Reader: *Muttering to self* And I don't think you can work for the mechanics without a driving license either (Cherris workplace).

Reader: The florist is hiring. (Lucifers workplace).

Adam: *Fake gags*

Reader: What about working at that bowling alley and arcade pizzeria? (Voxs workplace)

Adam: *Sticks out tongue*

Reader: The clothing store? (Velvettes workplace)

Adam: *Raises eyebrow*

Reader: The local supermarket? (Lutes workplace)

Adam: *Pours slightly*

Reader: *Sighs and starts rubbing temple* Well, the only other places available is the post office and that steakhouse on the outskirts of town.

Adam: Steakhouse? Now that's what I'm talking about! Sign me up straight away.

Reader: I thought you said you don't cook.

Adam: Listen Babe, it's grilling, not cooking. Big difference. Besides, I literally invented the grill, you know? It's like 1 of the top 5 best ideas I ever had, you know, right next to naming a bunch of birds 'tits'.

Reader: You invented the grill? That's actually kinda impressive.

Lucifer: Don't flatter him, love. He had to invent a whole new way of cooking meat or else he'd have starved everytime Eve made him sleep on the coach.

Adam: HEY!

HEYYY!! Good to see you back again!! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>

Yeah , velvette gonna be a real bitch(HAH-) working at stores. She won't settle for anything that's not up to her taste.

* Reader sighing in the corner trying to find more shops.*

Poor Pentious, he had to be the example 🤣🤣

*the cast and reader giving Pentious concerned glances*

And there's Adam, the first man who can't settle on one job( just like girls- *gets shot in the head*). I can definitely see him inventing grilling like this 😂😂

Thank you yet again for your creative and unique headcannons! I truly enjoy reading them!! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

[justafriend-ql]

kanghan's "wake up call" (ep. 2)

hello and welcome to my long-winded post about all the things i love about the 180 degree shift in how kang treats sailom after seeing the debt collectors attack him. the shift from enemies to "friends" (as kang calls them) was abrupt, accompanied by a dramatic shift in kang's behavior. so how does kang go from entering sailom's house intending to point a (hopefully unloaded) gun to sailom's head to rescuing him in the span of seconds?

kang sees sailom as a rival, sailom sees kang as a nuisance

it's no question that sailom and kang have beef. it wouldn't be enemies-to-lovers if they didn't. but in the face of real stakes, their antagonism quickly crumbles. kang has constructed an entire imaginary war with sailom in his head, seeing him as a rebel force he must quell if he is to remain king of the school and preserve his sense of dignity.

but sailom? he has bigger fish to fry.

kang is always the one to initiate attack. sailom doesn't care about kang enough to start a fight, so long as he's not hurting his friends or interfering with his work. sailom is always on the defense, but the feud keeps going because every time kang attacks, sailom outwits him and makes kang look stupid. because sailom doesn't bend easily, kang assumes that sailom cares about their feud as much as he does. but sailom never initiates attack; he just wants to be left alone.

kang's obsessive about the feud, and his feelings toward sailom are increasingly irrational, to the point where he "jokes" about bringing a gun to sailom's house. to which all of kang's friends are like 'dude. it's not that serious.' (note: i am curious as to why kang is so obsessed with this feud and hope we get a bit more insight into that in future episodes, beyond the basic 'rich kid with too much time and power on their hands' explanation).

"get off my friend"

as soon as kang walks into sailom's house, his whole idea of sailom and their feud is shattered. kang's been living in a tit-for-tat, "i'll get him back" game. he's been having fun. but sailom's life leaves no room for games. and as he sees sailom pinned to the floor, kang realizes that.

he cycles back through all his interactions with sailom in his head, seeing them through a new lens. a lens that casts kang in the same role as the reprehensible debt collectors he sees before him now. it's not a good look, and kang knows it. he kept blaming sailom for making him look stupid, but he's been stupid all by himself. and not just stupid - he's been ignorant.

he told sailom he wanted to show him that "money can buy everything" without having any understanding of the hardship of not having enough money to buy anything.

this whole realization takes place in seconds, and in the meantime, kang has pointed his (probably unloaded) gun at the debt collectors. he does it without hesitation, telling them to get off his "friend." his instinct is to protect sailom, which is perhaps surprising given his apparent hatred for sailom. but at his core, kang is good. his hatred for sailom is built on a feud of his own making, and he can tear it down as fast as he built it.

re-writing the relationship

before this moment, kang and sailom have only shown each other their steeliest selves. but in the tumult, they're both out of their depth. the debt collectors call out kang's nerves, noticing how his hands shake as he holds the gun. kang plays tough, but all he knows are schoolyard fights. this is real life, with real stakes. (when the debt collectors leave, he audibly releases a breath he'd been holding for the entire interaction).

kang finally gets to see sailom cowering on the floor, but he finds no satisfaction in the sight. the first step in moving from enemies to lovers is seeing each other as complex human beings instead of simple, stock characters. the confrontation has shown kang sailom's vulnerable side, and kang doesn't want to be the bad guy in this story anymore.

so kang starts to rewrite the narrative. he realized he was ignorant, so he asks questions.

he shows tenderness. (note the contrast between kang icing his own bruise from sailom's punch while plotting revenge at the beginning of part 4 and kang icing sailom's bruises from the debt collectors now)

he checks his own sense of self-importance. (while kang's whole world has circulated around his feud with sailom, sailom didn't even bother to tell his brother about kang)

and he rewrites his relationship with sailom, willingly giving him the position of power this time.

kang has had his "wake up call" and no longer wants to be enemies with sailom. based on the preview for the next episode, kang will be made vulnerable and human in sailom's eyes through their tutoring sessions.

and if their shirts are anything to go by, kang will be the one to kiss sailom next time.

but it won't really be about revenge, will it?