#they come in so many colors.....................like pink

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Self-On Kode with Mark ⋆⭒˚.⋆

idol!Mark x f!idol!reader

summary: you and you boyfriend Mark are paired up for an interview, but do you even know you're texting each other? No.

(cw: f!reader, idol!reader)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Mark got comfortable in the plush, pink chair of the Kode set with a shy smile, "Ah hello, I'm Mark from NCT." He pushes his earbuds into his ears and begins playing his music, "today I'll be known as Cheetah. Um, I couldn't really think of anything else and the fans already call me a cheetah so it was easy to think of."

On the opposite side of the wall, you settle into your own chair while smiling at the camera while introducing yourself, "I was so confused when I was asked to pick a wild cat as my screen name. It was such an oddly specific category, and even weirder when you told me cheetah was already taken. Anyway, I chose Tiger because they're the next prettiest."

Your music begins to play through your earbuds as your phone vibrates from the first message from your partner. "Yo?" you read in confusion, staring at your screen with pure confusion, "is that it? This is a man isn't it? Girls don't talk like this."

On the other side of the wall Mark laughs softly, covering his mouth as he reads the message. "This person is so happy. I've never seen anyone write hi with this many i's."

You and Mark text back and forth for a while, sharing your hobbies and sending memes back and forth until the both of your are giggling madly on your respective sides of the set. Of course, after nearly 2 years together you'd know how to make each other laugh, even without knowing you're texting each other. Your partner still doesn't give you any identifying traits or hints as to who they are. Well, besides clearly being a man based on how he texts.

Following the instruction of the staff, you send a screenshot of your home screen. You pout, feeling slightly bad for your partner. Just two days ago you'd gotten a new phone and hadn't yet had the time to make it yours. It was stuck with the boring default background and a handful of apps you considered to be essential. You explain as much with the text accompanying the screenshot.

And Mark's screenshot? Well, it might as well be just as boring as yours. He has the blur set on the photo so all you see is an indistinct mess of colors. Two distinct blobs which could be the shape of two people or two flowers or two guitars or two cats.

"Wow," you say as you typed out the word, "we are two very boring people. You really don't want me to know who you are."

Mark laughs out brightly while he reads your text, "me? You haven't even changed your own yet!"

"I told you I just got a new phone and haven't had time yet!" You laugh to yourself while typing out your message.

Your joking back and forth gets the two of you off track while you playfully poke fun at each other back and forth until the staff ask you both who you think you're texting. Mark looks at the camera while he tries to think, "I have no clue. It's a girl, surely but it could be anyone. Do you pick random people off the street to do these videos?"

On the other side of the wall, you blush softly, covering your face while your face cools down, "is it weird if I say it's my boyfriend? He just seems so much like Mark."

It's one of the few times you've ever referred to Mark as your boyfriend for any sort media. You and Mark had technically been a public couple for about a year now, since your respective companies had come out with their statements to reveal your relationship. How you'd been able to conceal a year of your relationship was beyond the both of you. Well, a lot of dark, oversized clothes and hats and masks to conceal your faces.

After the company statements, you and Mark seemed to be even better at hiding. You barely glanced at each other at award shows, and if you did, it was only friendly, nothing that could be interpreted as anything else. There were very few glimpses into your relationship beyond birthday and anniversary posts with obscured faces and sharing each other's most recent comebacks on your stories. Privacy was something you both valued and of course you were more than ok with doing any type of promotion with Mark, it just never worked out that way. Until now (not that you knew). Plus, it wasn't like this interview would give anyone any important details of your relationship anyway.

When the staff prompt you both to share a screenshot of your most recently listened to songs, you stare at your screen with a look of blank surprise, "this is just a mix of Drake and Justin Bieber. It's Mark, it has to be."

You zoom in on the picture, mumbling about how you see more music that is so distinctly Mark while on the other side Mark looks at the screenshot you send excitedly. "She's a fan! Of me! Wow, she's listened to Child and Golden Hour and 200! Ok, I have to chill out a bit," he tells himself even as he types out his message telling you that you have good music taste.

You snort at his message just as the staff laugh at the exchange at the same time. The head producer instructs you both to find your baby pictures to send to the other.

You look up from your phone, looking at the camera and the staff, "surely, you'd think a couple who have been together for this long have seen pictures of each other when they were kids, right?" The staff nods in response before you speak again, "well, we haven't! I've only seen what has been posted online. Same for him!"

Mark sends you a picture of him as a baby where he's a few months old and you coo immediately. You zoom in as close as you can drawing your phone closer to you face as you star adoringly at the baby on your screen. "He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen! I've never seen a cuter baby in my life! Oh, I just want to squeeze his cheeks and cuddle him," you gush over the adorable picture of the chubby baby boy with an adoring look on your face.

Mark looks at his phone, the camera, the staff, his phone again, the camera again with a look of pure and utter confusion as he looks at what he can only assume is a child covered in frosting. "You can barely tell this is a human, how is this supposed to help me figure out who I've been texting?" Mark asks, zooming in on the picture while the staff bursts out in laughter. When he finds out who he's talking to...

So when he staff ask for a final guess as to who you've been texting you say Mark's name confidently while Mark ultimately utters out, "Maybe someone from a girl group... maybe it's Yeri."

When the staff ask you both to stand and get ready to face each other to reveal yourselves. Instead of walking toward Mark, you find yourself behind the set so you're behind Mark.

Mark walks forward slowly, waiting to see when he'll spot his interview partner, but when he sees an empty spot, he faces the camera and the staff with a quizzical smile, "was I talking to a ghost?"

They laugh softly and murmur amongst themselves while you finally reach forward and tap his shoulder softly. Mark jumps, completely scared by the touch. He turns to you with his eyes wide with surprise, "you?!"

"Yes, me!"

After you're both seated at the high top table and calmed down from the surprise meeting with on another, you're both ready to talk to each other in front of the camera once again. You smile softly at your boyfriend, "I knew it was you."

Mark scoffs, "how?"

"Yo," you repeat the word from his first message with a poor imitation of his voice, "all the Drake, all the Bieber-- oh my gosh, Mark! Your baby picture!"

Mark laughs, taking your hand in his out of view of the camera, "speaking of baby pictures, what did you send me?"

Your brows furrow softly at his question, "I sent you a picture of me as a baby."

"There's no way that was you. You look like a little cake monster."

"It was from my first birthday..." you pout at Mark.

"Don't get pouty with me, you were completely covered, how could I have known? I can pout too! My face used to be your homescreen and now it's the plain default screen," Mark tells you with a playful pointed look.

"Mark," you deadpan, "you were with me when I got my new phone."

"Oh yeah..." Mark blushes with embarrassment.

"Anyway, who did you think I was?"

Mark squeezes your hand nervously beneath the table, his thumb rubbing at your knuckles a little anxiously, "I had no clue, to be honest. I knew you were a girl but I didn't know it was you."

When the staff ask Mark how he didn't know but you did, all he can do is blush and laugh out a nervous response. You turn to him with a playful accusatory look of your own, "yeah, how come you didn't know?"

"I don't really pay attention to how you text, just what we text about..."

You and the staff coo as you pinch his cheeks and cup his face lovingly, "you're so cute, but you were cuter as a baby."

"My mom says the same thing," Mark rolls his eyes.

Your conversation winds down and you both pose for the selfie at the end. You both pull silly faces, cheeks pressed together and eyes scrunched shut with your tongues sticking out.

Despite the stupid picture you both took, the screen fades to black with a completely different picture of you and Mark laughing while looking at each other with hearts in your eyes and bright smiles on your faces.

[angelwishess]

Kyra’s Broomquet!

Bouquet… whtver!!!! For the broomquet thing!!!

(Yeah I had to filter the colors to make it look not awkward HWHAHAHA)

^^ This looks like a reaction meme LMFAOOOO

I think I added way too many flowers but its ok guys trustme… 💗 (also i think i used the non fully bloomed begonias by accident oops)

I dont think this is a realistic bouquet at all but its okay because !!!!! Symbolism !!!! Yayayayya!!!!!!!!!!

ALOT of rambling utc!!

First— I’d like to mention that some of these flowers are actually poisonous so erm idk how that would work out LMFAOO😭😭 Take it as symbolism of how many are attracted to Kyra due to her beauty, but stay away once realizing her true nature … or something like that!!!!!

Camellia (Japonica)

Camellias have always been Kyra’s flower! Its the one I associate her with the most, and to me is just iconic for her! I have an entire post in my drafts talking about Kyra’s other symbolisms, but I might as well just copy paste the Camellia section here lol

Camellias in general symbolize a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength, love, loyalty and humility.

Camellia japonica, a shrub or small tree species that is native to southern Japan and China. Known as tsubaki in Japan,this species is iconic for its beautiful white, pink, or red flowers that appear from late winter to early spring as well as its thick, glossy, and evergreen leaves.

The camellia has come to symbolize grace, beauty, sophistication, and perseverance - all traits that make it so beloved today.

The camellia has long been a symbol of beauty, grace and perseverance in Japanese culture. Its deep crimson petals evoke the vividness of a fiery sun while its delicate bloom serves to represent the infinite nature of life itself. It has become the embodiment of courage, resilience and strength owing to its fantastic ability to survive and thrive in even the harshest conditions.

It is believed that those who wear or carry a camellia can show their boldness in facing adversity with integrity and grace; thus, this timeless flower carries with it monumental symbolism.

The camellia is intricately intertwined with the cultural and spiritual life of Japan. In various art forms, they signify appreciation and admiration. The flower represents a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength - qualities that are highly esteemed in Japanese culture. They also symbolize love, loyalty and humility - perfect to express gratitude towards family and friends.

Kyra herself is honestly my most perseverant character! Shes stubborn and driven, and won't back down regardless of how hopeless a situation seems.

No matter how much she falls down, she'll keep getting right back up again, more determined than before to keep living.

With the Camellia's notable ties with Beauty, loyalty, grace, self-reflection and inner strength; it makes the Camellia a beautiful way to represent Kyra. It reflects her current character and character development

In China, camellia has been cultivated for thousands of years and is a symbol of love and devotion. It is often used in Chinese art, literature, and poetry to represent beauty, purity, and faithfulness. For people in China, the camellia is more than just a flower; it's a sign of a long past. The camellia has a place in Chinese art, literature, and tradition because it is thought to bring good luck and beauty.

The Chinese believe that the camellia will last forever, so it is often used as a symbol in ceremonies and parties. People see the flower's ability to survive under challenging conditions as a metaphor for life's problems and the strength needed to deal with them.

In Japan, the camellia is also a symbol of love and is associated with the samurai tradition. The flower is often worn as a hair ornament by Japanese women and is used in traditional tea ceremonies.

The samurai looked up to the camellia as a sign of bravery and morality. The flower's ability to stay beautiful even when things go wrong was like the samurai's dedication to duty and honor.

During the Victorian era in Europe, the camellia flower became a popular symbol of wealth and luxury.

White camellia flowers are less common but are highly prized for their purity and innocence. In some cultures, white camellia flowers are associated with death and are often used in funeral arrangements.

With NRC's whole theme with death— this extra little fact is just a little nod to that theme hehe. It also represents Kyra's own "innocence" and naivety when it comes to regular society. After all, Kyra's first time ever leaving her palace was because she was sent to NRC fe. Through that "death", she gained freedom and a new beginning.

Pink camellias show love, appreciation, happiness, and thanks. These flowers are a lovely way to show someone you admire them or are thankful for them because the soft color of pink makes people feel loved and appreciated.

Pink camellias are often seen as signs of love and respect in the language of flowers. In some countries, friends trade them with each other or give them thanks. Aside from their beauty, pink camellias are known for their gracefulness and ability to show love without being too intense.

Kyra is very thankful and values the friends and people closes to her. She loves so much and so deeply, and holds everyone that accepts her despite her being a handful, very dearly! She isnt shy to show her affection at all, and makes sure her friends know that they're all loved, even if she doesn't say it outright.

Pink Camellias can also symbolize longing! I view it as a symbol of how Kyra had always longed for more, yearning for a life that feels like hers. She longs for freedom, and has spent her entire life with this feeling of yearning.

Camellias can also, ironically enough, symbolize perfection. Something Kyra had forced herself to be for the sake of her family, in hopes that if she was, she could be loved, too.

Amaryllis

Amaryllis symbolizes pride, strength and determination as they stand tall above all other winter blooms. Amaryllis is also a Greek name which means 'to sparkle', ‘sparkle’, ‘shine’.

Funnily enough, Kyra’s name also has Greek origins! And while they do differ in meaning when it comes to their shared origin language, Kyra’s name also means ‘sparkle’ and ‘shine’ in Japanese!

The flower itself symbolizes the idea that beauty can bloom from pain, and it often serves as a metaphor for inner strength and resilience.

The amaryllis is frequently associated with strength and determination, largely because it can bloom in the colder months when many other plants are dormant. Its tall, strong stems and large flowers make it a symbol of overcoming obstacles and standing tall in the face of adversity. In this context, it is often given to individuals who are facing challenges to symbolize perseverance and inner strength.

In the Victorian era, the language of flowers (known as floriography), was a popular means of communication, where different flowers conveyed specific messages. In floriography, the amaryllis stands for pride, beauty, and strength, aligning with its mythological and cultural symbolism.

When given as a gift, an amaryllis flower might convey the message that the recipient is admired for their inner beauty and strength. It celebrates an individual's unique qualities, making it appropriate for someone who exudes confidence, grace, and resilience.

Gardenia (Peonies)

I love you secretly, unspoken words

Because of their clean white petals, gardenias symbolize purity, refinement, innocence, harmony, and gentleness.

One of their lesser-known meanings is that of a secret or unknown love. Gardenias are a thoughtful way to express that you care about someone, even if it hasn't yet been expressed verbally.

Hibiscus

represents transient beauty and the importance of living in the moment. The hibiscus flower blooms for a short time, often just one day, reminding us of the impermanence of life and the need to cherish every moment.

In Victorian times, giving a hibiscus meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty.

the hibiscus is linked to grace, femininity, and delicacy. It is often associated with romantic appeal, particularly in cultures where the flower is worn as a symbol of attraction or love. The Hibiscus encourages mindfulness and appreciation for the present, with the end goal of reminding people of the transitory beauty of nature and time.

Mountain Laurel

Perserverance and achievement

The mountain laurel is also associated with ambition. The Greeks would present a wreath of laurel to poets, athletes, and war heroes as a mark of great achievement.

the mountain laurel was chosen as the state flower of Pennsylvania due to its unique beauty and profusion. This plant, which is native to Pennsylvania, thrives in the state's mountains and forests, showcasing the incredible natural resources of the region. Its adaptability to a variety of environments symbolizes the tenacity and resolve of the neighborhood.

I also mainly chose it due to its unique appearance, and Kyra loved unique looking stuff hehe

Dahlias (Pink Silk)

The dahlia is Mexico's national flower, and it represents pride, inner strength, elegance, kindness, uniqueness, embracing positive change, beauty, and creativity.

Spiritually, the name represents inner strength, positive change, and commitment. The name elegantly symbolized beauty, freedom, and love.

dahlia flowers symbolize beauty, commitment, and kindness. They're also tied to steadfastness due to their ability to bloom after many other flowers have died.

Delphinums

The meaning of delphiniums is generally accepted as 'big hearted'. White and pink represent new life and the power of youth.

Delphinium meanings include openness to new experiences and overall positivity. Delphiniums symbolize cheerfulness and goodwill, as well as a protective plant. Delphiniums are used to communicate encouragement and joy, as well as remembering loved ones who have passed.

Skeleton Flower

The flower's change from opaque to clear symbolizes shedding past identities and revealing one's true self.

The Skeleton Flower, known for its delicate beauty, has inspired numerous stories and myths across various cultures. Often viewed as a symbol of resilience, it represents the beauty that can emerge from adversity. In art and literature, the Skeleton Flower frequently appears as a motif of purity and transformation.

The skeleton flower holds a notable place in Asian history and culture. Celebrated for not only their beauty but especially for their unique transformation, they often symbolize the balance between life and death.

the Skeleton Flower also serves as a powerful symbol of resilience and personal growth.

The flower’s captivating appearance and remarkable adaptation serve as a reminder that beauty and resilience can coexist, even in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Begonias

Hope of life. It's the reminder that no matter how bad something is, no matter how sad it is, life is always right there, renewing itself along with you. It's a reminder that there's always an opportunity to start over. Individuality and standing out from the crowd

Despite a historical association with warning, begonias symbolize gratitude, respect, understanding, and forgiveness.

Traditionally, this flower is as a symbol of warning. It is a way to tell someone that they needed to watch their backs. The begonia wasn’t necessarily a threat, but instead a gesture that things aren’t always as they seem.

A begonia can mean understanding, and even forgiveness.

Habenaria Radiata (White Egres Orchid)

represents purity, grace of the soul, and good intentions.

looks like a dove teehee

“My thoughts will follow you into your dreams.”

In Japan, the 'White Egret' Orchid (Habenaria radiata) is admired not only for its beauty but also for its symbolism of grace, purity, and the return of summer.

the egret symbolism too focuses on being at peace with oneself and the world, being in a state of balance and calmness throughout.

Lily Of The Valley

Funfact! Since Kyra’s birth month is May, the Lily Of The Valley is her birth flower!!

Lilies of the valley symbolize rebirth, purity, youth, and happiness.

The lily of the valley means return of happiness in the Victorian language of flowers.

Chinese Peony

Peony petals are edible. Yeah. I just thought it’d be funny to include an edible plant in Kyra’s bouquet. Is that not hilarious

In China and Japan, peonies mean 'king of flowers', and are used in important holidays like Chinese New Year. They are also known to symbolise wealth, because for a really long time only Chinese emperors used peonies. But really I just thought they were pretty HEHEHEHE

This is the ONLY flower I chose because it was pretty PLS ….. Kyra would hate me for this I fear HELP (in my defense it looks like her ..)

Lilium Casa Blanca

The Lilium Casa Blanca symbolizes celebration. It also symbolizes eternal beauty and elegance.

Beyond purity, white lilies also represent hope, remembrance, and the promise of a fresh start.

Pink and White lillies symbolize compassion and admiration.

Nelumbo Nucifera

The lotus flower symbolizes rising from a dark place into beauty and rebirth, as this is precisely how a lotus flower grows.

It symbolizes the realization of inner potential.

In the classical written and oral literature of many Asian cultures the lotus is present in figurative form, representing elegance, beauty, perfection, purity and grace, being often used in poems and songs as an allegory for ideal feminine attributes.

All symbolism associated with the lotus seems to be positive and in the vein of being a good person and finding meaning in life.

[thefandomsfervent]

JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 24) - Raw Umber

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

not that I'm losing steam with this fic, but it has inpsired so many other things that i want to write too. Would y'all want other fics? I have other fics. Not written but they're up there. floating in my mind. This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

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You had shocked yourself saying you’d go, the heat of the moment and your own thoughts getting to you. Even more shocked when it seemed like Viktor had changed his mind on going a couple days after. A few days have passed since then.

Piltover lived for its socialite opportunities. Parties, dinners, galas, events, parades, and even luncheons were ever present in the calendar year. You were well aware of the expectations set for each occasion, and of how lacking your wardrobe was for it. Now you have around two weeks to find suitable attire. That itself wouldn’t be a problem if you hadn’t just placed a supply order. Whatever funds you may have had for a new dress or jewelry would be shipped in the form of oil paints and new brushes. You had dresses from gallery showings at the Institute, some old faithfuls hung in the back of your closet. “One of them would have to do.” With that you try to push all the wandering thoughts away.  

You take in the empty lab. Jayce was gone today, helping out with the forge. And it was still early enough in the day that Viktor was still recovering from whatever late night musings kept him up. No time to waste then. Despite it feeling like Spring had just started, Summer was looming above. And that meant that Autumn and Winter would follow suit. Your paints were drying fairly quickly in the heat but on humid rainy days it would set you back days, and the winter cold would mean that it may take a week for layers to dry. Today was a perfect day, the air was still and warm. Your washes of color didn’t take long at all to settle on the canvas. Purple, yellow, green, pink. Thin layers to color skin, thicker strokes of pale and tan flesh, blocking out arms and hands. Their faces were still unpainted, focusing on their hands and their clothes.

When it came time to finally realize their faces on the canvas, you wanted to make sure you’d be uninterrupted. You were considering even taking the whole painting back to your studio to work on it then. That would be then, and this was now. 

Right now you were in your element, breaking it all down into colors and shapes. Hands were easiest to deal with when you weren’t stuck on making them be hands, but connected shapes. Shapes can be shaded for depth, definition given with the context of what was around them. Long fingers were broken down into rectangles and rounded corners, diagonal angles and warm tones. Shifting between tinges of blue and green, purple and yellow. Red and Pink on knuckles, knuckles were just cut circles. The meat of a hand was an oval, a trapezoid, barely there veins were carefully lined to curve into wrists. Shapes and colors could be attributed to many things. To create form. An image. To build something from the ground up whether that was two or three-dimensional. And it could show temperature. States of matter. Emotion. 

Warmth was soft, it could be an orange glow from a candle flame, it could be the plush lining of a jacket. It could be the way hands held their tools, held each other. It could be shown in the richness of all hues of the Academy outfits that needed detailing next. Trading a flat wash brush for a thin liner, switching gears to focus on the details of shirt cuffs. 

“Wow.” You jump, the paintbrush dropping to the ground with a clatter. It rolls away from your station and you turn to follow its trail. When it stops at a pair of black boots your eyes shift to the source of your startling. A familiar face and that gap toothed grin greeting you with a small wave.  

“Oh gods, Jayce” You turn back to the painting. You’d gotten one hand done for each of them, where they were in a neutral light between the night and day sides of the work. 

“You’re easy to scare. Have you ever noticed that?” He says it with a laugh, he sounds tired. His steps are slow and heavy behind you. 

“Maybe I’m too busy getting scared to see the pattern.” The words come out in a huff, but you smile in thanks when he hands you the paintbrush over your shoulder. Now that you’ve settled you’re able to focus. Oh, well now your heart was beating too fast for an entirely different reason. You’d seen him come back before, sweaty brow and his clothes covered in soot. But this was… different. “I thought you were working at the Forge today?” The paintbrush in your hand gestures to his attire, and lack thereof. 

Same black boots being the only familiar attire to you. Brown pants that were similar to the Academy uniform. A brace-like toolbelt hugging his waist tightly. And then, nothing. No shirt. Just soot-splotches on skin and those elbow high gloves. His hair is tousled in a way you haven’t seen before, sticky to his forehead. You weren’t sure how far the forge was, but you were wondering how far he had to walk to get here. Run even, if he was as tired as you thought. 

“I was! But then I had an idea for Hextech and-” His eyes look around the lab. “Viktor isn’t in yet?” You don’t miss the slump in his shoulders, despite how small it was. A shake of the head is all you can give him, trying to catch your words, and make your eyes stay on his face. Having drawn him for as long as you had, you knew his proportions were insane. But this was just rude. The difference between his shoulders and his waist, especially with that belt on, was insane. You could probably pass off any lingering stares with that excuse. If it weren’t for the blush that you felt warming your cheeks. 

“You wouldn’t want to lose track of it. He’ll be here eventually.” You try to keep your voice even while gesturing to the chalkboard behind them, Viktor had cleared it sometime last night after copying down notes. A whole space for Jayce to work on. He smiles before clapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. It was heavier than usual, the insulated leather a thick press. The smell of oil and charcoal was not foreign to you, but they looked different here. Smelt different on him. He’s already going to the board, taking the gloves off to reveal a stark line of dirt and skin. 

“This cannot be fair.” A reward and a punishment dangling in front of you. Self indulgent stares at his broad back or returning to the bliss of full force work. Jayce seemed to be doing the latter, books propped open on the ledge for reference. The soft scraping of chalk on the board and excited mutterings, circles and lines, runes and words, arrows and numbers. In the span of maybe 10 minutes he had filled half the board with words you couldn’t quite decipher. As he reached across to scribble his theories the skin of his back was pulled taut, the muscles there were defined. Visible. A part of you wonders how they would feel under your fingertips, the movement and the power. Another part of you wishes you were bold enough to ask to draw him. Not that you couldn’t now, but for a real figure study. His physique was an anatomical study dream. 

Enough ogling. Jayce was working, deeply and with vigor. You should be doing the same. The cuffs needed some detailing, even if it was not nearly as entertaining. 

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Admittedly, Jayce did want to go to the gala. There were many days that he wanted to be at the lab or the forge or his bed more than anything else, but when you first came here Heimerdinger mentioned something that Jayce couldn’t let go. “You boys will be doing more dinners and speeches and galas and the like. It comes with the territory.” Anxiety was a feeling he wasn’t unfamiliar with. The thought of having to watch every interaction he makes? Every decision? It filled him with dread. This may be one of the last times he and Viktor could go out, and now as a couple, without too many prying eyes. The idea only became more enticing when you said that you’d like to go. Imagining you in some delicious draping gown, or would you prefer a tighter dress that revealed your thighs and arms? The sight of you and Viktor both in finery that daily wear didn’t require might make his heart beat out of his chest. An energy he would gladly redirect to more physical work. 

There was something about the Forge that relaxed him. A completely different process from the equations of the lab. Helping out in the Forge was easy because the team there knew he was skilled enough to handle almost anything that they could throw at him. It was especially helpful during Holiday seasons. Things were slow at the Academy and he would grow restless with nothing to do. Making gifts and construction orders was an easy way to stay busy. Today Jayce started out on a bulk order, early enough in the day that there weren’t many people there. It quickly devolved into new prototypes for the lab, and that turned into thinking about the lab. About Hextech. In his own station there was no paper to write down on. He was able to stave off some of the racing thoughts by stealing the back of old order papers, but eventually there was no more room in the margins. And before he knew it he was running across Piltover desperate to cling onto the ideas in his head before he lost them. 

Practically bursting into the lab, eyes wide, holding on to several quickly loosening mental threads. The chalkboard was empty. Good! Great! An empty base, more movement, no need to turn pages that filled too quickly and then having to flip back for references. In the lab there was also you, working on your painting. The morning light filtering through the window, you were hunched in a position that could not be comfortable. He walks closer. Eyes laser-focused onto the canvas in front of you, hand slowly moving across the hands you were bringing to life. You looked intense and gentle, a soft smile on your lips. Humming some tune he didn’t recognize. He didn’t mean to speak, but the moment was so unique. Often there was not an opportunity to admire you without your noticing, without flustering you. 

Suddenly you whorl around, your paintbrush on the ground. All the stillness is catching up to Jayce, he’s tired. Having pushed himself at the Forge, pushed himself to run, and now? Now he needed to work. Viktor may not be there to bounce ideas off of but he could work without his partner for now. Still, he catches your eyes and blush. He is no stranger to being stared at. It fluffs up his ego for a minute, and if he wasn’t so ready to get to work he would have gladly pushed the moment. Seen if he could get you to admit what you were looking at. If you were looking for anything. Now is not the time for distractions, as delicious as they may be. 

Jayce moves his attention to the board.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 23.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

[ruthbancroftgarden]

Kalanchoe marnieriana

Not all of the species in Kalanchoe come from Madagascar, but that is where many of them originate, including Kalanchoe marnieriana. It has paddle-like leaves that stack up neatly, with a pale green color that sometimes gets pink-tinged, so it always looks good, buth the glossy orange flowers and pink sepals really put on a show at this time of year. Kalanchoe is a genus in the Crassulaceae, or Stonecrop Family.

-Brian

[ikkyfics]

Paint Me Yours

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.

Warnings: fluffy, language, veteran!reader/freshman!Dave(two years difference), suggestive, college au, first kiss, no use of y/n

A/N: I know that each uni has its own hazing, but here is what happened at mine - a paint bath to celebrate approval

My dear love @gingerteafairy, thank you very much for giving me this idea, I hope you like it <333

Masterlist

You would be the death of Dave, and honestly, he’d die happy. It was a little embarrassing how often he caught himself thinking about you—the way you smiled, brighter than the fucking Sun itself, or how you always smelled like a field of flowers. He knew he was doomed the moment he laid eyes on you.

It was the first day of university, and he was a little lost—okay, very lost, actually. The campus was huge, and there were so many people that the place looked like an anthill. That’s when you appeared, dazzling, and asked if he was one of the freshmen. Dave needed a second or two before he stammered out a yes, watching your smile widen before you started guiding him.

During the welcome party organized by the upperclassmen, Dave could barely take his eyes off you—off your pretty mouth. The way you smiled while answering other freshmen’s questions. At some point, your gaze landed on him—maybe you’d felt his eyes boring into you—and your lips curved into a smile. Dave looked around, unsure if that smile was actually meant for him, but then you laughed, saying goodbye to the people around you before walking toward him.

“Hi,” you greeted, that smile still wrapped around your lips. “Dave, right?”

He nodded, feeling his heart stumble, not trusting his own voice to respond. He barely noticed he’d been holding his breath when you bit your lip, and God, what wouldn’t he give to be the one to do that? They looked so soft and plump—he suspected they were sweet, too.

“Are you enjoying the party?”

Dave blinked, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of your words. “Uh… yeah, sure. Everything looks great.” He wanted to slap himself. Damn it, fighting criminals was fine, but talking to a pretty girl? Impossible.

You didn’t seem to mind his lack of tact, though. In fact, you looked amused. “I’m glad,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”

Was it too soon to reveal that he wouldn’t shut up when it came to something he liked? Probably, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “Depends. I can be exhausting sometimes.”

A laugh bubbled from your lips, and he knew he could start rambling if it meant hearing that laugh again. “That’s a little hard to believe.”

Dave stared at you, lips parted in surprise. No, that definitely wasn’t flirting. Absolutely not. Or was it?

Before he could respond, you quickly changed the subject. “You should grab one of the donuts before they’re gone, you know? You’ve barely moved from that corner since you got here.”

“You, uh… noticed me?”

You paused for a moment, as if only now realizing what you’d said. But the surprise on your face was quickly replaced with a relaxed expression.

“I kind of have to. It’s part of my job as an upperclassman, you know—guiding freshmen and all that. So, have you tried one yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, we need to fix that right now. Come on,” you said, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the table where the donuts were. You handed him one with pink frosting and colorful sprinkles, your eyes shining with anticipation. “Try it.”

He raised his hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the donut. Maybe he blushed under the intensity of your gaze—just maybe. When he took a bite, he closed his eyes, letting out a hum of approval. The dough was soft, and the frosting was perfect.

Your smile widened, if that was even possible. “So?”

Dave opened his eyes, finding you leaning closer to him. He drank in your image—the way the light illuminated your eyes, the soft curve of your mouth, how painfully beautiful you were. He wondered if you could hear his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“I think it’s pretty girl—” His eyes widened as he realized what he’d said. “Good! Pretty good. I think it’s pretty good.”

He didn’t dare look up. What the hell was wrong with him? Christ, why couldn’t he act like a normal person?

Hearing the soft sound of your laughter, he exhaled deeply, lifting his gaze hesitantly, only to find a playful smile dancing on your pretty mouth. The weight on his shoulders lifted slightly at your reaction. Okay, so maybe he hadn’t ruined everything just yet.

“Dave,” you said, shaking your head slightly as you tried to stifle your laughter, “you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Almost reflexively, a sheepish smile curved his lips. “Sometimes.”

From that first encounter, Dave Lizewski knew he was screwed.

The weeks that followed were a blur. He kept himself busy trying to adapt to his new reality, but every time he crossed paths with you on campus, it was like being struck by lightning.

You always smiled at him, asking one question or another, which Dave took forever to answer because he was too distracted admiring you. He became especially distracted when you wore those spaghetti-strap tops that highlighted your bust. Marty once jokingly told him to wipe the drool off his face while he watched you from across the hallway.

Today had been surprisingly light. There were still a few hours until sunset, and classes had ended a few minutes ago. Dave was walking among the other students in his class, heading out of the building, when he noticed the murmurs around him. He pulled out one of his earbuds, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he tried to catch snippets of the conversation.

"Did you hear? There's a stash of paint in the lockers," someone said, and it didn’t take long for the other person to reply with a smirk, “I think today’s the day. I mean, it’s been almost a month since classes started.”

But it wasn’t until Dave reached the entrance of the building that he realized what was about to happen. The upperclassmen were gathered, and there was a dizzying amount of tempera paint in sight.

However, that wasn’t what caught his attention. You were there, radiant as always, but today you looked like you were ready to give him a heart attack. The only things covering your body were shorts and a thin top. He swallowed hard as his eyes lingered on your legs, on how soft they looked. It wasn’t hard to imagine how it would feel to settle between them. The image popped into his mind as clear as the waters of a pristine lake. You riding him, your face clouded with pleasure, the sounds you would make. The intensity of the thought made him blush, and he quickly buried his indecent ideas before they caused trouble in his pants.

You, oblivious to his thoughts, continued organizing some of the paint. The memory of your own hazing was still fresh in your mind. It had been epic—there was no other word for it. You didn’t have to think twice before agreeing to do the same for the freshmen.

Hearing the commotion, your eyes lifted just in time to catch sight of Dave. A small smile curved your lips without your permission. That was the effect he had on you, one you were definitely fighting against. He was a freshman, probably two years younger than you, and you had never been with a younger guy before.

The very thought brought a feeling of unease.

But it would be a lie to say he hadn’t been occupying your thoughts more frequently. It was hard—impossible—not to be drawn to those eyes, as bright as sapphires, and those dark curls that constantly fell over his forehead. They were adorable. How many times had your fingers itched with the urge to push them back from his handsome face?

And it wasn’t as though you didn’t know you had some effect on him. It wasn’t arrogance—Dave just wasn’t very discreet. He always blushed and seemed to struggle to find the right words. It was genuinely cute.

Without thinking, you headed toward him.

Dave didn’t notice you approaching right away. He was too busy trying to act casual, which only made him look even more awkward, staring at the ground, his earbuds now hanging around his neck. But when he finally sensed your presence, his whole body tensed, as if the air around him had turned into static electricity.

“Hi, Dave.” Your voice was soft but carried something he couldn’t quite place—a warmth that made his stomach flip with nerves—and something else he didn’t want to name.

He looked up, and seeing you so close rendered him momentarily speechless. The late afternoon sun lit up your face, highlighting every detail—the curve of your lashes, the soft shape of your lips, the delicate line of your jaw. It was impossible not to be captivated.

“Hi,” he finally managed to mumble, his voice rougher than he would’ve liked.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes locked on his with a playful glint. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He tried to smile but ended up with something awkward instead. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I mean, you just showed up out of nowhere.”

“Did I?” You laughed, and the sound seemed to echo inside him. “Or maybe you were just distracted.” Your voice lowered slightly on the last word, almost as if you were teasing him. And it worked. Dave felt his face heat up instantly.

Without hurry, you took a step closer, invading his personal space. “Are you staying for the hazing?”

He blinked, surprised, his eyebrows rising. “Hazing? Uh… I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.”

You raised an eyebrow, your smile turning into something that looked like a challenge. “Oh, come on, are you really going to tell me you’re not joining? It’s nothing scary, I promise.” Your voice was persuasive, carrying something that made him want to say “yes” to anything you asked.

He hesitated for a moment, but something in the way you looked at him—like you were challenging him, but with a sweetness that made him want to impress you—made him nod. “Alright. What do I have to do?”

“First,” you started, pointing to the small group of freshmen gathered a little ahead, “leave your backpack over there with the others. You won’t need it right now.”

Dave followed your gaze and saw the other freshmen dropping their bags near a makeshift bench, some already with their arms and faces painted in bright colors. They were laughing, exchanging jokes, their energy light and full of the excitement of new beginnings. Dave sighed, adjusting the strap on his shoulder before finally moving to do the same. He placed his backpack down carefully, as if the act itself carried more significance than it seemed—a small gesture of belonging.

When he came back to you, he seemed more relaxed, but you couldn’t ignore his posture. It was hard not to notice—the way his shoulders stayed square, his arms defined even without him trying to show them off. He was fit, very fit, and you found the words a little harder to get out as you tried not to make it too obvious. Still, the idea of touching him, even under the innocent pretense of the prank, made your heart beat a little faster.

“You’re going to need to take off your jacket,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady even as your heart pounded in your chest.

Dave hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded, unzipping it slowly, the sound of the metal seeming louder than necessary in the silence between you. He shrugged the jacket off his shoulders with a natural ease that felt almost rehearsed, folding it carefully before setting it on a nearby bench. The white shirt underneath seemed simple at first glance, but now, with him more exposed, you noticed how perfectly it fit him—highlighting his chest and arms in a way that made it impossible to look away.

“Do I need to roll up the sleeves too?” he asked, already pulling one sleeve up to his elbow before you could respond.

You only managed to nod, pretending to be deeply focused on grabbing the paint. But it was impossible not to notice his movements—the firm way his fingers gripped the fabric, the casual way he folded each side, leaving his forearms exposed. And oh, those forearms. The muscles flexed slightly with each fold. Heat rose to your face, and you quickly lowered your eyes, forcing yourself to focus, clearing your throat.

“Green,” you blurted out suddenly, as if the words slipped out without thinking. He stopped, looking at you with a curious expression.

“What?”

“Green suits you,” you explained, gesturing toward the row of paints. Your voice came out firmer than you expected, but the truth was that having him so close was starting to mess with your ability to form complete sentences.

Dave raised an eyebrow, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. “Does it? Why?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “It just does. I’d guess you belong in Slytherin.”

He frowned, feigning indignation. “Slytherin? Are you serious?”

You laughed, enjoying the playful tone in his voice. “Yes.”

“I’m definitely a Gryffindor, for your information,” he replied, crossing his arms, though the amused curve of his lips remained. “Lions are better than snakes.”

“Oh, I see.” You laughed again, grabbing the pot of green paint and carefully opening it. “But today, you’re going to be a Slytherin, sweetheart.”

He smiled, but you could see the faint flush creeping up his ears, something that made him look even more endearing. Would he mind if his cheeks were bitten? You blinked, forcing that thought away.

“Now stay still,” you said, dipping your fingers into the cool paint. “I’ll start with your arms.”

Dave obeyed, keeping still, but you could feel his full attention on you. Your fingers touched his skin, sliding carefully as you began drawing soft lines and delicate strokes along his forearm. The warm texture of his skin contrasted with the fresh paint, and you lost yourself for a moment in the simple act of tracing each curve.

He was quiet, but you could feel his breathing change—slightly heavier, as if he was aware of every touch. When you glanced up to check if he was okay, you realized he was looking too. Not at his arm, but at you.

His gaze was intense, his blue eyes fixed on your face for a few seconds before dropping, almost accidentally, to the neckline of your shirt. The movement was so quick that he blinked, shifting his focus back to his arm, but the blush rising to his cheeks was impossible to miss.

“I... uh, you’re pretty detail-oriented, huh?” he tried, his voice slightly lower than before.

You smiled, feeling the heat rise to your face too. “I like to do things properly. Now your forehead.”

He blinked, surprised. “My forehead?”

“It’s a prank, Dave,” you replied, laughing. “The arms are just the beginning. Come here.”

He tilted his head hesitantly, letting you get closer. Your fingers were covered in paint, and as you began to glide the tip along the contours of his forehead, you realized just how close you were—so close you could catch the subtle scent of his cologne, something warm and woodsy.

The silence between you grew heavy, charged with something that felt electric. Each breath seemed synchronized, every move you made met with his gaze. When you finished the drawing, your fingers lingered, still lightly brushing against his skin. It was Dave who broke the silence, laughing softly.

“Now that you're officially painted, I think you're ready to be a proper freshman,” you joked, trying to ease the tension hanging between you.

You stepped back, tilting your head to evaluate your work. He already had some green marks scattered across his arms and forehead, but somehow, he still looked surprisingly... neat. That wouldn’t last long, of course.

“Time for a picture,” you said, raising your phone. “We need to capture this ‘tidy’ phase,” you explained, stifling a laugh. “Because soon, my friend, you’ll be unrecognizable.”

He chuckled, a bit shyly, and nodded. “Alright.”

You winked, adjusting the angle of your phone. He stood there with a small, reserved smile, proudly displaying the name of his course and the university's initials, but with an ease so natural that you didn’t need to ask for anything else. “Look here,” you directed, snapping the photo. “This one’s good. Now, give me a serious face or something.”

He attempted a more serious pose, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow, but the effect was ruined when he started laughing—soft and full of life.

“You’re terrible at this, you know that?” you teased, laughing along. “Alright, last one. Just smile this time.”

He complied, and this time his smile was brighter, more carefree—something so genuine you already knew it would be your favorite. “Done. Immortalized.”

“Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” he said, still smiling.

Before you could respond, one of the upperclassmen clapped loudly to grab everyone’s attention. “Alright, freshmen! Everyone, listen up!”

Dave turned toward the voice, and you used the moment to pocket your phone, staying close as the upperclassman explained what would happen next.

“Now that you’ve all been properly christened, it’s time for the fun part of initiation. Everyone is going to form a line, holding hands, and we’re going to walk from here to the main engineering building over there,” he pointed to a building about a 15-minute walk away, “leaving a trail of paint behind us. Along the way, we’re going to throw paint at you. A lot of paint. And just so you know: if any of you freshmen try to fight back, you’ll get an extra soaking. Got it?”

The freshmen murmured their agreement, some chuckling nervously. Beside you, Dave seemed amused, his easy smile firmly in place. That was when you realized your role was about to begin: as an upperclassman, your job wasn’t just to watch—it was to dive into the colorful chaos and make sure no one got out unscathed.

You turned to him, a playful glint in your eye. “You know, Dave, I think you should take your glasses off.”

He blinked, surprised. “Take my glasses off? Why?”

“Trust me,” you said, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “The paint will get everywhere, and you don’t want to ruin the lenses.”

He hesitated, clearly unconvinced. Then, with a sigh, he slowly removed his glasses and handed them to you. “Fine. But if I trip over someone, it’s your fault.”

You laughed, holding the glasses carefully. “I’ll guide you, don’t worry. Can you still see anything?” Your voice came out softer than you intended, almost with genuine concern.

Dave tilted his head, that small smile appearing again. “I think I can... enough to know you’re still there.”

Your laugh was a bit nervous, but you covered it by glancing away. “Well, that’s enough.”

He laughed too, that light sound contagious. And before you could respond, the upperclassmen started moving, organizing the freshmen into a line. “Take good care of those,” he said, pointing to his glasses. “I’m trusting you.”

“You can trust me,” you replied, waving the glasses before stepping away.

Dave joined the line of freshmen, falling into place among them. You watched as he took the hands of two other students, looking both relaxed and a little eager. The upperclassmen began circling the group, armed with bottles and squirt guns filled with colorful paint.

“Alright, everyone!” one of the upperclassmen yelled, a mischievous grin on his face. “No mercy!”

You grabbed your improvised weapon—a bottle filled with vibrant blue paint—and walked alongside the freshmen, your eyes inevitably searching for him in the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him; it was as if your eyes were drawn to him naturally. His smile was still there, as if he was genuinely enjoying the impending chaos.

Music started playing—something upbeat and lively from a portable speaker someone had brought. It was the perfect soundtrack for the moment, and you couldn’t help but laugh as the energetic rhythm set the tone.

As the group began to move, the upperclassmen launched their attack. Paint flew in every direction, splattering onto laughing freshmen who tried—and failed—to dodge the colorful assault. You aimed for Dave, squeezing your bottle and hitting him square on the shoulder. He stopped, pretending to look offended as he laughed.

“You did that on purpose!” he accused, pointing at you, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Of course I did!” you shot back, unable to stop laughing. “What, you thought I’d spare you?”

He shook his head, still grinning, and kept walking. But you weren’t done yet. At every opportunity, you squirted more paint at him, streaking blue and green across his arms and back. Other upperclassmen joined in, but you got the sense that he was far more aware of your attacks than anyone else’s.

The soundtrack kept playing as the group moved forward slowly, everyone fully immersed in the fun. Dave, now almost unrecognizable with the amount of paint covering his hair and clothes, still seemed to be having more fun than anyone else. But amidst the chaos of colors and laughter, something glimmered in his eyes—a kind of challenge. Before you could prepare yourself, he took two quick steps toward you, his paint-covered hand reaching straight for your arm.

"Dave!" you exclaimed, trying to step back, but it was already too late.

His fingers left a streak of green paint across the light fabric of your shirt, staining it mercilessly. You froze, staring at the mark with a skeptical expression, then at him, who was unsuccessfully trying to hide his mischievous grin.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," you said, disbelief dripping from your voice. "I loved this shirt."

"Oops," he replied, with the most insincere tone of regret you’d ever heard, raising his hands in a gesture that didn’t convince anyone. "But hey, I think green suits you, too."

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms as you glared at him. "Are you serious, Dave?"

Before he could answer, a nearby upperclassman noticed what had happened and raised their voice, laughing. "Hey, everyone! Looks like we’ve got a bold one here!"

That was enough to grab the attention of all the other upperclassmen around. In seconds, it seemed like everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at Dave, who now seemed a little less confident—but surprisingly, no less amused.

"Retaliation, huh?" someone shouted, already starting to fill a bucket with a deadly mix of paints. "This won’t go unpunished!"

You took a step back, watching the scene unfold. Dave opened his mouth to protest but didn’t have time. The first splash of paint came from the left, hitting him square on the shoulder. Then, it was as if the heavens had opened, but instead of rain, there were buckets, bottles, and tubes of paint being thrown at him from every direction. Red, blue, yellow, pink, green, purple—a whirlwind of colors determined to turn him into a walking masterpiece.

You stood there with your arms crossed, watching as the upperclassmen laughed and shouted, the background music amplifying the chaos. Dave, however, seemed… completely unfazed. He raised his hands in surrender, but the grin was still there—a wide, bright smile as if he was having way too much fun.

When an entire bucket of blue paint was dumped straight over his head, he shook his hair, sending splatters everywhere—including onto you. "Seriously, Dave?!" you complained, but the laughter in your voice betrayed the fact that you weren’t really upset.

He wiped the excess paint dripping down his forehead and looked at you through the chaos. His smile was different now, a little softer but just as captivating as before. "Worth it," he said simply, as if the storm of paint had been a small price to pay.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that slipped through. "You’re impossible."

He shrugged, finally extending his hands to the sides, as if accepting defeat with dignity. "Maybe. But at least I’m not the only one covered in paint now."

The group, a walking rainbow, finally reached the other building, still laughing and making comments about their utterly destroyed—but hilarious—appearances. Clothes that had once been normal were now completely unrecognizable, and many people’s hair dripped paint like oversized brushes. You couldn’t help but laugh as you noticed how Dave seemed to lead the pack of the most wrecked ones, completely covered from head to toe.

"I look like an exploded paint can," someone commented, eliciting even more laughter from the group.

The upperclassmen began organizing everyone for a group photo. "Come on, everyone! I want to see everyone squeezed in here!" one of them shouted, waving a red paint tube like a microphone.

Dave laughed beside you, leaning in to whisper, "I think there’s still time to escape."

"You’re the last person who can say that," you shot back, glancing sideways at him. He was drenched in paint, but his eyes sparkled brighter than ever, and something about the way he smiled made your stomach flip in that uncomfortable—but addicting—way.

The freshmen started lining up, bumping into each other and trying to find space in the tight group. You ended up being pushed to the front, practically pressed against Dave as he positioned himself behind you. "Looks like this is going to be pretty snug," he remarked.

"That’s the spirit of teamwork," you replied, trying to maintain your composure, though you were very aware of how close he was.

"Teamwork, huh?" he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice without even looking.

Just as the photographer positioned themselves, you felt movement right behind you, and before you could process it, Dave’s arm slid around your waist. It was a gentle touch, almost casual, but the way he did it—firm yet hesitant, as if waiting for your reaction—made your heart race.

You looked at him, surprised. “Dave…” you began, but your voice got lost amidst the chaos around you. He looked back at you, the smile still on his face, but now there was something different—an intensity in his eyes, a glimmer that seemed to say more than any words could.

“Just to make room for everyone,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. You weren’t sure if it was because of the noise or the way he seemed to look directly at you, ignoring the rest of the world entirely.

You tried to think of anything relevant to say, but your mind was a complete blur, the words tangling together as he stayed so close. The touch of his arm around your waist was a constant reminder, a warm pressure that sent shivers through your skin, even under the layer of paint covering you both.

Someone shouted, “Smile!” and you forced a grin for the camera, even though your thoughts were far from where they should be. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Dave lean slightly forward, and his closeness was overwhelming. He smelled faintly of paint mixed with something uniquely him, and it was ridiculous that you were noticing that at such a moment.

When the photo was finally taken, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Dave, still with his arm around your waist, looked at you with a satisfied smile. “I think this will be a photo to remember,” he said, his voice low, and the way he looked at you almost made your knees buckle.

“I hope you’re right,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but the weakness in your voice gave everything away.

As the photo group began to break apart, the laughter faded. A few freshmen tried unsuccessfully to scrub the paint out of their hair and clothes, while others seemed resigned to heading home in their messy state. You watched the scene unfold, the sound of footsteps and chatter echoing through the space. The energetic buzz of the event still lingered, but exhaustion was beginning to creep in.

Dave stood near you, a mix of tiredness and contentment on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, now stiff from the paint, and let out a soft laugh. “I think it’s going to take me two weeks in the shower to get all of this off.”

You laughed, reaching for your bag and unzipping it. “I think you’ll need more than that. But luckily, I came prepared.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, as you pulled out a small packet of wet wipes. “It’s not going to fix this entire disaster,” you said, holding it up for him, “but it’ll help with the basics. Here.”

He looked at you, his smile widening. “Are you always this prepared, or is this just for me?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re full of jokes today, huh?”

He chuckled but didn’t take the wipes from your hand. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if challenging you. “So, are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there holding that?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing at the way he was looking at you—direct, playful, but with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Fine, but stay still and cooperate.”

He took a small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. Dave lowered his head slightly, making it easier for you to reach his face. Your hands were steady as you pulled out a wipe, but the same couldn’t be said for your heartbeat, which pounded wildly as you leaned in.

The first touch was light, almost hesitant, but soon you were carefully wiping away the streaks of paint from his forehead. His skin was warm under the wipe, and you could feel every tiny movement as he stayed still, his eyes fixed on you.

“Does this hurt?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

“No,” he replied, his tone rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “If anything, it’s the opposite.”

You tried to ignore the weight of his words, but it was impossible. Each second seemed to stretch the space between you. Your fingers, holding the wipe, brushed lightly against the side of his face, and he took a deep breath, as if steadying himself.

His eyes never left yours, and there was something about the vibrant blue that made you feel lost, as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. “You’re all cleaned up now,” you murmured, but you didn’t step away.

“Am I?” he asked, a small smile playing on his lips, as if he knew more than he was letting on. “Because I think there’s a spot here…” He pointed to his cheek, though it felt more like an excuse to keep you close.

You laughed softly but obliged, wiping the spot he indicated. “There. Happy?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and when you finally found the courage to look at him again, the smile had disappeared, replaced by something deeper. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was filled with everything that wasn’t being said.

His hand rose for a moment, almost as if it were going to touch yours, but then stopped halfway, falling back to his side. “I am. Quite a bit.”

You felt the weight of his words, the raw honesty hanging in the air like a thick, tangible cloud. That I am seemed to hold more than he was willing to say out loud. His breath was heavy, not from the physical effort of the day, but from the tension that seemed to pulse between you like a rope about to snap.

Without thinking much, as if your fingers had a life of their own, you brought a hand to his face again. His hair was messy and still wet with paint, some strands stuck to his forehead, others falling to the side, blocking your view of his eyes. “Stay still,” you murmured, almost apologetically, as you brushed the wet strands back carefully.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if the simple touch of your fingers was enough to disarm him. When he opened his eyes again, there was something different in them, something more intense, more vulnerable.

You took a deep breath, and before you could hesitate, you began to clean the paint still staining his jawline, your fingers gliding along the strong line of his jaw. The texture of his skin under the wet wipe, warm and slightly rough, made your stomach twist in ways you couldn’t control.

“Do you have any idea how much you got dirty today?” you tried to say, but your voice came out weaker than you intended.

“Maybe,” he replied, and the hoarseness in his voice made you feel the impact in your chest, like a muffled thunder. “But you seemed to be having fun.”

You chuckled softly, trying to relieve the growing tension, but it was a useless effort. Your fingers slid from his jaw to near his lips, and you hesitated for a fraction of a second before gently passing the wipe over the corner of his lips.

His eyes followed every movement of yours, and when you looked back, his gaze seemed to beg for something he didn’t have the courage to ask for. His mouth was slightly open, and his breath brushed against your fingers so tangibly that you almost felt the heat on your own skin.

“All done,” you said, but your voice sounded different now, as if it carried everything you didn’t want to admit.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured, and the smile that played on his lips was as soft as it was dangerous.

“I am,” you replied, but your hand didn’t move. It was still there, dangerously close to his mouth, as if it were impossible to pull away.

“Are you sure?” he teased, his tone barely audible, and you knew he wasn’t talking about the paint anymore.

The silence that followed was deafening. The proximity between you was almost painful now, each inch filled with electricity that had your whole body on high alert. His eyes dropped for a moment to your mouth, and when they returned to yours, there was something there that made your heart beat so fast you thought he could hear it.

Your hand, still near his mouth, wavered for a second, and it was all he needed to take a step forward, closing the distance between you even more. His breath mixed with yours, and you knew, you knew you were on the edge of completely losing yourselves.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his voice a little firmer now, but still low enough for only you to hear. “And I’m tired of pretending I can.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with raw honesty that seemed to steal all the air around you. Your throat went dry, and you could feel the conflict building inside you, fighting against what already seemed inevitable.

He was younger. A freshman. And you knew you should have some sense here, some logic screaming for you to pull back, to remember the differences, the line that separated you two. But your hands were still on him, your fingers still brushing the paint-stained skin of his warm face, and you just couldn’t let go.

“Dave…” Your voice came out in a trembling whisper, carrying all that you were trying to hold back — the hesitation, the disbelief, and above all, the desire you had been trying to bury since the moment he looked at you that way, completely enchanted, for the first time.

He leaned in imperceptibly closer, his eyebrows furrowed, the intensity in his blue gaze fixed on you. “Tell me what’s holding you back,” he asked, almost pleading, but his tone was still soft, patient, as if he was trying to find his way to you.

You opened your mouth, but the words seemed to dissolve before you could even form a sentence. He waited, his proximity a temptation, and you felt as if you were being pulled toward him, against all the logic you thought you had.

“You’re…” you started, but hesitated, then took a deep breath. “You’re younger. A freshman. That…”

He laughed, low and hoarse, and shook his head slightly. "You think that matters to me?" He tilted his head, his eyes darkening with the intensity of his gaze. "I don’t care if you're older. Do you think when I look at you, that’s what I see? Because I don’t. I only see you. You, with that habit of looking at me like you’re trying to push me away, but you can’t."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He looked so vulnerable and so certain at the same time, and that made something inside you tremble.

"I don’t know if I can do this..." you murmured, the hesitation weighing heavily in each word.

"I know you can," he shot back, his voice firmer now, but still low, almost reverent. "Because if you didn’t want to, you would have already walked away. And you’re still here."

His words hit you like a punch, because he was right. You were still here. Your hands were still on him, and the closeness between you was so small that any movement could close it.

His fingers slowly moved until they lightly brushed your wrist. It was such a subtle touch, but it electrified everything around you, as if the world had stopped to observe that moment.

"Tell me you don’t want this," he said, his voice barely a whisper, as if speaking any louder would be dangerous. "Tell me you don’t feel this too, and I’ll stop now."

But you couldn’t say it. You couldn’t pull your hands away, couldn’t ignore the way he looked at you, as if you were something he didn’t know he needed until the moment he saw you.

"You don’t know what you’re asking, Dave," you murmured, but your voice came out weak, with no conviction.

"I know exactly what I’m asking," he retorted, his eyes fixed on yours, as if each word was a promise. "I’m asking for you. And I know you’re trying to find a reason for this not to happen, but there isn’t one."

And in that moment, you knew he was right. That it didn’t matter the logic, or the differences, or the doubts you were trying to hold on to. He was here, and you wanted him. God, how you wanted him.

Your gaze fell to his lips, then rose back to his eyes. He was so close that you could feel his breath, and there was something so vulnerable in his expression, so open, so surrendered, that you simply couldn’t hold back.

Without thinking any further, you closed the distance between you, your hands moving to his face as your lips met his. He responded immediately, his arms wrapping around you as if he’d been waiting for this since the moment he saw you. And maybe he had. Maybe you had too.

His lips were warm against yours, firm yet hesitant, as if he feared that it could all disappear in the blink of an eye. You felt his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, his body pressed to yours in a way that made the whole world disappear.

His touch was both reverent and desperate, as if he didn’t know if it was real, but was determined to imprint every detail in his memory. His hands slid over the curve of your back, stopping at the base of your waist, before moving up again, his fingers brushing the exposed skin that the light fabric of your blouse didn’t protect. It was electrifying, each touch, each movement, and you felt your heart beating so hard it seemed to echo in every cell of your body.

He pulled away just enough to catch his breath, his eyes meeting yours as if searching for some kind of certainty. "Is this... real?" he murmured, his voice hoarse, cut off. He seemed lost, his blue eyes shining amidst the remnants of lilac and green paint on his face, as if you were the only thing he could see.

You laughed softly, breathless, but didn’t pull away an inch. "Yes," you answered, your voice soft but full of something you couldn’t hide anymore. "It’s real, Dave."

He let out a shaky laugh, a mixture of relief and disbelief, and then his lips were on yours again, this time more certain, hungrier. His hands moved up to your shoulders, then slowly slid down your arms, his fingers tracing the path as if he wanted to memorize every detail, every curve, every inch of skin.

"You have no idea..." he murmured against your lips, his breath hot on your face. He stopped, just enough to find your eyes again. "How much I’ve dreamed of this. Of you."

You felt the weight of his words, the intensity of his gaze, and something inside you broke and rebuilt itself all at once. "Dave..." you started, but he shook his head, interrupting.

“No,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I need you to know. From the first day. From the moment you spoke to me, from the moment you smiled at me… I knew. I knew it was you.”

Your breath faltered, and you felt his hands rise again, this time stopping at the sides of your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw until they brushed the corner of your lips. He seemed so sure, so lost in you, and at the same time so fragile, as if this moment could be taken from him at any second.

“Dave…” you repeated, his name coming out as a whisper, almost a secret. You held his wrists, your fingers gently tightening against his skin. “You have no idea…”

“Tell me,” he insisted, his voice still hoarse, but laden with something so raw, so real, that it made the air around you feel heavier.

You swallowed hard but didn’t look away. “That I thought about it too. That I wanted this too. You. From the beginning.”

The words hit him like a blow, and he let out a short laugh, almost disbelieving, as he pressed his forehead against yours. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he needed that instant to collect himself, then whispered, “You’re messing with me, right?”

“You think I’d do that now?” you replied, the teasing in your voice mixed with the weight of the truth.

He opened his eyes, and there was something almost glowing in them, something that made you lose yourself completely. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he murmured before pulling you in again, the kiss more intense, more urgent this time.

His hands slid down your back, tracing the curve of your hips before stopping at their base, as if he needed to hold you there, as if he feared you might slip away. You pressed even closer to him, feeling his heat, the smell of paint mixed with his scent, and nothing had ever felt so right.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he gave a small smile, his lips still red from the kiss. “So… is this it?” he asked, his voice soft but playful. “Can I stop torturing myself now?”

You laughed, your fingers still tangled in his shirt, and shook your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I like seeing you like this,” you replied, the teasing clear, but your eyes still filled with everything you were feeling.

He tilted his head to the side, a crooked, utterly charming smile playing on his lips as he looked at you. “If that means I can kiss you again, then torture me as much as you want.”

You laughed, short, still breathless, and pushed lightly against his chest, but not enough to create any real distance. His hands stayed firmly on your waist, and it was impossible to ignore the streaks of paint he’d left there—a deep blue staining the pale pink of your blouse. His fingers had drawn an impromptu map on your skin and the fabric, and you knew that, even without a mirror, it was visible.

“Look at what you’ve done,” you commented, trying to sound indignant as you looked down at your blouse, but it was impossible not to smile. “My blouse is ruined.”

Dave laughed softly, his thumbs sliding along the curve of your waist before tracing their way back, as if he wanted to emphasize the mess. “You should’ve walked away while you could.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure, because you would’ve let me go, right?”

He smiled wider now, his face still covered in paint, but somehow it only made him more irresistible. “Not for a second,” he confessed, with a tone that was both light and serious, like everything he did.

You shook your head, but couldn’t help the laugh, even as you tugged at the fabric of your blouse to examine the stains more closely. “And what do I do with this now? This is beyond saving, you know?”

Dave let out a dramatic sigh, pulling away just enough to look at you properly, but his hands remained firmly on your waist, as if he couldn’t help it. “Okay, I’ll admit it was a fashion crime,” he began, his eyes dropping to the stained fabric before rising back to your face. He looked so carefree and yet so intensely focused on you at the same time, it was almost unsettling. “But, look, you could… I don’t know, keep it as a keepsake.”

You raised an eyebrow again, his mischievous look signaling he had more to say. “A keepsake?”

“Yeah,” he continued, his smile growing. He raised one of his hands, covered in paint, and his thumb lightly brushed against the strap of your blouse, where a small paint stain was already printed. The touch was casual, but you felt a shiver run through you as if he had done it on purpose. “Every time you look at it, you’ll remember today. Me.”

You tried to roll your eyes, but it was impossible to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. “Oh, sure, because I’d want a ruined blouse to remember you by,” you teased, but your voice came out quieter than expected.

He tilted his face a little closer, his fingers still idly playing with the strap of your blouse, as if he were testing his own limits. “You will,” he murmured, his voice hoarse but with that sweet tone that made your heart race. “Because I know you won’t forget me, with or without the blouse.”

You let out a short laugh, trying to hide the effect his words had on you, but it was useless. “You’re really confident for a guy who’s covered in paint,” you commented, pointing to his face.

Dave laughed again, tilting his head to the side as he ran one hand across his own face, spreading even more paint without realizing. “Oh, seriously?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And who was it that left me like this, huh?”

“You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it,” you replied, crossing your arms, but it was impossible to keep up the defensive posture with him so close, so absurdly adorable.

He took a step back, pretending to examine himself, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, it’s pretty bad,” he admitted, pointing to the stains on his face, neck, and arms. But then he looked at you, a mischievous smile returning to his lips. “But, you know what? Totally worth it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but the smile on your face betrayed any attempt to seem serious. “Really worth it?”

“Totally,” he said, giving that half-smile that seemed dangerous and irresistible at the same time. He took a step forward again, closing the distance, tilting his face until it was only inches from yours. “Wanna know why?”

You barely had time to respond before he continued, his voice low and heavy with something that made your breath falter. “Because now, I know what it’s like to kiss you.”

And with that, he smiled, so completely satisfied, so completely in love, that it was impossible to say anything. And you knew he was right: you’d never forget this. Or him.

[yomica12345]

Logan closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

This was it.

He was finally taking his dreamer’s license test—a chance to prove, once and for all, that his methods were superior to Roman’s reckless improvisation. That precision, not flair, was the key to success. He just hoped the scenario wouldn’t be as ridiculous as Roman’s had been. Watching Roman fumble through a naked-at-work dream had been entertaining, if not mildly mortifying on his behalf. Logan, however, had no desire to experience something so absurd.

No, he could handle anything else. Anything at all. Or so he thought.

The moment he fell asleep, his surroundings swirled into something entirely different. Gone was the brightly colored pod he had entered moments ago. In its place was a carefully constructed garden scene. But this wasn’t just any garden. It was familiar. Painfully familiar.

Logan’s stomach dropped.

Of all dreams, why did it have to be this one? A dream so vivid, so personal, because it was one he had dreamt before.

Logan cursed, squeezing his eyes shut. He willed himself to wake up, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come on. Anything else, please.” The words fell on deaf ears. This couldn’t be happening—not now, not with Roman undoubtedly watching the scene unfold from a monitor in reality.

“Logan?”

His breath hitched at the voice.

A gentle hand cupped his cheek, pulling him back into the dream. “Are you alright?”

Logan’s heart thundered as the sounds of skittering parasites edged closer, like shadows hungry for chaos. But all his focus narrowed to the warmth of Roman’s touch.

“I—I’m fine,” Logan stammered, flinching at the way his voice betrayed him. His mind screamed at him to regain composure, to think. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes.

Roman sat beside him on a white bench, his usual training uniform replaced with princely attire—white and red, embroidered in a way only Roman’s dream-self could imagine. His expression softened with quiet concern as he studied Logan.

“Are you sure?”

Logan cleared his throat, his face heating as he pushed himself up to his feet. “Yes. I am perfectly fine. I—”

Roman caught his hand before he could turn away. The unexpected contact caused Logan to pause.

“Logan,” Roman said, his voice gentler now, “there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“Now is not the time,” Logan blurted, but his words faltered as Roman squeezed his hand.

Roman stood, stepping closer. His brown eyes held Logan’s, brimming with something unspoken. “I know we have our differences—many differences, in fact—but…” He chuckled, raising a hand to his neck. “You’re brilliant. Clever. Infuriatingly so, sometimes. But you’ve always been there for me. You’ve kept me grounded, kept me from doing anything stupid.” His lips quirked into a softer smile. “So… thank you.”

Logan’s heart raced, his thoughts a jumbled mess. “Of course,” he managed, bowing his head awkwardly. “I… appreciate your gratitude.”

Roman reached up to fix a strand of Logan’s hair, his fingers lingering for a moment. His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Logan, I…” He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to Logan’s lips before leaning closer, his cheeks dusted with pink.

Logan’s breath hitched as Roman’s face hovered inches from his own. His pulse pounded in his ears. Why did this dream feel so real?

Roman’s lips were almost brushing Logan’s when he spoke again, his words catching Logan entirely off guard. “I want you to be my dream guard partner.”

Logan blinked, his thoughts screeching to a halt. “Your… dream guard partner?”

Roman stepped back, releasing Logan’s hand with a smirk. “Is that not what you expected, Teach?”

Logan’s face flushed a deep red, the color creeping all the way to his ears. “You… You got in my pod... You’ve been here the whole time?”

“Pretty much.” Roman shrugged, summoning a sword as a parasite screeched toward them. With one smooth motion, he sliced it into a puff of smoke.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, his frustration bubbling over. “But this is my test. You’re sabotaging my test.”

“They’re testing us as a duo now,” Roman said, shrugging again as he dispatched another parasite. “You gonna help me with these pests, or what?”

Logan conjured traps around them, his glare sharp enough to cut. “With you actually here, how are we supposed to keep this dream uninterrupted?”

Roman smirked, stepping closer. “That’s simple. Obviously, they’re part of the dream. We just have to play our parts in it.”

“Our parts?” Logan snapped another trap shut on a beetle-like parasite, his annoyance mounting.

Roman grabbed Logan by the waist, pulling him closer as he destroyed a few more parasites with a snap of his fingers. “Just tell me how this dream ends.”

Logan summoned a blaster, firing small, chemical-laden projectiles at the remaining enemies. “I… I believe you already know how.”

Roman’s grin widened, his tone playful. “Do I? I’m not so sure I do.”

The last parasite screeched and dissolved in the distance, leaving the garden eerily quiet. Logan lowered his blaster with a huff.

“Roman, if you’re not going to—” Logan started, but the words died on his lips as Roman kissed him.

The garden dissolved into a cascade of bright light, signaling the end of the dream.

Logan opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light of the pod. The soft hum of the machines was the first thing he registered, a quiet reminder that this had all been a test. Roman, curled beside him, stirred slightly, his arms still draped over Logan’s. As Logan moved to pull away and open the pod, Roman’s hand tightened on his shirt, drawing him back.

Without a word, Roman pulled him into another kiss—this one deeper, more earnest. More real.

Logan held the kiss, letting the sensation of it wash over him until the soft hiss of the pod opening snapped him back to reality. He swiftly pulled away, smoothing out his uniform with a flustered breath, his heart still pounding in his chest.

From the side, Remus giggled, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Took you two long enough."

Janus rolled his eyes from his place behind Remus. “We thought you’d never get together.”

Logan sat up. Despite the chaotic nature the test had taken on he found himself relieved things had gone the way they did. Relieved Roman now knew about his feelings—that he felt the same way. He smiled softly. 

Relieved that it hadn’t all just been a dream.

[rock-n-macabre]

tagged by @babieswrld !! ❤️

Last Song: Truck Bed - Hardy ...that hook, though.

Last Book: Confessions of Johnny Ringo. So good.

Favorite Color: Since leopard print isn't a color.. I'd have to go with pink or red! Pink is an aesthetic color I love getting things in, but red is my power color when I want confidence!

Last Movie: Wynonna Earp: Vengeance on Tubi. Go watch it..it's awesome.

Spicy/Sweet/Savory: Savory or Spicy!

Last Show: Currently binging Big Love (SO MANY SPICY BILLY PAX SCENES) , before going to binge Wynonna Earp.

Current Obsession: All things yeehaw. Has been like that for a few years, but with my trip coming up in October, it's gotten so much more intense lol. Also obsessed with developing my gunspinning skills more lol.

Last Thing I Searched Up: Trying to find damn tutorials on how to make Peacemaker ...Good ol' Buntline Special.

Looking Forward To: Pinup season! Got soooo many cute outfits and stage routines planned!

Tagging @tragantia @slushi-chan @msookyspooky @mrsvansickle04 @themuseinthewoods @oleskellybones

[akindredskillet]

Making a Home 🌻

I’ve been thinking about this ever since I put this caption together, so why not! Omori queer analysis time.

Now, most analysis of Omori subtext comes from the Headspace sections, and understandably so! Since it takes place in Sunny’s mind, nearly anything can be read into, because everything must serve some function within the world. Within Faraway Town — not so much! Sunny doesn’t seem to have much agency.

Except… That’s not exactly true, is it? There are over twenty sidequests, and therefore at least twenty ways Sunny makes a difference in Faraway Town before moving away, to lesser or greater extents. This can be seen most readily in Universally Loved runs, when he wakes up in his hospital room brimming with flowers from those he’s helped along the way:

Today I want to talk about the Picking Paint and Cooking sidequests. The detail that first brought this to my attention was the wallpaper selection.

It begins on 3 Days Left in Fix-It, where a newly-wed couple is struggling to choose a paint color for their new house, insisting the other one choose. It’s very cutesy and over-the-top, with custom animations showing them blowing kisses to each other.

Eventually, Sean & Karen ask Sunny to choose a paint swatch randomly, and he does so with his eyes closed, but ends up accidentally choosing a floral wallpaper sample instead.

When you visit them later, they actually have the wallpaper up throughout the entirety of the house, which is in the pink swatch, one of two on showcase in Fix-it. The other is… you guessed it! The wallpaper from Basil’s house.

If you go outside into the garden area directly after this, you’ll also be able to see Basil as a memory vision, as well as the flower Sean & Karen gift to Sunny should we finish this sidequest.

(Note: Despite my best efforts, I couldn't determine exactly what kind of flower this was meant to depict, if anything specific).

As you may guess, my proposal here is that even with his eyes closed, Sunny has an instinctual draw to Basil, and things Basil likes. I don’t mean this in a literal psychic sense, but in more of a symbolic way — perhaps even implying that Sunny understands his feelings better on a subconscious level, when he’s not actively looking at them.

Now this is somewhat shoddy evidence on its own, so let’s keep digging.

The reason this stuck out to me is because flowers are usually mentioned in Omori in tandem with Basil. So much so Basil & Flowers might as well be synonymous (and according to the names of the beta characters, once were!)

Obviously, Basil is associated with his flower garden in Headspace, and particularly Stranger's line comparing Sunny to white tulips on the path to Basil's house is often interpreted as having romantic undertones. There's even other official art based off of this line, where if you look very closely at the base of the tulip, it reads: "143. I love you, I love you, I love you".

But even within the main cast's dialogue, flowers are mentioned about 50 times, with 65% of these mentions being spoken by or related to Basil in some way. Many of Mari’s are about the flower puzzle sidequest – which is arguably also related to Basil, as it is initiated by a character named Daisy, and the only Headspace sidequest you can activate while Basil is in your party (not my original observation: read more about that here!)

The majority of Hero’s mentions are about buying flowers for his mother in the main plot. Disregarding these exceptions, it brings the Basil-flower correlation up to 95%!

Sean & Karen then invite us to their housewarming party. They explain they have recently moved in together, but that both of them are from Faraway Town.

We know this to be true, because this pair actually has Headspace counterparts, implying Sunny would have known them from years before.

Enter: Shawn & Ren!

Similar to Daisy, you can find these two at the playground, and they’re some of the only Headspace NPCs you can interact with while Basil is still in your party.

Throughout the game, they are always found next to each other, and they are even some of the only characters in the game to have a shared dialogue box. It’s not just Shawn and Ren, it’s Shawn and Ren.

Clearly, these two have always been close enough in real life for Sunny to make this observation and consider them a matching pair, even though they’re only now moving in together nearly four years later. In my interpretation, I consider them childhood sweethearts.

Coincidentally, they also give Omori the Observe skill. This skill is granted after laying down to stargaze with them. Recently, an acquaintance of mine mentioned they thought these two had similarities to the legend of Tanabata, or Star Festival. The story of Tanabata is about a pair of star-crossed lovers — a Weaver Princess and a Cow Herder.

Ren doesn’t seem to have much in common physically with the Weaver Princess, other than wearing a Japanese-inspired outfit similar to Mari’s, but Shawn distinctly has horns and ears attached to the sides of his head. While the wiki lists these as goat features, I think they’re much more reminiscent of a cow, with horns that grow out in a crescent shape rather than curving straight up and back.

There’s not much else to go off of, but considering Omori notably uses other Japanese folklore as inspiration for Headspace characters, it’s also not an impossible stretch. We don’t know why Shawn and Ren might have been considered star-crossed (or perhaps that’s a romantic daydream Sunny came up with himself!), but there are very notable reasons Sunny & Basil might be, including being the same sex in a small town in the 1990’s, and the complexities of their history together.

Shawn & Ren can also be found in the lobby area of the Last Resort. They’re noticeably on screen during the sequence in which Aubrey and Kel create the Bad Drawing of Basil in an attempt to continue the search for him.

That’s the last of Shawn & Ren’s appearances in the final release of Omori, but it’s also worth noting that these characters existed even in the early concept art of Headspace:

This shows to me that they have significance beyond the "random NPC made to fill out Headspace". In the 2018 Demo, there also existed sprites of Shawn & Ren that didn’t make it into the final game:

Notably, they’re depicted holding a jump rope between them. Presumably, this was removed to censor certain allusions to The Truth too early, similar to the Noose Room being removed, or the first half of Basil’s VHS tape, etc. The jump rope here is purple, like all of the jump ropes in the final game, probably to not stick out against the Headspace landscape. However, the jump rope in early Omori art was bright red:

We know that Sunny & Basil are described as being “tied together by a string of fate”. Of course, the true “string”, or I should say “rope”, that ties them together is The Truth, as they are the only two who know, and are irreparably changed because of it.

The “red string of fate” comes from Chinese mythology and typically describes soulmates. I’m certainly not the first to make the connection between the jump rope and the red string of fate, as lots of popular fanart can attest to.

But wait — are they star-crossed lovers then, or are they soulmates? Aren’t these two concepts opposites? One describes a couple who is destined to be true to each other for eternity, and one describes a couple whose future together has been impeded by the stars themselves.

Well, I submit my theory: Sunny & Basil are star-crossed soulmates. They can’t exist without each other, because they’re the only two in the world who truly understand each other, but they can’t exist together, because of the traumatic and delicate nature of their history.

Finally, we come back to Faraway Town and the second sidequest involving Sean & Karen. We show up to their homecoming party a little earlier than invited on One Day Left, and now we have Hero and Aubrey tagging along. (I definitely recommend this sidequest if you haven’t done it yourself already, as it is very heartfelt!)

In the cooking portion, the four of them all divvy up tasks like they presumably used to when they were friends — except one of the group is missing. Well… two actually. And seeing them all back together like this, Basil’s absence is even more apparent:

Later in the evening, we return for the party, and Karen welcomes us in:

It’s a housewarming party, so her dialogue requesting we “make ourselves at home” only makes sense here… but there’s someone else who has said this to us before...

In fact, there's someone else who is repeatedly associated with the word “home” in Omori...

The last one even explicitly refers to Basil’s “flowers back at home”, bringing us full circle.

Sean & Karen bought a house together, but until they added the final, floral touch (with Sunny’s help!), it wasn’t a home.

Sunny’s home is wherever Basil is.

In conclusion: Sunny choosing floral wallpaper is an intentional thematic choice, and Sean & Karen’s relationship not only embodies the typical childhood sweethearts love story to contrast Sunny & Basil’s more complex relationship, but also represents the overwhelming affection for Basil that Sunny doesn’t know how to express or even acknowledge.

And also they definitely move in together post-canon.

( visuals from the omori wiki, dialogue dump, & the omori let's play by reallyqueerchristmas )

Hey, you! Could you help us out for a second? Please come here and pick a color sample...

You picked up a floral wallpaper sample 🌸🌻

[malleleothreesome]

i wish i could have a silly little day on tumblr but I have to read my 80 page HOA document to see if the boomer condominium overlords will ALLOW me to get my new dishwasher (that i bought on black friday like a true, miserable adult marching towards death) DELIVERED AND INSTALLED on the 23rd as expected or if I have to cancel the delivery because there are too many rules for me to abide by and my soul is simply too tired to jump through the necessary hoops to comply.

[whichcouldmeanothing]

MARISA ABELA as “Teen Talk Barbie” Barbie (2023) dir. Greta Gerwig

[voidshrubsquared]

Listen. Listen to me

Do you know how much I LOVE that comic? IT'S SO GOOD SO SO SO GOOD

We get to see a glimpse of Click's inner workings! How his mind operates!! His complicated relationship with himself and the other pinks and what it is to BE a pink!!!! Is he just like them? Are they all the same?? Is HE the horrible one??? Is he not horrible ENOUGH???? WHO KNOWS!!! And the 'I miss my department' like MANS DOESN'T WANNA BE THERE!!! HE DOESN'T WANNA THINK ABOUT IT!!!! HE HATES IT HERE CAUSE INTERACTING WITH THESE GUYS MAKES HIM THINK TOO MUCH💕💖💕💖

Like, what if they're all the same? Then Click isn't special and he's just another darkner abiding by the rules of his code.

What if the others laced the candy platter and he didn't? Then Click is too soft, they'll eat him alive out there! How is he going to survive!!

What if he's projecting and nobody else even thought of lacing the candy? Does that mean he's just a horrible person in general? Is it not just a pink thing and more a HIM thing?

And then the visuals, the zooming in into the one piece of candy among all the others in the candy platter as he does Thoughts™

O U G H OVJJSBBCKROLNXNFODOF

DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I LOVE HIM DO YOU GET WHY I WANT TO INJECT HIM DIRECTLY INTO MY BLOODSTREAM THIS IS WHY HE'S MY FAVORITE ADDISON HIS WRITING IS IMMACULATE

[heckyeahponyscans]

I think the reason people have so much nostalgia for 80s and 90s Barbie--even collectors who were too young to have actually had them--is the material and tailoring of her clothing was better than on modern Barbie.

If there was a giant tub of 80s Barbies and a giant tub of modern Barbies and I randomly grabbed one doll for each then, yeah, I think the odds are that I would find the 80s Barbie more technically impressive.

But looking at Barbie as an entire line, something about her 80s toys feels so . . . elderly. Like an old person's conception of female beauty and fashion, as informed by southern beauty pageants.

It is completely unsurprising to me that Bratz ground Barbie's face into the dirt with their oversize feet when they debuted.

[strawberrysniffer]

She's almost done 😭 after 3 years (with long gaps of not working on her, granted) and thousands of beads, she's almost done!

My hand is covering the top, but I've got the last pattern beads in place and all i have to do now is finishing the background and the border! I'm a bit worried i won't have enough of the background bead color, but I've ordered another tube just in case. (Really missing those brick and mortar specialty bead shops 😭)

[epickiya722]

Okay, but pink does goes well with green!

[paula-gio]

Redesigned Ameri cause I think her original outfit is so ugly. Godbless 🙏