#they were in a box full of.... used sketchbooks

[nebquerna]

i found my sketchbooks!

[teaboot]

When I was a kid I would take the last page of all my mom's sketchbooks and draw a screen on one side and a "keyboard" on the other, then prop it open and pretend we were both doing computer work. Laptops had become mainstream only 5 years earlier, so it was still thinner and lighter than real laptops, and my mom mostly worked on a Windows 95 with a monitor bigger than I was and a computer heavier than I was. I used to think YouTube was boring because it was just a couple hundred home videos filmed by strangers. I got my first camera when I was 12 and it held 10 pictures, or 1 full minute of video, without a memory card. On my first phone, which was a flip phone, it cost $1 minimum every time I sent a text, and you had to press numbers a specific number of times to make a letter. I brought my Walkman to school to listen to Lord of the Rings on cassette tapes. Nobody was allowed to use the phone when my Dad was working in the office. Yes, we had the dial-up noise. I got an AM/FM radio for my birthday one year. Another year, I got a whole box of CDs to listen to music. I wrote my first fan fiction on a Windows 98 that came with free Minesweeper and Solitaire. I was born before El Chupacabra. And now these things are gone. Wild

[nyctophiliq]

art student! ellie taking slutty polaroids of you !

i was having some thoughts about art student! ellie as i was rolling through what majors the uni i applied for was letting applications in for and this popped into my silly mind.

cw for pornography, vaginal sex, groping, strap-on use, dacryphilia

ellie who has already painted countless portraits of you sitting in the snow, in the sun, laying on the grass, reading, and any other activities you can think of. the same ellie who has sketchbooks full of you as her anatomic reference, paintings, and pencil drawings of you sleeping naked after a night of passion, hidden away in the very bottom of her school bag. but this, this was something else.

“no, no, don’t be shy baby. the camera loves you.”

her hips never stop trusting into you as she lifts up the metal box, her other hand reaching to grope the soft mound as she tries to position the camera at the right angle to take a perfect photo. you looked so cute like this, hands gripping the sheets, your legs wrapped around her waist, back arching the slightest, and eyes closed, head twitching side to side as you were nearing the edge.

you were such a needy thing, fighting her hands as she tried to position you in the prettiest way she could with her cock deep inside your pussy. you writhe so much, she can hardly keep you in your place but she only takes the picture she is going to keep in the inner pocket of her coat when you come. you still for that brief second, back lifting off the bed, the back of your palm coming to cover your eyes when the camera flashes.

but it’s not enough, there is never enough of you in ellie’s eyes and she is relentless as she chases her own high by overstimulating your already worn out walls and bundle of nerves. this once she isn’t paying attention to your needs but rather hers and all she can think of is you, you, you, your body. the way you cry that it’s enough, that you cannot take it no more, slurring your words and your weak hands try to push her off of you is just puts more onto the fire in the pits of her stomach.

ellie discards the camera your side, leaning down to hover over you with her hands gripping the sheets beside your head, keeping herself up and anchored. she takes a few ragged breaths, huffing as she tries to move despite her muscles feeling numb and pulls out of you. sweat drips from her forehead and shoulders, her whole body shining in front of your eyes before she lays next to you.

despite being out of breath, her mind still being clouded by the bliss of her orgasm she coos a few sweet thing into your ear as she covers the both of you up with a blanket, reaching for the printed polaroid from the camera on your side and showing it to you. 

“see? every color, expression, and curve of your body is perfectly embodied in this photo.”

[meluiloth]

For @silmarillionepistolary day 7, Remembrance and New Beginnings! Artwork at the bottom.

Night has fallen. The lamps have been turned low, the house cleaned, the bedtime routine completed; all Maglor and Maedhros have left to do is tuck the twins and read them their customary story.

They look so small wrapped in the red wool blankets, like two little birds in a crimson nest. They are quiet, too, waiting patiently for Maglor to ask his routine question: “Now, what story would you like tonight? Or would you rather hear a song?”

“I want the one about the Sun and the Moon!” Elros pipes up, scrunching the blanket in his hands eagerly.

Maglor smiles. “Is that what you want as well, Elrond?”

Elrond, the quieter twin, looks bashfully down before murmuring, “I’d like to see the picture book…”

Maglor shares a confused look with Maedhros. They did not own any picture books. “What do you mean?” Maedhros asks.

Elrond tips his head. “The one in your study,” he says. “It’s got gold string around it and lots of pictures on every page.”

Maedhros frowns. “You know you are forbidden from entering my study,” he reproaches.

Elrond bites his lip. “Yes, I know … I just saw the pictures and thought they were pretty.”

Maglor sees the telltale signs of a lecture in Maedhros’s expression, so he swiftly says, “Perhaps we can excuse it this once, if you promise to ask before you touch our things.”

Both Elrond and Elros nod emphatically, and Maglor leaves the room to search for the ‘picture book’ in his brother’s study, which is packed with volumes, scrolls, and papers. Maglor thinks it will take him forever to find the book Elrond described, if it exists at all, but surprisingly he easily locates it in the first bookshelf: a worn book of red leather, tied with a fading gold ribbon. It is familiar to him, but he cannot recollect why until he brings it back into the twins’ room. Maedhros’s eyes widen when he sees it. “Grandfather’s sketchbook? I thought that was lost ages ago!”

“It was in a box in the back,” Elrond supplies.

Maglor looks down at it, a stab of nostalgia and old grief passing through him. “I thought we never even brought it,” he murmurs.

“Can we read it?” Elros asks, leaning forward curiously.

Maedhros frowns, his reluctance clear. There are many memories neither of them want to relive, the life and death of their grandfather among the most heartbreaking. But many of the memories Finwë recorded in his beloved sketchbook were his happiest, from both his life and the rest of his family’s. And the two young children looking up at Maglor are also Finwë’s family … and he wants to share something of his life that is not just the blood on his hands.

The spine of the book cracks softly as he opens it, and the yellowed paper releases a small puff of dust, but the artwork on the inside is still as lovely and life-filled as the day he penned them.

Maglor explains each piece as he showed it to the twins, and lets them look as long as they like. Even Maedhros sometimes asks him to wait a little longer on certain pages, the heavy, dark look in his eyes brightening when he remembers his childhood in Valinor.

It is well past midnight by the time they reach the last pages, and all of them are surprised to see that they are all in full color, when all the previous pages have been only graphite sketches.

“Who are they?” Elros breathes, tracing his finger delicately over the meticulously painted faces.

Maglor swallows, his throat and his eyes clogged with tears. His brother, too, is at a loss for words.

“It’s them,” Elrond says, looking up at the Fëanorians and then back down at thd drawings. “Maglor and Maedhros are right there … but Maedhros looks different …”

It was true. Maglor and Maedhros, along with all of their brothers - still alive and smiling radiantly - and their parents. On the other pages, their cousins and uncles and aunts, before any of them had suffered the horrors of Morgoth.

“That is us,” Maedhros murmurs. “That was us then. We were so happy..."

“What was it like … then?” Elros ventures.

Maglor smiles. “I will tell you.”

“Tomorrow night,” Maedhros interrupts. “It is very late, and if you are to understand a word we say, you must be well-rested.”

[glassrowboat]

🎲 muehehehe get diced >:3 🪐

13. Kiss to the chest.

Anatomy. Welt Yang.

Word Count: 1,500+

Thank you for the ask, Stardust <3 Now we just gotta fan over Welt together

The mattress hit your knees as you stepped backward, the cushions something you barely had the chance to register the comfort of before you were tripping over your own two feet and falling backward. The form on top of you doing little to help. Rather, it was only making it worse as Welt fell on top of you with an over exaggerated oof! Hair askew and glasses nearly falling off his nose from the game of tag you two were playing only minutes before around his room.

Having ducked around the desk, the trashcan full of crumpled up paper, a giant stuffy March gifted him as a thank you for helping her on their last shared Trailblaze mission, and lastly workout equipment.

All over one pencil.

His favorite, or so, Welt claimed. Apparently, it had the perfect grip, so it sat comfortably in his hand. To draw, it proved the best one was familiar with the materials they used. Like how every painter has a favorite medium as either watercolor, gouache, ect, seeped into the bristles of their brush.

Graphite covered the side of his hand, staining it a metallic gray you had grown accustomed to seeing in him when he slipped the gloves off and sat before the sketchbook he kept. One that was nearly falling apart now, bindings getting looser with every time he pried it open to add another drawing to the collection. If not that, to slip pages of your own horrendous attempts at doodling him away for safekeeping.

Despite your protests to simply crumple the paper up and toss it away as the garbage you saw it as, Welt insisted otherwise. Said it was something precious to keep, memories embedded in the scribbles that could barely resemble a human face. Nothing like his art. Not from what you've seen, at least.

You had seen him make circles and lines into something more than what you could see them as. A circle turned into a head, a box into a ribcage, a line, and another line paired together to make tweezers. It was only when that item was added did it click in your mind he was drawing the picture he took of you earlier that day plucking your eyebrows. For some reason.

“I believe this means you owe me my own materials back.”

“Now why would I do that?” You asked, trying to hold out your arm even further so Welt couldn't slip it out of your hold. To pluck it from your hand like one would a loose string on a shirt. Or, as is the case with the two of you, his scarf. Though, it's not like your effort could do much against the man who could, quite literally, make the item float out of your hand and back into his own.

Surely that had to be classified as cheating.

“Are you going back on your word from before, honey? I distinctly recall you saying you could wait for me to finish what I was working on.”

Yet here you are, still trying to play keep away.

“Yeah, but then I got bored.”

A sigh. One that brushed against your skin from how close he was. Like this, you could even make out the sparkle in his eyes. Or it could just be a speck of lint on his lenses. One of the two. “I suppose that's fair.”

“Exactly. So….” You trailed off. Honestly, you weren't expecting to get this far, so it wasn't a surprise you found your own words to be suddenly falling flat. “Well, if you are so intent on focusing on art, why don't you teach me something?”

There, interactive. An olive branch offered to his outstretched hand, grasping something you can do together.

“Teach you?” Welt repeated, mulling over the words as they rolled over his tongue. “I can work with that.”

The pencil was pulled from your hand before you could even whine in protest as he pulled away. Leaving you to place it on his sketchbook only to return shortly after. Mattress creaking once again as hands, now free to do as they pleased, slid along your cheek. Thumb right under your eye.

“You're a hands-on student, aren't you? If I remember correctly…”

“I am.”

Welt muttered an “excellent” as his thumb brushed through your lashes. Your eye squeezed shut on instinct, but this didn't seem to deter him at all. “Then we can start with our first lesson now.”

“That being, professor?” You didn't miss his eyebrows burrowing ever so slightly at the nickname, but still you smiled up at him like nothing was wrong.

“Basic shapes. We can start through profiles as an example.” His touch moved to the eyebags you had been sporting that morning, running along the colored hue of the skin that gave away your bad sleeping habits. Again. “The head is not perfectly rounded, but the shape that resembles the dome of the skull the best is still a circle. Eyes are round under the lid, also best drawn using a circle first.”

“I'm getting some real creepy imagery here, teach.”

“I can understand that. It might have been easier to pull up images instead to give you something to see. To lead by example.”

“But?” You asked, head tilting ever so slightly as you watched Welt silently mouth words.

“But first, let me ask you something. When I ask you to pick something round, specifically on the human body, what do you think of first?”

Well, your first thought was balls, but you were going to keep that one under a tight lid. Maybe even in a trash can. Though that does risk the chance of Stelle rummaging through and finding your secrets.

Second? Well, that was easy.

“The callous on your finger.”

Accrued from hours, days, years even of leaning over pen and paper and letting the images in his mind come to life. Something that's not perfectly round, but it always caught your attention nonetheless. Your own fingers ran over the bump anytime you hold hands.

“I think of a ring.” Before you could question him on that, Welt slid his thumb over your lips. It was second nature to press a kiss to it, just like it was second nature for him to smile at the gesture. “Or that earring you always lose and I have to find for you.”

“No need to call me out like that.”

“Ah, I apologize.” The look in Welt's eyes was enough to tell you that even if he was sorry, he still knew he had a point.

“Yeah, yeah, what else? I can't learn to draw from circles alone, professor.”

“This 'professor’ is beginning to think the student is in a rush. Now that's no good way to get A’s in my,” He took a moment to look around the room again, taking in the place you two shared and made your own on the express, “class.”

“Oh, I'm terribly sorry.”

“Your tone tells me otherwise.”

You bit your lip, trying to stop the smirk that was hoping to overcome you.

“As for more lessons, there are topics we can focus on.”

As he spoke, Welt's hand slid down your neck, tracing the hollow where the skin met your collarbone. Your shirt shifted ever so slightly out of the way, brushing against your skin the same way he was as his lips fell to meet yours.

“Anatomy, for example.”

“Now that's a big step from shapes.”

A giant leap, actually. You couldn't even draw a perfect circle, but here he is suggesting something that you've seen even him struggle with. Reference photos had been pulled up countless times as he drew. It was that, or, you'd find Welt standing before the mirror to see how his body shifts in this new pose. He's even asked you to indulge him once or twice and move along with how he places you, pen in his mouth as he chews on it to help him think. Or so he claims.

“No need to worry, we can start small. Besides, did you not just say you can't learn to draw from circles alone?”

Ahh, your own words. What a great way to turn them around and shove them back in your mouth. Something to choke on for fun.

“And what is this something small, professor?”

Fingers toyed with your shirt, unbuttoning it as Welt looked up at you, making sure this was okay. Just like he always did. With your nod, he continued, undoing the top three until the tank top you were underneath was peaking out.

“It's simple. Simple enough that I can show you.” Welt said. His lips met your chest, heart thrumming under him, beating wildly in an attempt to escape and give him what has already been his since the moment you first saw his smile at a stupid dad joke. Of all things.

“But something tells me this will be easier to do without these clothes in the way. Do you mind, honey?”

And of course you didn't mind at all.

[sinning-23]

Blowing Bubbles Blowing ZAZA

OPLA headcannons whre y/n for some reason has an ungodly amout of ouid stashed...but always offers because sharing is caring.

Warnings: uhhh some oiud, mentions of slightly nsfw topics, uhhhh yeah thats about it.

Zoro

-Ok so.....he knows that smell, but why the hell was it coming from your room.

-He doesn't knock, just kinda cracks the door open, and there you are eyes wide like you'd been caught (technically you have) but that didn't matter.

-What DID matter was that you were smoking two blunts at once and took one out of your mouth to offer him.

-He hesitates only for a second but accepts it, closing the door behind him.

-HOT BOX HOT BOX HOT BOX

-I mean this mfs eyes are bloodshot with a satiisfies smile on his face.

-"Where did you even get this?' His voice seems slightly deeper now.

-"Stole it. Good shit tho." You sigh, the two of you laid out, staring up at the ceiling that seems to be warping before your very eyes.

-There's a silence but it's comfortable...until it's not, Zoro cutting through it

-'Do you think god stays in heaven cause he's scared of his creation?"

Sanji

-You already tried to convince him this was better than any cancer stick he's put in his body but he's not one to dabble in that.

-"You can make it butter. Infuse it. Boom edibles." you suggest, passing him the ziplock back with a wiggle of your eyebrows.

-"C'mon chef boyardee, hook it up?"

-Ok so it was far more tempting than he thought and damn did he get carried away fast. Like...way too fast.

-THIS MF COOK A FULL MEAL...ALL OF IT INFUSED. Ohhh you're all fucked up. I mean REALLLY fucked up

-Zoro is knocked out, sleeping in the most uncomfortable position. I mean he's folded like a goddamn omelet with the hilt of his sword acting as a pillow.

-Luffys got his arms stretched out in one big puddle trying to untangle them

-Nami is doing circles around the ship looking at her compass needle, trying to figure out why 'Weast" isn't labeled

-And the two of you giggle away, opening and closing the fridge to try and catch the light go off and on inside.

-It's a gawd damn mess and technically your fault for giving THE CHEF A BAG OF WEED TO USE IRRESPONSIBLY

Luffy

-He found it completely by accident and thought it was food.

-ATE THE NUG. HE. ATE. IT.

-"Well, I don't know why you keep a bag of lettuce in your room, but I was hungry so I ate it. I think it's gone bad by the way. so... you're welcome!"

-You freeze, turning got him in a way that's damn near comical.

-"YOU WHAT?!"

-Oooooh hes fucked up, it takes less than an hour for it to kick in and the whole time he's a mess of tangles, stretched-out libs, asking questions that make no sense to anyone but him.

-"If I like.....stretch my stomach can I eat more than usual or...would I have to stay stretched like that until it's digested?"

-Starts to panic just a pinch because he said his 'hands don't match'

-Que him flipping his hands back and forth for the next hour

Nami

-Only smoked because you offered...and because she hasn't in a while

-Surprizingly knows some cool tricks.

-Opts to take her rolling tray out of its hiding place. Hooray for a new smoke buddy!

-She's actually really calm and relaxed when she smokes. can hold a normal conversation, she just seems a bit sleepy.

-Already prepared with food from the kitchen cause she knows she gets the munchies and already had an incident where she tried to cook while high anddd it backfired.

-Is also very creative. She keeps a sketchbook with pages of mandalas she drew under the influence. Unfortunately, it's only a talent she possesses when high as a kite.

Usopp

-Scam or not the lady at the booth said it was a very nice vase for a unique kind of flower. The plan was to gift it to you with said flower but uhhh... he couldn't find it. That is until you spotted it in his room.

-"Yooo I didn't know you dabble uUo! I would've shared my stash sooner!"

-Whatchu talking bout Willis?

-"What? No no, the lady said this was a vase for a special kind of flower and- Ohhhhh."

-He pauses, giving a nod and clearing his throat.

-Did you just teach Usopp what a bong is and how to use it???

-He gets terrible munchies after and can't decide whether he wants something out the kitchen or to simply eat you up because you already a snack (oop girl hold on-)

-If hes not horned up he's paranoid. No inbetween. literally like, "They're in the walls!" paranoid or "I'm in your walls" just nastyyy

Shanks

-Ouid you say? Zaza? The devil's lettuce? Oh, he will be partaking.

-Will fuck up the rotation. Not on purpose tho, it's just been a while since he'd done this.

-Was kinda a pothead in his youth. These days the closest he can get is a CBD ointment he uses for soreness in his back and shoulders.

-So when he catches you with quite literally the FATTEST joint he has ever seen in his life he can't help but join in.

-"There's no way you're smoking that by yourself." He chuckles, sitting crisscross beside you as you begin to pass t back and forth

-Please don't try to outsmoke him. You will lose and green out way before he does sweetie.

-Shotgunning, that's all I have to say.

-He gets kinda freakayyyy when he's high, so just expect wandering hands and some deep, passionate kisses.

Buggy

-Oh you stole it from someone and he stole it for you because wtf? You're supposed to offer your Captain the shit you steal that totally a rule.

-You don't say anything when the bag goes missing but you do smell your precious green coming from your Captain's quarters.

-You knock, hearing a light cough, and then 'come in"

-THIS MF IS SMOKING ALL YOUR SHIT.!THE SHIT YOU WORKED HARD TO STEAL!

-"So you were gonna keep this little gem a secret from me? I'd laugh in your face right now but I feel like I'm gonna cough up a lung" He strains, very obviously holding back a series of coughs.

-He doesn't seem upset and passes the joint to you with a welcoming smile.

-Who tf else did you think Shanks would smoke with back in the day?

-For once he's not talkative, just enjoying the feeling of complete relaxation. It's like he turns his brain off for a moment. he needs it honestly.

-Is literally the BEST at rolling. Like every time it's a perfect, photo-worthy blunt.

[buggy-samaaa]

Caught, part 16

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Word count: 512

Content: NSFW — mdni, gender neutral reader, no y/n, second person POV, voyeurism, anal, masturbation, misuse of devil’s fruit powers, man musk, pillow humping, auralism, degradation

Tag list: @hey-august, @bbnbhm, @genius---jester, @lostfirefly, @ane5e

——

You were perusing the stationery store, running a finger along the spines of the different decorative sketchbooks you could freely choose from with the money Buggy had gifted you. You were excited to pick from the nicer selection for once.

The two you chose were beautifully leatherbound with high quality, thick pages. There turned out to be a sale, so you ended up with 200 berry leftover. You used it to buy a nice pen for Buggy as thanks for his kind gesture.

After leaving the store, you decided to scout out a location for the usual Monday night party. The circus would be packing up by next week to move on to a different locale, so you thought it’d be a good idea to party somewhere new on the island and enjoy it in a last hurrah. You explored the area near the docks and found a beachfront bar with cheap booze and a menu full of greasy food. Perfect! You made your way back to the ship to propose the idea to Buggy.

Meanwhile, Buggy was getting dressed, reeling with guilt over going through your private drawings, wondering how he’d face you again. He definitely wasn’t ready to see your smiling face the moment he left his room.

“Hey, Buggy,” you said cheerfully, excited to call him by his name rather than his title. “I have a great idea for tonight.”

“O-Oh, yeah?” he said, leaning back against his door. It wasn’t shut all the way, yet, so he fell backward and caught himself, then closed the door and leaned against it again, looking supremely awkward. He cleared his throat. “Uh… what is it?”

You told him about the bar you found and how it would be perfect for the party.

“Right, the party,” Buggy replied, distracted by his thoughts.

“You alright? You look a little sweaty. You’re not feeling nauseated again, are you?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Just, uh, trying to think of what I’ll wear,” he lied, “since we’ll be going onshore. Might want to dress up, you know?”

“Great, so you’re okay going to that bar! Awesome, I think it’ll be a lot of fun. Oh, before I forget, I got you this,” you said, fishing into your bag and pulling out a rectangular box with the pen you got for him. He opened the box.

“Hey… this is nice,” he said with a smile. The pen was made of red and white wood, with silver ink.

“I thought you could sign autographs with it,” you explained brightly. “Thank you for the sketchbooks, by the way.”

Buggy winced inwardly at the word sketchbooks, and his smile dropped. He put the pen back in its box. “Yeah, don’t… don’t mention it,” he said quietly. “I, um. I better change.”

“Sure, I will, too! And I’ll spread the word about where we’re going.” You waved goodbye and caught up with a few crewmates to tell them about the beach, asking them to pass it on.

Buggy re-entered his room and sighed. It was going to be a long night.

[sevenpoyo]

school headcanons for because i only got 3 more weeks

margo’s is so long even tho she got like 2 minutes of screen time bc i love her so much and she’s my gf

Margo Kess, 1610Miles, 42Miles, Gwen Stacy, Pavitr Prabhakar

margo kess / spiderbyte

ain’t shorty on zoom in the movie?

my girl dont attend class, she once shut down the entire blocks power so she would have an excuse to not be in class

eats in class all class everyday, only shares with you

takes really good notes and never studies them

like???? ma’am??? share???

all her electives are programming related and she pretends to busy while playing centipede all day

sends you 50 links to stuff you might like while ur in math

she got papers that let her opt out of gym

no matter how much you beg ur gonna be alone in gym and she doesn’t feel bad about it

popular with no friends type

like everyday 50 ppl stop you both and say hi

she only knows like 5 of their names she can’t stand half of them niggas

empty ass backpack like she got one notebook and one binder

all a’s and b’s like bitch how

her memory is absolutely ass but she can remember every story you told her or stuff that happened when y’all hang out

don’t ask her what she did in her class

don’t ask her if her class also has a history test

she don’t know

she don’t care

but she do know that when you were 8 your cousin burned ur thigh while y’all were playing iron vs knife fight

(u were dumb as hell for picking knife everyone knows iron always wins)

i looked it up on her word everybody uses those virtual avatars

she’ll shit on your class choices so damn hard

she just likes making fun of your choices fr

like half of ur conversation go;

damn i’m tired

u was up doing stupid shit last night you don’t get to complain

stfu that’s why ur a bitmoji

that’s why ur granny beat ur ass for something your brother did when you were 9

i hate telling u shit

then stop telling me shit

(i have no clue how accurate this is to her character but i need to write about her i’m in love but damn it’s long)

1610 miles / spider-man 2 lmao

book bag full locker full but never has a pencil

writes notes assignments and homework in paint pen ink don’t ask this nigga for notes

(he gets nigga treatment but not my queen margo bc i got favorites)

he miss mad classes but somehow still solid attendance record???

somehow always present in the record he miss 40 days and get caught on like 6 of them

unless his mom make breakfast and lunch on her day off for him he eating the most random shit from the bodega closest to visions

like what do you mean you got a cosmic brownie and a cold chopped cheese from last night ? it’s literally 7 in the morning no i don’t want none

makes you hype him up every time he slap boxes people and he’s so ass at it

he be ashy with no lotion atleast 5 times every month it’s embarrassing

he calls visions his white people school to his parents and his friends

once he said it to gwen and they sat in literal complete silence for like 10 minutes

prolly took music theory because he thought it would be easy and switched out of that shit so fast

i’d be so mean to him for enjoying physics

like this nigga trying to make something of him self

lil einstein ass nigga

he understands color theory but can’t explain it

12 half full sketchbooks but at school he literally draw on computer paper he don’t let the sketch book leave his bag

i know he’s ass at watercolor, he always spills shit, the colors always end up brown

try’s to be interested in your class choices bc he wants to know stuff he can talk about with you

when you first meet he can’t take meaner jokes bc he thinks that you mean them

but one day he’s gets comfortable, and brutal

no one in your life is safe when he looses a video game

except your mom

rio taught him better than that

42 miles / the prowler

comes to school with no school related supplies in his bag unless you count art stuff

finds a pencil on his way to class

has a change of clothes, rat tail comb, 3 bottles of water, a camera, a flashlight, lotion and cocoa butter.

like bro ur going to Ap Art not a camping trip

once he pulled out a griddle and and pancake mix and y’all started making pancakes in class

forgets his metro pass every day and gets so pissed ab it

runs into people in the hallway bc he’s never paying attention

idk if he goes to visions but if he does he calls it his white people school with his full chest to anybody even if they’re white

he be leaving halfway through the day all the time like bro you miss algebra 2 every damn day

uncle arron always talking him out of school with some bullshit reason

bro’s had his tonsils out 8 times on the school’s records

He will get ur parents to put his uncle on ur pickup list and you will be out of there with him

he will YELL if someone step on his shoes no matter what the situation like the school could be on fire and he fighting in the burning building

also his uniform is so pristine

his pants stiff

that button down is bleached ironed pressed and allat

this mfer is an online shopping addict u just know he be on amazon in class

will offer you the weirdest food combos like no i don’t want to put tajin mangoes on my beef patty i’m sick of you nigga

not school related but he’s super good with kids (both miles fr) but he’s the #1 little cousin defender and apologists

he ride for them always one of ur little cousins could sucker punch u and he be like

‘they just want u to play with them’

he takes a preforming arts class for fun prolly

loves sports but doesn’t play one understands the stats well and would help if you played one

wakes up at the asscrack of dawn on weekends

SICK ASS COSTUME FOR HOLLOWEEN IK THIS NIGGA LOVE HOLLOWEEN

plans costumes for school spirit weeks but always checks to seen if he’s gonna be the only one wearing a costume for it

never eats lunch unless his mom makes it he be hungry all day and be complaining

his socks are never in uniform (yes some uniform schools have sock rules)

gwen stacy / spider woman / ghost spider

idk what to call her

she has every snack you could ever want in her lunch bag

hates her music theory teacher

she literally has the most pristine locker with a calendar and a mirror and all that shit will write down test for you and important dates for the both of you

goes to school plays and shits on the story, like she ain’t pay 5 dollars to be there

some of her teachers hate her

like ma’am ur beefing with a whole 16 year old rn

she hate english teachers but love creative writing teachers

she keeps all her books in her locker never brings them home never brings them to class

always comes through with an extra pad no matter what

she also always has hand sanitizer

in like 4 extracurricular after school things and complains so bad

ur starting to hate that shit to ur sick of hearing it like girl quit then

10/10 cameraman she has every fight and every drama in 10khd and she will share them if you ask

she chews her pens and nails

has her drumsticks out always teachers have banned her from taking them to their classes

can watch tv on her phone but look focused you think she’s paying attention but then you look over and she’s watching good luck charlie

pavitr prabhakar / spider-man india

always late for class never in trouble

always eating and sharing food and never in trouble

how is he blessed like this? it ain’t fair

eats from the school vending machines or begs other ppl to share

will always have and share the homework answers no matter what he’s an angel

his sock always have holes in them like sir please get that shit together

gym try hard ik goes insane in football/soccer

very encouraging for shit u don’t wanna do he believes in you

you him and Gayatri talk so much shit but are somehow all well liked

he tells you what teachers are dating (he can just tell)

he has toothpaste in his bag for some reason?? i can just feel this one

his aunt will let you come over after school she’s so sweet to you.

always got a job at school assemblies

he’s reading poems or shaking hand or leading in the school pledge or something

Pav’s is short because i have no fucking clue if school in India is different form america and Barbados

[vhstown]

gwen stacy ★ general headcanons

content/warnings: mentions of underage drinking, implied & mentions of death

a/n: hey 😁 a levels beating my arse. thx 2 @qiupachups 4 helping w these 🫡 give it up for gwendy ‼️ (unedited)

Gwen is a collector — but not of collectibles. She has a secret empire of the most random things, and is thoroughly embarrassed when anyone finds it: tickets, pins, soda can tabs, cool-looking clothing tags, mismatched hair clips, paper clips, little things stolen from school, etc. Anything she things is remotely interesting has a place in a very specifically organised box under her bed, tucked away from the world and taken out occasionally to be adjusted or stared at. It's essentially the same as being a collector, right...?

She had a fashion hobby she grew out of, but it re-kindles when she has to design a suit for herself. Initially, it's made up of thermal sportswear but she comes up with actual designs at some point, modifying it overtime to include the hood and to integrate it with her ballet slippers.

When it comes to art, Gwen's style would be a lot like a fashion student's. I headcanon her to have aphantasia so her main strength is drawing clothing, and a lot of her drawings are based on herself as a reference (she can literally only draw herself well...) Rather than a sketchbook, she has a journal that's also full of photographs and writing as well as her drawings, and the occasional crumpled up drum score.

Has a knack for sewing and customises some of her clothes, though it's more personal touches and the occasional crop rather than completely overhauling a piece of clothing. Everyday items of hers have at least a little embroidery or design on them and she likes doing patterns on like bags and converse for her friends. Wants to make plushies and things but always manages to get distracted so there's a bunch of unfinished projects in her closet. (I would totally buy from her on Etsy though 😁)

Gwen did ballet as a kid and developed the enraging habit of cracking EVERY joint in her body. She's the mf that twists in the chair in front of you and stares deep into your soul while cracking her back. Cracks things you don't even know you could crack without shame my girl is a whole instrument 😭

Ballet is something her dad pushed her towards, alongside music (though he preferred she did something more traditional). Initially Gwen did feel out of place in her classes. A lot of the other children at her classes were already well-versed in it, and a lot of times she found she wanted to quit. Only after learning that her mom Helen did ballet did she willingly pick it up again at an older age, incorporating the technique into her fighting style.

Gwen used to play a few different instruments as a kid but none of them really stuck. For a while, she thought she hated music when she did piano and the recorder, but when she got her hands on a drumkit at her school and a couple lessons, she knew it was the one.

Her drumming is definitely more freestyle, and even though she's good she has a lot of problems with her high energy, spontaneous and emotive style. That means she breaks her drumsticks ALL the time. There's no way she's banging all that out on the drums without an unfortunate snap or two, so she always keeps another pair handy. She's broken her drumsticks so much that there's a collection of them torn up at the bottom of her bag (she never bothers to throw them out, and might've given herself a splinter reaching in to find something 💀)

Speaking of drumsticks, she has one lucky pair she uses for important performances, carrying them practically everywhere. They've essentially rotted in their fancy little fabric case since she'd gottem them, the custom "GWENDOLYN MAXINE STACY" imprinted on it having almost completely eroded away.

Though, she's only ever used them once; her dad had bought them for her for a school performance, which she had to bail last minute when her Spider-sense suddenly activated. Running off to fight a villain not a street away, Peter Parker follows her, and he realises just who Spider-Woman really is.

While she was planning to use them at her prom performance with her band... that never happened. After that, everything reminded her of that night, and her relationship with The Mary Janes dwindled until she quit altogether. The band only lasted a few months prior, and since they never got to perform at prom, Gwen found herself playing for no reason at all, other than to get rid of her pent-up energy and forget about the fact that she's basically a wanted criminal.

When she's living in Hobie's universe, she ends up breaking her "lucky" drumsticks and is, understandably, a little shattered by it, but Hobie gets her another pair, "GWENDY" written in mismatched letters on the side. That "G" was definitely a last-minute addition, though. He also teaches her how to stop breaking them so often. "Bit of advice — use the wrists, not just the arms."

Gwen's definitely not meant to drink, so whenever Hobie goes to the pub he makes sure not to, suggesting his friends don't get pissed out of their minds either (though she might steal a sip of something fruity now and again.)

Hobie takes her to gigs all the time, and sometimes she drums for his ones. The first time she does it, she's nervous of course, but her sound immediately gets the crowd going and it's the talk of the town for a week straight (and her drumsticks didn't break!)

There's no shortage of junk food, of course. Just like all the takeout she'd have back at home, Hobie would make sure to take her around all the local spots. Although it's not exactly the same, anything beats the plasticky cafeteria food in 2099. Stopping for a kebab or two in the middle of anomaly-hunting isn't really against the rules anyway.

Gwen is friendly with pretty much everyone in the Spider-society because everyone knows who "Gwen Stacy" is, but she never really wants to meet another version of herself (given how unsettling it is with context). Also very awkward around any MJs — or Peters. Peter B essentially being an older 65!Peter definitely freaks her out a little at first.

Misses Miles, obviously, and probably had something she wanted to make for him back in her universe that she could never retrieve. Maybe when she gets Hobie's watch she'll bring it along with her — would Miles like a knitted neckwarmer?

SO best friends with Margo. Her tech lets Gwen see into her universe sometimes (Miguel wouldn't let her 😞) and Margo is super keen on learning about her universe. They both hang out with Peni and it's a fun little girl trio (Peni totally takes them to her universe to see all the giant mechs 😁 "Girls night!" BOOM!)

Number 1 girlfail. She hasn't broken those new drumsticks yet! But drumming can wait — and all those projects at the back of her closet, and her unresolved dispute with MJ and the band, and her dad at home. Going from her small world to having an entire multiverse against her and her friends, Gwen's got one hell of a show to put on, right?

“I never found the right band to join, so I started my own, with a few old friends.”

“You want in?”

🩰🕸️💫

@phoenixinthefiles (it's cause of you im always writing hcs 😭😭😭 /pos)

hi bunklies 😁 ive been averaging like 4h of sleep cuz of skl but ill fix up soon trust... hope you are all doing okay ! ive never written anything for gwen before so i hope this is an okay start lol

atsv masterlist here! reblogs always appreciated :) see u around <3

[betustamorla]

That quiet place in Wayne Manor

In the back of Wayne Manor, where it’s quiet –a different kind of quiet from the wide empty halls of it- and ivy covers the outer wall, showing its shy green hands into the edges of the windows there’s a room. A room in a wing that in other times, had more people residing there; but as time had passed and the previous Master and Madam had passed away, that wing had slowly but surely been emptied until only one inhabited remained. The room in itself was no fancy thing; it was an old room with a bathroom, a bath, and a small parlour –the only room to possess such an anteroom in the whole building-. The room had always belonged to the butler and head of staff of the Wayne household, as it does today, and would probably be as long as the house was in use.

The bedroom was not especially large, just enough to hold the bare necessary furniture; the bathroom was nothing but practical and efficient to clean; as for the small parlour, it was the largest of the small apartment. Yet, it remained small and simple; two high-backed cushioned chairs of a faded maroon colour –it wouldn’t be long before having to be refurbished-, a wooden table between them large enough to hold a lamp, a small plate –that might sometimes hold cookies and some others small cakes-, a teapot, and two tea cups with their respective plates. They all were facing towards a medium fireplace with an immaculate clean mantelpiece in which a set of pictures rest –most of them holding children, sulking ones, glaring ones, smiling ones, sleepy ones, confused ones-. Hanging above the mantelpiece there’s a reproduction of The Evening Angel.

To each side of the fireplace, there are paneled windows that by the late afternoon fill the small room with warm orange light in summer and autumn. A little bit to the left, there’s a wooden door with a small window in its middle that leads to the orchard part of the gardens. On the right wall of the fireplace, there are two bookcases full of books. On the left wall, there’s the door of the bedroom and to its side a table that at its top there’s an electric kettle and several tin metal boxes and flasks filled with tea and aromatic herbs, inside it, behind two glass doors a set of teacups and teapots –some white, some with delicate patterns, some chipped ones-. Behind the high back chairs, there is another bookcase –this one holds a Winchester Model 12, a Danish Butter Cookies tin can filled with sewing materials, and some other mysterious baskets and boxes-, and the door that leads to the inner narrow corridor of the service wing, not too far down from this door, there’s the door that leads to the kitchen and the service staircases that lead directly to the upper floors with the main bedrooms.

In this small room and humble room many have found refuge and comfort throughout the last years;

The brooding child who became a brooding man. He sits in silence while watching the fire –when it’s lighted-, or at The Evening Angel, and drinks black tea.

The angry child who became a smiling man. He sits while chatting and laughing sometimes, at others, he resembles a certain silent brooding man. He drinks his tea with sugar and milk.

The lost child who became a broken man. He sits quietly while reading a book and answers the questions in his own time. He drinks whatever he is given, which usually is calming and herbal.

The clever child who became a tired man. He sits talking quietly, sometimes about meaningful things or sometimes about the last development in a case. He drinks sip after sip from soft green tea.

The silent child who became a wise woman. She doesn’t sit very long, preparing the tea meticulously and in different manners according to their nature is how she spends her time. She loves pu-erh tea.

The violent child who became a caring man. He sits and draws in his sketchbook atop his crossed knee. Jazmine tea is his predilection and he refuses to take any other kind, but he never refuses the sweetmeats. 

When the tea is finished, the empty cups stand forgotten with some leaves and darkened water on their bottom, some crumbs remain on an empty plate, and the two chairs eventually grow cold, awaiting to be warmed again.

[tealin]

Antarcticans

I may not have used my sketchbook as much as I thought I would, with regard to locations, but I did fill a few pages with one of my favourite pastimes back in The World: people sketching.

My biggest anxiety about going to McMurdo was the human factor.  Whether it was school or work, a recurring motif in my life is that I do not do well in a big box full of Americans, and that is, almost literally, exactly what McMurdo is.  Sure, the continent wants to kill you, and every way of getting to and around it comes with risk of serious accident, but the only thing I was actually afraid of was finding myself in a stressful social situation and not having any recourse to escape.  I know how to build a snow cave.  I don't know how to deflect the ire of people who've taken a set against me – and, for whatever reason, I tend to rub people in the States the wrong way.  When I was shortlisted for the placement, the person handling the admin briefed me about the process and asked me if I had any further questions, and I raised this concern.  She responded that, speaking purely from her own experience, she had never felt more comfortable being herself than when she was at McMurdo.  Not knowing who 'herself' was, I took this with a grain of salt, but it was an encouraging answer nonetheless.

It turned out that the best thing about McMurdo was, in fact, those very people I had been afraid of.  Everyone I met was absolutely splendid.  In my first days there, my supervisor joked that if you shake the world, all the best people end up at the bottom; the remainder of my time there proved how right she was.  One of the main things that attracted me to the Terra Nova story, and has kept me committed to it for so long, was how wonderful the people were – far outside what I had come to expect from humanity.  Warm, genuine, accepting of and attentive to each other, a wide range of personalities and dispositions that nevertheless got on and functioned together as a society, in the face of environmental and emotional extremes ... I needed to know such people were possible, and clung to them as an ideal.  It was a wonderful surprise to discover that they would not be out of place amongst their modern counterparts.

Is it because they're scientists, as someone theorised? But they're not – most of the people at McMurdo are support staff, working in the kitchen or waste disposal or shuttle fleet; helping the science happen, yes, but that's not necessarily why they're there, personally.  Is it because a harsh environment triggers something in the human psyche to support each other, rather than compete?  Maybe, but these people seem like they'd be solid wherever they are, and were like that before going South.  

I suspect there is an element of self-selection – something about the sort of person who would want to go to Antarctica correlates with a certain mindset, one that gels extremely well with others who share it, however different they may be in other respects.  There is no denying that everyone there is a bit odd.  They tend to be types that exist on the fringes back in The World and, like me, may struggle to conform to its values.  A few years ago, I came across this adage from an Antarctic veteran: "You go the first time for the adventure.  You go the second time to relive the first time.  You go the third time because you don't belong anywhere else."  Many of them live in remote places, or travel, or do itinerant work when not on the Ice.  There is a bit of a running gag in Where'd You Go, Bernadette? that everyone doing a mundane job in Antarctica is a high achiever in something amazing, who left it all behind – and that's not exactly untrue.  Perhaps what unites Antarcticans is an awareness of what really matters, when you get right down to it: they've played the game enough to see through it, and are done with it.  "Glory? He knew it for a bubble: he had proved himself to himself. He was not worrying about glory. Power? He had power." So Cherry wrote about Wilson in 1948, but many modern Antarcticans might sympathise.  When you come out the other side of self-aggrandisement and jockeying for status, and are happy just to be yourself and let others be themselves, you get a happy, harmonious society.  Or so it would seem.

At midnight on my last day there, I had a deep conversation with someone I'd only met in passing before, but who was totally down to have a long talk with a random stranger on a footbridge in the middle of the night. I presented her my hypothesis that no one at McMurdo was popular in high school.  No, she replied; there may be a handful who were popular in high school ... but they're not popular at McMurdo.  Maybe the secret is in there somewhere.

Anyway, I didn't do nearly as much people sketching as I'd have liked, given that the base was populated entirely by Characters, but these are the pages I did manage to get. 

Two pages of random McMurdites, likely in the Galley:

These last four are from a meeting where team leaders were presenting their projects to some high muckymucks visiting from the NSF. I was only there because my project was allotted a space in the presentation, but the main focus was the massive Thwaites Glacier project, a collaboration between the US Antarctic Program and the British Antarctic Survey to study one of the most unstable regions in Antarctica.  They quite rightly took up the whole meeting time, and the privilege of being there meant I learned a lot about the project.  My longstanding habit is to draw during meetings, so I captured some of them in my sketchbook while absorbing the science into my head.

Notable characters in my sketches include: - David Vaughan, heading up the British contingent of the Thwaites team, was quite an engaging and affable guy but had a concentration scowl that puts mine in the shade. I was shocked when I heard he died of cancer earlier this year (2023) – a great loss to BAS, glaciology, and Antarctic science generally. - When Erin Pettit isn't studying glaciers with an eye to climate change, she's taking girls on wilderness adventures to foster an interest in science and art, as well as self-confidence. - Britney Schmidt, Queen of Icefin, not only earned my profound respect but has a whole episode of PBS's Terra dedicated to her work developing sub-ice autonomous robots with the aim of exploring Europa. (Seriously, so cool.)

I could go on about Antarctic people, but there's nothing so good as showing you, and luckily I can do just that. PBS sent a small team down in 2018 to do a YouTube series, and one of their episodes is all about the cool people who call McMurdo home.  It might make my point better than all my whittering, and is certainly more fun. If you'd like to see more, Werner Herzog's film Encounters at the End of the World is much of the same, but more so.  It had been recommended to me several times, but I hadn't managed to get my hands on it until a week before I left, when it turned out a Cambridge friend had a copy and lent it to me.  'I don't know how true it is,' he said, 'but I want it to be.'  When I got back, I was happy to confirm to him that it was, indeed, exactly like that.  And I miss it so much.

[sankttealeaf]

artistic endeavours

pairing ; arthur morgan x gender neutral!reader

summary ; during a walk around Saint Denis, you find yourself drawing a rather interesting stranger's horse.

other info ; this is completely self-indulgent, because all i want to do is draw with arthur. first time doing any sort of 'x reader' and i had a lot of fun. it's so silly i love it. left the ending open ended because i thought of a part 2 if people are interested &lt;3

word count: 2.5k

psst, part two is here: masterpieces

Finding inspiration for various art projects came easy to you while living in Saint Denis - the city was full of interesting subjects to study and draw, and whenever you found yourself in a creative block it didn't take much to reignite the spark. You had signed up to paint some pieces for a new exhibition at the end of the month, “The Beauty of Saint Denis”, a love letter to the city you currently called home, and so far everything had been going smoothly. Three paintings were complete, with another needing a few finishing touches. The issue was with your main piece, a large oil painting of the Théâtre Râleur at night. Something was missing and you had no idea what it was. With a few days left to go for all submissions to be collected by the gallery, you were running out of time to make this work. You were hoping that some of these paintings would be sold during the exhibitions, and you really couldn’t afford to give up now.

The room you used as your art studio was beginning to feel stuffy and small; the ventilation was poor and you had forgotten to open a window to let some air in when you first started this morning. Perhaps that was why you were pulling your hair out, trying to get something down on the canvas - the oil paint was starting to mess with your mind. You sighed, deciding that now was the best time to go for a walk, find something for lunch and not think too much about how close you were to starting this painting from scratch, not that you had the time to do so. You packed away your sketchbook, grabbing a few charcoal pencils and crayons too in case you saw something that sparked inspiration, and left. Fresh air would do you good, you told yourself. 

The city was busier than usual today as you stepped out onto the street, the midday sun warming you up immediately. Your plan was to walk around for a bit, just to see if anything felt interesting to draw, and then grab some food. The walk and air would do you good, even if nothing was drawn. You walked around slowly, pausing every now and then to take down some notes on people’s outfits, wondering if you should add a crowd outside of the theatre to make it look busy. The more you imagined it in your head, the more you decided it wouldn't hurt to try. You quickly sketched down a few ideas, before moving on, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself from those you were drawing. The last thing you wanted was for someone to get angry that you were doing that - it had happened more times than you liked to admit. You decided to loop around the docks, and then walk back around and stop off at that bakery you frequented a lot.

The docks were busy, but there was no surprise there. People walked about, carrying boxes and bags between places. There was enough going on here to definitely spark some form of creativity, and you hoped that something would be interesting to draw. You took a moment to scan over your surroundings, trying to piece together things that could work with your painting at home when you saw something. A lone horse was hitched outside the general store, and it felt like a perfect thing to draw. 

You took out your sketchbook as you approached the horse, careful not to spook it. The pattern was something you had never seen much of before, and it stood out to you the moment you saw it. Maybe a horse was missing from your painting? You began to quickly sketch out the main shapes of the horse, keeping it loose and soft to get the basic idea of how everything fits together. Once you had filled up a page on quick drawings, moving around to get different angles, you opened to a double page and began a more detailed drawing.

“Ain’t you just the prettiest thing,” you mumbled softly, taking a small step to the side to get a better view of her head. You took more time with this drawing, making sure to capture all the details you could, from the markings to the way her mane fell to the style of the bridle. A quick look at the horse and you could tell that her owner loved her a lot, she was clean and looked well fed, and if you knew what kind of treats she liked, you would definitely give her lots of them.

You found yourself getting lost in the piece, now moving on to giving it pops of colour. Your charcoal pencil was tucked behind your ear, and you switched out between two colours to try and match the shade of its coat. The more you thought about it, the more it would fit well in the painting of the theatre. You were excited to go back home to add her in.

"If you're goin' to steal her, you might wanna be a bit quicker at it next time." A voice spoke, taking you by surprise. You quickly turned around to see the owner of it - a tall, rather rugged looking man. The guns at his side made you weary, and you closed your sketchbook, holding it closer to you.

"Oh, no, I ain't in the horse stealing business, sir," you said quickly, taking a step back to put some distance between you, him, and the horse. "But if I was, your horse would be one I'd steal." The words left your mouth before your mind could tell you that it probably wasn't the best way to compliment someone's horse.

The stranger raised his eyebrow at you, giving you a once over. "Sounds like somethin’ a horse thief would say.” He let out a small chuckle to himself, and then shrugged. “You don’t look like much of one, anyway.”

He wasn’t wrong, you definitely didn't give off the same vibes as a horse thief, though you didn't know many to compare yourself to. You watched as he gave you a nod, walking around to the opposite side of the horse. 

"Definitely not going to steal her." You looked down at your sketchbook, giving it a small wave in his direction. "Just drawing her, if that's alright. She looked really interesting, and I've been facing a real bad block lately."

“Saint Denis seems to have a lot of you artsy folk around, huh?” He asked, as you nodded.

“It’s a unique city. I find that there are a lot of things to draw here,” you replied, opening up back to the page you were just on. “Lots of horses, too. None as good as yours, though.”

“You sure you ain’t trying to steal her?” He raised an eyebrow, and you were quick to shake your head again.

“I promise I’m not!”

“I’m just messing with you.” He gave you a smile. “You're some kind of artist, then?”

You nodded. “It’s one of the only things I’ve got going for me right now. I came to Saint Denis to capture its beauty, and haven’t left since.”

“Beauty is a strong word for this place,” he replied, scrunching his nose up as he spoke, and you tilted your head to the side in confusion.

“You don’t like it?”

“Too crowded. Too… city-like.”

You let out a laugh. “Funny that, considerin’ it is a city.” You turned to a new page, deciding to get a closer sketch of the horse’s head. “I hope I ain’t keeping you or anything.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” he said, and you looked up to see him take out a brush from his bag, giving his horse a quick brush down. “I know how frustrating it can be when the thing you’re drawing leaves too soon.”

“You’re an artist, too?” You stopped, giving him a look up and down. He didn't seem like the artistic type from the outside, but you supposed looks could be deceiving. He looked to be the kind of person you would bump into late at night, looking for trouble. The guns on his sides didn't help with that much, but he didn't appear to be threatening. The way he looked at his horse was anything but threatening.

“I draw. Not a proper artist or anythin’.” He looked at you, and you gave him a small smile.

“I think anyone who draws can be considered a proper artist,” you said, as he shrugged in response.

You watched him for a few moments, before going back to your sketch, smoothing some lines out to give the impression of shadows and depth. It wasn’t your best work, but for a fast sketch, it was decent. The stranger had moved during your sketch session, and was now leaning up against one of the wooden poles that held up one of the various awnings on the store, hat tipped in front of his face. You paused for a moment, your pencil hovering over the page before the horse’s head. With a deep breath, you began to very loosely draw the man. You had drawn other people that day, so there was nothing weird about doing it again. But with the person so close, you could feel your cheeks warm up from embarrassment - all he needed to do was look up and catch you drawing him. But he didn't. 

You kept things simple, using few lines to give the impression of features, smudging other lines to use as shadows. A quick line behind him, and you had a very rough outline. You took a mental note of the colours he was wearing - a dark red shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the well worn jeans, the dark boots. He looked like trouble, and yet here he was, letting you draw his horse without a complaint.

The sudden rumble from your stomach brought you out from your drawing session, and you knew you had enough to use as a reference for your painting now. You did feel a little bad for keeping him waiting, and looked down at your drawing of his horse’s head. You didn't have any change you could give him to thank him for your time, but you did have art… With one quick movement, you ripped out the page. Closing your sketchbook and shoving it back into your bag, you approached where he was leaning.

“Sorry for keeping you around,” you said, as he tipped his hat back, looking at you. He straightened up, giving you a nonchalant wave of his hand.

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it’s easier to draw things when they’re still,” he said. “You done?”

“Yes. Thank you. Uh, here-” You held out the drawing for him with a smile. “It’s not much, and you don’t have to take it, but… a token of gratitude, if you will.”

He looked down at the paper, gently taking it from you. You watched as he held it up to where his horse was, looking between them. “‘Ain’t much’? I can’t even tell the difference between the drawin’ and her!” He looked at you with a smile. “Thanks, uh…?”

You told him your name quickly, holding out a hand for him to shake. Between all the art, you had completely forgotten to introduce yourself. 

He took your hand in his, giving it a firm shake. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Thank you, Arthur, for letting me draw your horse,” you said, taking a small step back once you let go of his hand. You wondered if it would be weird to invite him along to the opening night of the exhibition, as you felt pretty confident now that you’d be able to finish the piece. You knew what it was missing now, after all. He carefully placed your drawing in his satchel, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. You rarely share your art with anyone, let alone hand someone a piece for free, and you weren’t too sure what had gotten into you to do that. There was something about Arthur that made you feel like you could share it easily. You stepped aside to allow him to walk by you to his horse.

Arthur gave you a nod, as he walked to his horse, unhitching the reins from the post. He turned to look at you. “There’s a lot of good places outside Saint Denis to draw at,” he said, pulling the reins over his horse’s head. “Lots of animals, too. Even more horses.”

“Maybe I’ll have to branch out one day,” you replied with a laugh. “Take a week long trip out to New Hanover, I’ve heard a lot about the landscape there.”

He seemed like a well travelled man to you, and you could easily see yourself going around to different places to draw landscapes and animals and people. Horses were expensive, so you would have to travel by train, and then find somewhere to stay… Maybe you would take his recommendation. You could always do with new focuses to paint whenever you got bored of Saint Denis.

You hadn’t told many people that your art was going to be displayed yet, and Arthur seemed interested enough in art. It wouldn't hurt to drop the suggestion, right? You searched through your bag for a small card that held the information for the exhibition on it. Your brain was telling you that it was strange to ask him to come along, but you pushed the thought away. It’s a public event, anyone could come, it didn't mean anything if you asked him to drop by. He turned to mount his horse, and you spoke up.

“If you’re in the area at the end of the month-” you started, making him look back at you. You took another deep breath to get you through this, holding out the business card to him, “the gallery downtown is hosting an exhibition, and I should have some art up on display there…” You hoped he understood what you were hinting at, as the thought of asking this stranger to see your artwork was causing a bubble of anxiety to rise in you. “Opening night is when I’ll be there, but it’ll be up for a week after that if you're still in the city.”

He took the business card from you, reading it and flipping it over in his hand. “I’ll drop by if I can,” he said with a smile, and you felt your anxieties leave you. With a smile, he nodded at you, before pulling himself up onto his horse. “Been nice talkin’ to you.”

“You too, Arthur.” You gave him a small wave. “If you ever need a drawing partner, be sure to let me know!”

“I might just take you up on that offer,” he laughed, and you watched as he left, walking off down the street. 

Nothing would come of it, most likely, but the idea of going around with someone and drawing together filled your mind. Especially with the idea of travelling - maybe this was your calling? To travel and paint together with someone. You pushed that thought away, not wanting to get too attached to the idea, however lovely it may be.

You began your walk back home, eager to get out the paints. This was going to be one of your best pieces ever, and you were now looking forward to the exhibition instead of dreading it.

[catsfor2]

fem!artist!reader x ellie

<warnings> sexual ?tension ?, slight slight angst, swearing, UNEDITED!

i’ve been wanting to write some hcs/drabbles for a bit and am finally doing it!!. this is kinda self indulgent and i thought others might enjoy. i want to do fics, more hcs, and am CURRENTLY DOING REQUESTS/ASKS!!!!! so plssss interact/tell me what u think!!! —j

Ellie found value in her art mainly through its life and realism. Her sketchbook was merely snippets of her mind - the love, the fear, the humor, the darkness.

Aside from books she’s sparsely found, she hasn’t been exposed to much other forms of art.

When you appeared in Jackson, it barely took days for mentions of the new ‘town artist’ to reach her ears. Dina, fawning over a delicate set of earrings, “Ellie she makes them out of plants…or like…the sap? I don’t totally remember what she said but I swear she’s so freaking cool,”

Or when Jesse came strolling in, rambling about this tiny dagger ring he now has, made out of an old spoon.

“Look I didn’t even buy it alright? Dina won’t stop talking about this chick who makes like…jewelry..I guess? Now I’ve got probably the shortest range weapon known to man,” he finished, smiling.

The final straw was when Ellie came home from a patrol late one night, achy and worn, to a tiny box sitting on her mattress.

As she peered closer, she saw a note hastily taped to the side. It read:

“Hey its Dina. I saw something and it made me think of you. I may have blabbed about you to the artist and she knows who you are now. Oops. She said she wants to see your drawings. Don’t hate me.”

Ellie felt her body suddenly become more achy and more tired. Of course. She didn’t want to get involved in this bullshit, some newcomer wooing all her friends with useless junk. Although, the thought that Dina got her a gift blurred her annoyance to a degree.

Ellie’s fingers tore through the wrapping on the outside, flipping the lid to reveal a small, bone colored pendant strung with a brown braided cord. As she peered closer, the pendant became a moon;It’s face, immaculately tiny, smiling subtly.

The necklace was far too obstructive for Ellie to wear at all, honestly. Dina probably knew this when she got it. But the pendant truly is beautiful. An entirely different art form. A different show of care - of talent. The detail allows her to comfortably sit in her room and study it quietly for another ten minutes.

Ellie sat hunched the next morning, eating something bland for breakfast, only clad in a loose sports bra and some sweatpants.

A knock heightened her soggy mood.

“Are you fucking- I went out yesterday there’s no fucking reason to be knocking on my door at—”

Jesus. There is no mistaking it, Ellie thinks. This is you.

Your hair is intertwined with beads, some homemade and some foraged from the looks of it. Dozens of necklaces, layered and tangled around your neck. The same can be said for both of your wrists. Your ears, pierced up the sides and looped with beads, charms, and other metal pieces.

It was like you were a display for the things on your body. Except, no, Ellie thinks, your face stands out amongst it all. Somehow, with all of the things covering you, your beauty is the most noticeable.

It does nothing to quell how annoyed Ellie is, however.

“Who are you,” Ellie quips(knowing full well who you are). “and what do want.”

“I’m sorry- am I intruding? I really didn’t want to bother you or anything!” You rush, suddenly embarrassed.

“I’m y/n, I just moved here. Dina just said that you might have some extra pencils and stuff that I could borrow if I ran out?” You say, hoping desperately you can save this first impression.

“I mean…” Ellie uncrosses her arms and brushes some hair behind her ear.

“Yeah, you can use some shit. I have enough to share. I didn’t know Dina told you that, so. My bad. For being…rude.” She adds, opening the door even wider. You see her muscles flex as her arms extend and curse yourself for even noticing.

“Oh it’s fine, really!” You say, making sure to remember this about Dina. Also making sure to avert your eyes from the dangerously low cut of Ellie’s sweatpants. Her careless movements are really making you nervous.

Ellie gestures for you to enter, abruptly grasping your shoulder when you don’t move as fast as she would like. She begins to walk you farther into the room.

“You do realize it’s 6 a.m. right? What do you need pencils for at 6 a.m.?” She says, staring you directly in the eyes.

“Ah, well, I guess you’re not a morning type of creator?”

“No.” Ellie sternly remarks. “I’m not.”

She turns around to start walking away.

Starting to feel like a pest, you quickly try to think of something else to change the subject.

“Y’know…I think a ring would look really nice on your hands. Or fingers- I guess.”

That’s a nice compliment right? Or did I just say something fucking insane? You think.

Ellie straightens, slowing her pace a bit.

“I could make you a ring? Like as a trade? For the…pencils?” You say.

She turns.

“Yeah…Sure…” Her hands fall on her hips.

“How do you know how big to make it,” Ellie says. “The ring.”

“Well, what I’ve been doing is using this like, bendy piece of plastic to—well, hold on,” you pause, grabbing her hand to demonstrate.

Ellie’s eyes snap to yours in an instant, invisibly clouding your brain with something warm and fuzzy. You feel her hand flex in yours.

“uh…yeah, so I use this,” you reach into your pocket. “and I wrap it around whichever finger, like middle or ring finger.”

You instinctively wrap it around her ring finger, matching up the lines and moving your head in close to see which number lines up. You feel her figure move closer to you, almost hovering over you as you work.

“aaaand it looks like you’re a size….9” you mumble, running your hands along the base of her fingers before shyly retrieving yourself from touching her, remembering the situation.

Before you can move, Ellie snatches both of your wrists, bringing them in between the both of you. Her eyes intimately gloss over your rings.

“Hold up, could I try on one of yours?”

Your face colors. You couldn’t really explain, but something about the way she’s gripping your hands makes the blood in your body heat up.

“I…yeah, yes. But these are gonna be like…pinky rings for you.” You say, hands fumbling to take off one of your rings for Ellie to try on. Your palms are getting sweatier each time she touches you.

“What?”

“Your fingers are bigger than mine. So,” you take your ring and attempt to place it on her finger. “it only fits…” Ellie’s eyes track your hands. “…on your pinky. There. See? Pinky ring.”

“Oh.” She says. Her gaze still hasn’t left your hands, almost like she’s noticing them for the first time.

You misread her quietness as some sort of sadness.

“Hey, your hands aren’t that much bigger than mine- I know a lot of girls who just have bigger ring sizes. It’s not like- a thing. To feel bad about, or anything.”

Ellie says nothing. Her mouth twitches.

“Your hands are nice. I think..”

She looks up, a laugh bubbling out slightly. Finally, she stops you.

“I don’t mind having big hands.” She looks at you with something weird, something extra.

“They’re not really that big…” You joke, thankful that Ellie has seemed become less irritated with your presence. You notice the wirey veins tracing between her fingers and lining the backs of her hands.

“Yeah?” She questions. “Wanna compare?”

The way shes smiling at you puts a fiery ball in your stomach. It gets hotter as you realize she will not stop looking at you.

“Wow you really can’t take your eyes off my hands, huh? You really want to make me a ring that bad?” She says. Something in her tone makes you pulse between your thighs.

“Oh- I don’t mean to stare. I’m sorry.” You utter, trying to regain your composure.

This is not the Ellie you were taking to before. You felt…vulnerable, now. Your shirt felt thin, it had you rethinking your bralessness. Your shorts felt���short. It felt like the exposed parts of you were burning under the possibility of being seen by Ellie.

“No, I think you mean to.” She continues, “Because you’ve been staring this whole time.”

She’s found you out. You tried your best to be subtle about the yearning, the pull you felt, the way you’ve been just a little breathless ever since you’ve walked through the door.

But you failed.

“It’s really cute, the way you say you like my hands cause of the ring thing.”

She grabs your chin gently and rubs her thumb just under your mouth.

“…But. Be honest.” She stops. Her other hand starts to inch up your leg. You barely notice until her hand brushes the hem of your shorts.

“They just turn you on.”

Your eyes flip wide open, as does your mouth.

“You can pretend it’s some sort of artistic muse thing, but I think…” Ellie tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in closely near your neck. “you just want to be touched.”

Your silence is encouraging to her, it seems. The way your eyes have glossed over and cheeks gone red also let her continue,

“Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Have you been waiting for someone to ask you that?” Her eyes flit between your lips and the outline of your pebbled nipples under your shirt.

“For someone to give their fingers to you?”Ellie only grins. She’s pleased, excited, at your inexperience.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you sputter.

The hand on your thigh tightens, causing you to squeeze your legs ever so slightly. You focus on meeting Ellie’s gaze and not closing your eyes to relish in the contact.

“Do you want me to touch you?” She asks.

Her eyes gaze so heavily at your mouth, it’s difficult to remember to speak.

“Cause I really want to touch you. Please?” Both of her hands are now trailing up and down your thighs, almost frantically, tugging at the bottom of your shirt and messing with the hem.

You know that she can now see your bare breasts, pushing through the fabric of your top. Ellie’s hands grope your waist and your ass suddenly slides forward from the force, your breasts pressing up against hers in an instant. The heady exhale she groans out blows past your neck. The warmth gives you shivers.

“Yes, touch me.” You say,

hoping wholly to god that it won’t be the last time you say it.

[bosskie]

Molluck Sketching Book

Last night, I had yet another urge to draw Molluck and I wanted to draw to a bigger paper since I have done those two previous sketches to my lil A5 sketchbook. I looked at my 'paper collection' (I have about 20 different paper pads and sketchbooks, most unused...) and I realized that I have this unused book-like sketching book and I could dedicate it to these Molluck sketches but maybe also make it be like a book about Molluck. So that second picture kinda 'illustrates' it being like a book and how to enjoy it! Yeah, I just had to have some fun with my stuff.

And yes, that's the cigar I have in its tube. I have seen some photos of really big cigars and man, I wish to have that kind of cigar but that was the biggest one I could find from the special closet they were in a tax-free store, behind a lock, but also the most beautiful one. I also got one cigar tin box I once bought, empty, and it decorates my kitchen, next to that Gametee's RuptureFarms tin sign.

Yes, the cigar is still there since I don't smoke but maybe one day... Cigars are just something more elegant than 'basic cigarettes' since they need some special treatment, meaning storing conditions. Yes, Molluck made me read about cigar smoking stuff and I wonder how he has stored his... Sometimes I just imagine him having like a big storage room for his cigars, a room full of humidors or the room itself being the humidor.

But yes, I wasn't really sure about the cover but I think that it looks somewhat fitting. I drew it with white gel pen, permanent type ink marker and paint marker, and I can say that it was kinda messy too... But I think that I succeeded fine enough since drawing with ink kinda requires that you do no mistakes and draw straight away. I used to enjoy drawing with marker pens, drawing straight away, but it can be stressful too since like I said, you shouldn't do any mistakes. But well, pretty many traditional art supplies can be quite unforgiving anyway, so that's kinda 'the spirit' of traditional art. I have like hundreds of markers, too... I should count them. I'm just saying this kinda to myself that I should really use the stuff I have, I have so much art supplies...

And yeah, that spine of the book has a lil RuptureFarms logo. I have been also just wondering more Molluck's role and power, for what he was truly responsible for since he was the CEO of both RuptureFarms and SoulStorm Brewery. I really wish that OWI (Lorne) reveals more stuff about this! And I wanna say that all this love I give for Molluck and wishing all the best for him doesn't mean that I support his doings. I don't love him for his actions and I see that inside of him is a beautiful Gluk. He can seem like the meanest boss in the world but he can also be sweet, just like his cigars.

For me, Molluck just doesn't feel 'evil' and well, I'm a 'Gluk-hugger', meaning that Glukkons are my favourite Oddworld species and I just love their certain greediness and selfishness... But well, it's also a part of my dark humour... Like one of the biggest reasons why I love Oddworld is that dark humour, I just love it! But also just dark themes in general there.

And well, yes, I still do support Molluck but in a way that I don't care about moral stuff when I say that. When it comes to this Oddworld/Molluck stuff, I just like to throw my moral to the trash can and play around. And the main reason why I started to love Molluck was that I saw myself in him; he just felt like a me as a Gluk...

I just cannot help myself with Molluck... I just wish to give all my love to him and that I could make him feel good and loved... Oh, and I do actually like to play around with Molluck being that 'angry jerk' kind of Gluk the Sligs said him being like. I mean, my image of Molluck has different shades and I love them all.

[cauldron-of-oddities]

Seven Gifts

There were things Jinx would not share with Silco. Little rituals, just for her. Powder may be gone, but her memories remained. And sometimes they would get so loud she'd need to listen, to give in, lest she drown in them.

To quiet the unrelenting noise in her mind (or was that to soothe her sore heart?), she gave into the urge to remember, to keep something close of those she'd cared for, still cared for.

Powder had kept a treasure box. It was filled with little trinkets that she'd been given. Most came from Vi and Ekko.

The newly named Jinx had wanted to throw all the soft sentimentality away, only when she tried, her throat had constricted, and her eyes had stung. First, just a single tear fell, then a second, and then the floodgates broke. Almost like the box had made a tether to her heart, she could not let it go. Silently, to herself in the shadows, she admitted in a fragile whisper “I don't want to let you go.”

Sot, she'd kept the box. For all the hurt, for all weakness, it was hers, and it was bound to the two people who she still loved despite everything. With no one to add it, she hid the box away under her bed, or rather between the mess of pillows and blankets piled high on her mattress.

It was with this box that her little ritual began. She'd received crates full of old mechanical devices for her to tinker with as she pleased. Amongst the mundan machines and old guns, something glinted just a little different. A watch casing and all sorts of spare bits. Her first thought Ekko would have loved to have those, she scoffed, she'd use the pieces herself.

She didn't use them, or rather, she did. By the end of the day, there was a working watch, an intricate thing that kept the time with precision and followed the position of the moon. An owl was etched on the lid. This was for Ekko, no other. He'd be thrilled when he saw it! The excitement of seeing his reaction rose, and then her shoulders slumped. There would be no gift giving.

In the nest that passed for a bed, she sat folded in on herself. One arm tightly wrapped around her knees, the other gingerly held the watch. What was she to do with a gift she couldn't give? A gift she wanted to give.

She had Silco, she needed no other, she told herself. Her throat felt tight. He'd tell her to let go. The more she repeated it, the more it ate at her.

She remembers that this week was Ekko's birthday, and she couldn't go see him. As if to offer relief, she saw the box peak out between the pillows. She could put it with treasures, she thought, a safe place for memories.

It felt cold to just chuck it in there, so she sang a birthday song, like it was a present that would be properly given. She hugged it once close and placed it in the box and hid it all away. The wet spot on her pillow would be dry by morning. No evidence of her tears would remain. Just this once would be alright.

Only the next year came, and then next and the next, and like clockwork, she'd find a gift. Her heart would constrict, and she'd have to get it. And suddenly she had six.

The watch she put together herself.

An expansive toolkit stolen from an airheaded pilty professor, Ekko would agree that the stuffy man wouldn't need it anyway.

A mostly empty sketchbook (she'd doodled on it because it was too plain, and the paper was so nice).

Bullet cases she took the edge off and engraved with that hourglass they'd drawn first long ago. She'd seen him briefly, and his hair had been a nice change. She couldn't go give a compliment, so this would do.

A book with pretty pictures of all the trees, she'd seen him flying about with a leafy twig behind his ear.

Two tiger eyes gems because they reminded her of his eyes. Were those then for him or her? It didn't matter. It meant 'I'm still thinking of you'.

She'd take out her box, sing a song, mark it just for him, her tears would come and then she put it all away. So it had gone for six years.

She hasn't felt right in days, and she's all alone. Her shoulder is still sore. Never mind the tightness in her chest. She wants something familiar, something safe. There's not much left of that. Her nest may be the closest thing. She curled up in the little comfort ot offerd. Like that day seven years ago, the box peaked out from between the pillows, and it's all too much as she realises she has nothing to offer. Her voice cracking “I don't have a present for you.” Curling around her treasure chest of memories, as another sweet memory returned to her. Ekko was meant to add to her collection until there were ten, then'd she'd share.

Here she was three from him and six for him. Would he have seven for her? Her seventh gift are her whispered words “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I remember. "You can look."

He remembers Powder having a little treasure box, one where she'd put her favourite things. He'd once snuck a peak, and to his delight, saw there were things that he had gifted her in the box. A super shiny cog, a pretty stone, a hair clip with a blue flower. She slammed the lid shut when she noticed him leaning over her shoulder. Her cheeks positively burning.

“Can I see?" He asks. She shakes her head no, clearly embarrassed.

"There’s nothing embarrassing in there. It all looked like real treasure!” His enthusiasm at getting to know what she kept dear spurring him on.

“It's silly.” She says shyly.

“Why?” Why would keeping nice things be silly? He thought it was a good idea. “Can I see?” he goes on to ask. She fiddles with the lid, biting her lip. And then “When there are ten things from you in the box, you can look.”

It was a fond memory, and with the steadfast certainty of youth, he'd decided he'd get to look in her precious box of treasures. Yeah, sure, there'd be things in there he would give, but that would mean he was her treasure too.

Shortly after, it all went to hell.

Part of him knew it would likely be a fruitless effort, but it was a little bit of hope to hold on to. He fixated on the box, a promis unfulfilled. Maybe if it was, he'd see her again.

There had been three things he had given her in the box. If he gathered seven more, maybe, just maybe, he would have his wish. In the meantime, it was a connection. No matter how far she went, this he could hold on to.

His parents didn't quite know what would help him. What did you do, other than offer comfort, your arms, your love, in the face of such loss? His mother gave him a little plush owl. “To guard you and comfort you when we're away.” It was made of scraps, the fabric already worn soft, and it carried the safety of his parents. He couldn't help but think Powder would also have loved such a soft guardian. He decided this would be the first gift. He would share his little guardian.

He made an actual box for Powders gifts soon after. Maybe he was too old for this, but it made him feel better, so he did it anyway. “You can keep her treasure box safe.” He said to the little owl, his voice thick with tears “And maybe her too. I think I'd like to share you.” That left six gifts to find.

He had always painted and drawn for fun now he also painted as a way to remember, to deal with his grief. Powder had loved to doodle on everything, including him, so a set of crayons was next.

He found a small broken music box, and when he fixed it Powder's, Vi's and Vanders's favourite tune would play. He caught himself humming it more often than once.

When he caught a glimpse of her again her hair was split in two and so much loner. He made cuffs from bolts and cogs in different metals. She liked variation, and he thought they'd be pretty in her hair.

He made her a hoverboard because he thought she'd like to fly. She always wanted to join in, always wanted to feel free, and well, there was nothing quite so freeing as littraly getting of the ground. And if he was entirely hosest, he wanted to fly with her. The board was kept beside the box being too big.

She was lethal and sharp and more beautiful as they got older. She also grew further and further away from him, elusive as a phantom. The glint of the mobile caught his eye blue and pink, just like her. There was something ethereal about it. How pretty would it be reflected in her eyes, or would she be beautiful when charmed by their sparkle?

He kept his treasure trove high on a shelf, hidden in plain sight, the little owl it's ever faithful guard. He placed the gift in it and counted down how many there were left. “Just one left to go. Do I get to see you soon?”

He had been hurt from the fight on the bridge, and yet everything buzzed with life, with grief, her fate was unknown. She was gone from him, and he needed an outlet. An empty sketchpad was found, and he lost himself to the scratch of pencil on paper. Powder, Jinx, sweet, fierce, terrifying, alluring, broken, whole, a wish, he drew it all. “Let me see you.”

With shaky hands, he lifted little owl one last time to add the sketchbook full of her (and his wishes.)

“Seven gifts, that makes ten, you said I could look.”

Seven gifts hidden in a box

kept out of sight, forever kept in the heart.

Seven gifts in a box

To hold close, when I couldn't keep you in my arms

One day I'd to like give them all to you

All these things that remind me of you.

To see you smile, to see you whole

Just me and you together, forever.

@typewriteringalaxy I did end up writing a drabble

[cloudycaffeinatedcryptid]

What do you think each of the hacketteer's most cherished personal belonging is?

thank you for the ask, i love Making Up Things About My Blorbos hours. this really makes me think bc everyone bonds with such different things for random reasons. i've had a rock on my bookshelf for 7+ years bc a friend from a volunteer group found it for me & i like the way it looks. so it's always so different. still, i'll try

Jacob's for sure is some sort of lucky charm that he hangs from the rearview mirror of his truck, that he has one hundred percent belief in. i can't decide what it is - a horseshoe or rabbits foot or something else - but he thinks he's invincible with that thing

Kaitlyn will take it to her grave, but hers is her half of the tacky "best friends" necklace Jacob got for them when they were little, and no one will ever find out. she keeps it hidden but she still keeps her half, even tho she's sure Jacob didn't keep his (he did, it's buried in his sock drawer)

Nick, if you ask him, will say it's his pocketwatch - passed down through his father's side, it's a family heirloom, y'know? but he can't read analog clocks for shit & he has no idea what he's going to do with this watch. truthfully, it's a pair of limited edition Heelies signed by a local musician that he got when he was twelve. he's keeping those babies till the value skyrockets

Abi has her sketchbook, obviously, & probably many more that she's filled up over the years, but she has this cat mug with a chip in one ear that she's had for years & she loves with all her heart. comfort mug <3

Ryan loves his earbuds & probably has a lot of things he keeps for Reasons but i choose to believe his sister writes him letters every time he goes to camp & he keeps every single one of them tucked away in his room for when he needs them

Emma enjoys having all of her things. she loves stuff. she has lots of rings & earrings & bangles she thinks are cute, she has a box full of scrapbooking supplies, three different wax melters that she liked the designs of. but her favorite thing is a little music box she found at a flea market a long time ago, with a beat up little ballerina figure, that she keeps all her most sentimental items in. the love note with the strawberry-scented sticker she got in fourth grade. a gumball machine ring she got with her best friend in middle school. her first ever concert ticket

Dylan loves things. his necklace that he never lets us see, Schrodinger's baby teeth & old collar, weird or cool coins he finds while out. pretty much everything has emotional value to him. but he has a little wolf figurine that's scratched, beat up - he's owned it forever, barely remembers where he got it. but it sits right next his computer & he swears it keeps all his equipment running. he begs it for mercy whenever his computer starts to crash. he calls it His Royal Furriness, Lord Wolfington