#watercolor coasters

[yutamayo]

Finally put my HideKane glass painting up!

*it's shoddy bc it was my first (and last) time doing the glass paint trend bc I am not a fan of the process so

[avoyagetoarcturus]

SheiKra for CoasterMAYnia 2024 🙌💦

Like this post if you want a funnel cake, are worth $13.5 million dollars, sais parler français, or want to get yeeted down Boyoma Falls 🇨🇩

[victoriaorolfoart]

This Sunday!! Salut 8 group show opens to the public over at @nucleusportland @drinkanddrawsociety 🐸🪲🪼🐠 Always a pleasure seeing so many cool artists' works together in one place. Check it out starting online and if you're in the Portland area!

[7uprocket]

Little process vid of previous illustration featuring my coaster which support my glass of water x).

[pallases]

:]

[thepaintedsable]

I did a thing! Garlic roasters into decorated paint palettes, collected over some time from various little thrift stores.

Clearly, these are no longer usable as roasters for any sort of food (Garlic with a side of Gouache! Ew, haha), but because the bottom of the roasters are glazed they're perfect for a little paint palette! They wipe clean with ease, and even though they're terracotta colored (I can get past this, but I know a lot of people would prefer a white mixing space) I think it's still a nice place to store watercolors, gouache, or maybe even acrylic if you're confident enough it will peal off.

I decided it was a fine time to decorate some of the ones I collected, and I went for a Capybara in a pool, a Guinea Pig in Hay, and an Opossum in a Bush! It was done in Miya Jelly Gouache, so it had to be sealed before use and anyone who does use them will need to exhibit some care when wiping paint away, but I think they came out nice enough! A cute way to keep some paints accessable on your desk without looking like an eyesore or clutter.

At the very least, I thought this was a fun way to reuse a discarded tool that likely wouldn't have been touched again for quite some time.

[dmempowermentshop]

(vía "Purple and White Chrysanthemum Flowers, Birth flowers, Birthday flowers, Birth November flower, Gift for her, Floral gift for her" Photographic Print for Sale by LitzoyGlobeArt)

Get yours today! 

[artsquare1]

Beyond the Ordinary: Unique Christmas Gifts for Every Personality

Discover the perfect blend of excitement and creativity this holiday season at 141art.square.site! Dive into a world of unique Christmas gifts with our curated collection of men's Christmas gifts, ensuring your presents are thoughtful and truly stand out. Explore the best Christmas gifts and gather ideas beyond the ordinary, making your holiday season extraordinary. For the thrill-seekers, embark on a virtual journey through the exhilarating world of roller coasters. From the iconic Busch Gardens roller coasters to the sweet thrills of Hershey Park roller coasters, experience the adrenaline-pumping excitement from the comfort of your screen. Seek out roller coasters near you and plan your next adventure with ease. At 141art.square.the site, art meets innovation. Immerse yourself in the beauty of painting pictures, where every stroke tells a story. Our print shop is a treasure trove of artistic wonders, featuring abstract artwork, watercolor paintings, and modernist art. Elevate your space with exquisite paintings and artwork that capture the essence of creativity. Whether you're on the lookout for the best Christmas gifts, unique Christmas gift ideas, or a roller coaster enthusiast's dream, 141art.square.site has it all. Visit our online gallery to explore the fusion of art and adventure. With a diverse collection that spans from men's Christmas gifts to mesmerizing roller coaster experiences, we invite you to indulge in the joy of gifting and the magic of artistic expression

[damnelves]

- BAD DOG. YOU'RE A BAD DOG. - I BITE. IT'S ALL I KNOW.

"I Would Leave Me If I Could, A Collection of Poetry" by Halsey / "The Cherry Orchard" by Anton Chekhov / "Tongues and Teeth", The Crane Wives / unknown / Vyacheslav Belov aka Belov_w88 - Неуравновешенный человек (Unbalanced Person) / " The One and Only Bob" by Katherine Applegate / "Macbeth ", Act 3, scene 4, by William Shakespeare / "Unicorn" by Angela Carter / "VIOLENT DOG" by Parker Phalen / "Worth Every Hurt" by mischievousdog on tumblr / "The Lighthouse" (2019), dir. Robert Eggers / "Men at Arms" by Terry Pratchett / writing by tumblr user twinnedpeaks / "White Oleander" by Janet Fitch / "dogperson iii. oil painting on coaster." (tumblr user sloppjockey) / "ccaanniidd. gouache watercolor." (prev artist) / "Mudbound" by Hillary Jordan / "More and More" by Margaret Atwood / "The Angriest Dog In The World" by David Lynch / "The Third Hour of the Night" by Frank Bidart / "The Carnivorous Lamb" by Agustin Gomez-Arcos / "Between Aging and Old" by Jack Gilbert / “The Noise Must Become Music” by Fumi Nakamura / "The Death of Me" By Johnny Dombrowski / "Fanny and Alexander" (1989), dir. Ingmar Bergman / "Useless Magic: Lyrics and Poetry" by Florence Welch / "Cadaver Dogs" by B. Narr / "Crepuscolo Infernale" by Roberto Ferri / Picture of dog, via reddit (x)

[sloppjockey]

dog6. gouache watercolor painting on coaster. one of my coasters for 'salut 9' at nucleus portland

[bamsara]

Most of the painted stuff I did during stream yesterday!

I made: a sky Sun/Moon themed frame (though I just really like the sky theme tbh, the ribbons and bells were a last minute touch that I'm still so-so on) ft my cat Ashley in the frame. A tiny sky and a 5x8 watercolor/acrylic sky, a Solar Lunacy nametag that came out bigger than I meant it to, and that weirdly shaped painted sky was supposed to be a handmade aesthetic paint pallets since I don't have one, but I realized too late that it would be hard to see my mixing colors on it, so I'll resin it and turn it into a large tray or coaster or something, idk

I plan on doing more of these. Working with my hands again is nice.

Also, this Eclipse happened because I had extra clay on hand and came out a failure

[leth-writes]

lost boys x reader

This is the first time I've ever written for these characters, so tell me if anyone wants more!

Summary: You're going to die. Shame your friends had to die alongside you.

Warnings: discussions of gore and murder.

it was a hot, muggy day, and you were going to die.

You’d only wanted to go out with your friends, maybe spend some of your hard-earned allowance on candy and carousel rides. You’d never meant for it to be this serious.

The day, or evening, rather, had started off normal enough. You’d gone on the roller coaster a couple of times, eaten some cotton candy and won some rigged carnival games, and you and your friends were sitting, enjoying the free music coming from the concert. It was a sax player tonight, a man without a shirt and and a chest covered in oil, though the crowd was reacting as though it was the most intense rock concert they’d ever heard. The cheap lights twinkled, lighting up the night sky with bright, neon hues. Laughter and chatter filled the humid air, the boardwalk filled with people.

Santa Carla was the murder capitol of the country, but you’d never thought you’d find yourself in real danger. You’d always thought the only people at risk were people without a place to go and the various tourists that trickled through, people who wouldn’t be immediately noticed upon disappearing. You had convinced yourself that the mysterious disappearances were nothing to be concerned with, as had everyone else in the normally quiet town, and your parents had finally relented to letting you stay out late with your friends. The 5 of you were sitting on the ledge by the stairs to the beach, drinking in the atmosphere and joking around; the current topic of discussion was the crush your friend Cindy had on some boy from school, Freddy.

“I’m telling you, there’s just something about that boy that’s so…” She paused, licking her lips deviously, a glint in her eye, “delicious!” Lara, a brunette with thick, curly hair and large glasses, rolled her eyes. She looked off into the distance, staring out at the shoreline and watching the waves disappear into the night, merging with the sky and creating a watercolor of stars. “You say that about every guy that catches your eye, Cindy. Maybe you should slow down and wait for a while?” She asked, still staring into the distance, eyes vacant and cloudy. Cindy laughed, throwing her head back, large earrings clacking. Various people in the crowd in front of you turned at the noise, surprised to find such a small woman practically doubled over.

“You need to have some fun, Lara, don’t be stuck-up!” She continued, smiling so wide her gums were visible, framed by her bright pink lipgloss. “I’m not stuck-up, just busy!” Lara defended, fighting a smile. Tamara turned from where she’d been comparing nails with the last of your group, Amy, and gently nudged Cindy. “hey, don’t tease her, Cin! She’s just focused on school, you know how smart she is!” Tamara sighed, exhasperated.

“Yeah, Cin, she’s the only one who’s getting out of this town when high school ends!” Amy picked up. Tamara and Amy were practically inseperable, being old family friends, and practically all agreed. Well, except for the Todd Incident, which you officially weren’t allowed to talk about.

“Well, Fred is cute,” you hedged, trying to prevent an argument before it escalated and got you all kicked out. Cindy was known for her loud voice, afterall, and you’d rather not get a lifetime ban from the boardwalk, the only place with any sort of entertainment not designed for sticky 5 year olds.

“Well, not everyone can be so picky, hun!” Cindy laughed, luckily not taking it the wrong way. It was true, though it stung slightly; you hadn’t ever really been interested in boys, not the way your friends were; even Lara had had more experience than you, and she’d only had one boyfriend! Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to so much as look at the local population… The boys were so immature, you felt like you were babysitting, not going on a date! Not to mention, most were only interested in sex, not long-term relationships, like you wanted. While you knew Cindy was happy, and you were slightly envious she seemed to have such luck with boys, you just knew that you two were different. It didn’t bother you anymore, though you’d been convinced you were broken as a child for not seeing what the others were talking about when Johnny Park had caught every girl in your grade’s eye. You knew that you’d find someone eventually, or at least you hoped you would, but for now you were content with your friends and the entertainment offered by romance flicks.

“I just thi-” You began, only to be interrupted by the loud roaring of motorcycle engines.

All 5 of you turned, shocked, as a group of boys rode down the boardwalk on their bikes, laughing and shouting as people were forced to jump out of their way. “Holy shit,” Cindy breathed, popping her gum, eyes locked on the bottle blond at the front of the pack. “Jesus, they’re gonna hit somebody!” Lara gasped, hands flying up to clutch her face in shock. “I hope they hit me,” Cindy responded, eyes glazed with want. Amy lightly smacked her arm, chiding her. Still, she wasn’t to be deterred. “We need to talk to them,” Cindy continued, once again biting at her lip, this time a more serious expression on her face. “You look like you’re going to jump someone,” Tamara interjected, looking slightly nervous. Cindy just wagged her eyebrows in response, breaking the tension and causing the 5 of you to break into peals of laughter.

“Jeez, Cin! I thought you liked Fred?” you joked, nudging her in the ribs with your elbow. “Well, Fred can wait!” She said, determined. By then, the group of boys had pulled up to the ledge across the railing from you, parking their bikes and lighting their cigarettes. There was something almost ethereal about the boys, 4 in total, all clad in leather with hair mussed to rival an ‘80s rock legend. Maybe it was the way their sharp edges blurred in the twinkling boardwalk lights, the warm lighting casting them in shades of gold and white as though they were angels. You couldn’t help but admit that they shared some resemblance to the feathered creatures of myth.

The frontmost boy was… at first glance, average height, bottle blond mullet framing his face in choppy waves and light beard just starting to accentuate the sharp curves of his face. He glanced up from his cigarette and made eye contact with you, icy blue eyes locked onto yours. For a second, the sounds of the boardwalk faded away and the lights dimmed, casting his face in harsh shadows; you could swear he smirked, teeth elongated into sharp fangs, brow bone warped and jutting out. Then, in a blink, it was gone, and the only sign of the vision you’d had that remained was his slightly too sharp smirk.

The tallest boy, the brunet, was clad in a dark jean jacket, sleeves pocked with leopard print, exposing his bare, toned chest. His skin was a touch darker than the others, and his shaggy hair swung around him as he shook it out, looking almost akin to a shampoo ad. You couldn’t help but stare at the muscles as they twisted under his skin, bunching and pulling taught. Your eyes snapped up and you blushed as his own dark chocolate ones met yours, mirth clear in his face.

The boy next to him, head thrown back in uproarious laughter, seemed to be the wildest. His hair, also blond, was shaggy and teased so big it practically enveloped him, and his wild smile exposed sharp canines tinged slightly with… you weren’t sure, though it looked slightly red. Lipstick, maybe? He wore beige pants and a fishnet shirt, slightly covered by the decked-out and ripped leather jacket accentuating his lithe form. He looked graceful, almost dancer-like, in the soft glow of the evening.

The final boy was the shortest, hair twisted into cherubic curls, and had one arm swung over the shoulders of the long-haired wild blond. the two were practically howling, doubled over, slightly obscured behind the front two.

All in all, the group was… intoxicating. You couldn’t help but stare, and judging by the silence of your friends, you knew they were doing the same. Catching your eye again, the bottle blond clicked his tongue and said something to his friends, who all immediately straightened. Then, they began sauntering over, walking in a pack like circling predators. You couldn’t help but feel like prey in the jaws of a lion.

“Oh!” Lara squeaked, pale face flushed the same shade as Amy’s hair. Tamara and Amy just silently nodded in agreement, but you couldn’t help but feel slightly anxious at the sight of the boys approaching you.

Finally they reached you, forming a loose semi-circle, boxing the 5 of you onto the ledge. You were trapped, though it seemed you were the only one conscious enough of the situation to notice.

“Hey there,” the shaggy blond started, though he was quckly shushed by his shorter friend. The bottle blond inhaled sharply, then grinned devilishly. “Hello… we couldn’t help but notice you all looked lonely,” he began, making intense eye contact with Cindy. None of the boys were even looking at you; were you that unlikeable?!

“I’m David, this is Paul,” he gestured to the shaggy blond, “Marko,” the curly haired boy, “and Dwayne.” the dark-haired boy making sharp eyes at Lara. Cindy quickly introduced the 5 of you, though you noticed that the boys didn’t take their eyes off of the respective friend they seemed to pick. You should’ve taken that as a sign.

Throughout the rest of the night, none of the boys seemed to spare you a second glance. They took turns going off with your friends, who each returned looking satiated with mussed hair and clothes slightly skewed. None of your friends seemed to notice you sulking in theh corner, content to pair off with the boy that had decided they were their target for the night. It was lonely, and you found yourself staying slightly on the edge of the group. They chatted and laughed, but you were stuck in the corner on the ledge by the bikes, completely isolated. you spent the night staring off into the distant shoreline, contemplating just leaving, though you convinced yourself to stay to ensure your friends stayed safe. Or maybe because you were jealous, though you’d never admit it. Finally, a couple of hours into the merging of the two groups, David paused in his discussions with Cindy. “Hey, why don’t we all head to somewhere more… quiet?” He said, smirk ever-present on the chiseled plains of his cheeks.

“Ok,” Cindy breathed, seemingly wanting to go back to chatting with him, or more likely making out with him, as soon as possible. You sighed, seems like you’d be finding your own way home toni-

“Hey, you can ride with me,” Dwayne said, cutting off your internal pity party. At that moment, it seemed your friends remembered your presence, as they all rushed to get you to agree. You might as well go, just to ensure their safety…

So, you agreed.

One slightly awkward ride later, and you all found yourself staring into the entrance of a cave, water crashing harshly against the base of the cliff. It was dimly lit from the inside with a variety of candles, it seemed there was no electricity in the desolate cave.

“A-are you sure this is the right place?” You questioned warily. The boys just laughed, and Cindy huffed impatiently. “Come on, worrywart! We’ll be fine!” She sighed, pulling you inside.

If you thought the outside was intimidating, the inside was warm, though it looked like it had been ripped from a painting of a bygone era. An old fountain graced the middle of the room, large draped fishnet fabric separating areas of the space. There was debris everywhere on the floor, coating the space in a thick layer of dust that prevented you from being able to see its real color. All you could do was hope you weren’t stepping on any faultlines.

The boys filtered in, bringing your friends with them as they did so, scattering around the space. You found your way to the beatup couch, taking a seat across from where Paul was sucking a hickey onto Tamara’s neck.

“Well, I think it’s time for a drink!” David crowed, plopping down in the wheelchair next to the fountain. Light cast his face in harsh shadows, hiding parts of his expression from you. Still, you got the feeling he was looking directly into your eyes.

“Ow, you’re being a little harsh there, Paul!” Amy cried, and you turned to look- only for a splash of warmth to hit your cheek. Where she’d been sitting, cuddled into his lap, she was now splayed across the edge of the sofa, neck bent at an odd angle and face twisted. Her chest deflated with a soft sigh, and her eyes went glassy. Her body was limp, limper than you’d ever seen her, normally so full of life. Blood pooled in her neck, and Paul shot you a wide grin, fangs now coated.

You screamed.

And you jumped back.

And you bumped into someone. You whirled around, and there was David, face coated in blood. Just over his shoulder, you could see Cindy, her arm yanked out of the socket. Her pretty face was twisted and contorted in pain, and tears streamed down her cheeks, now ruddy from her fear. She was clutching the limb tightly to her chest, rocking slightly. It looked as though she’d been mauled by a bear, arm bleeding heavily and chunks hanging limply by a thread. She let out a short scream, and then Paul was on her. You couldn’t see her after that.

From the other side of the fountain, you could hear Tamara crying, harsh sobs filling the air. Lara had been thrown, her body lying limp where Marko was drinking deeply from her neck, head lolled to the side and eyes looking unblinkingly at you. You couold tell she was dead.

Then, David was blocking your view, and your entire world narrowed down to him. His harsh icey blue eyes locked onto yours, and it was like you forgot how to breathe; all you could do is stare at him, not even trying to run. It felt like you weren’t in control of your body.

“Drink up,” he whispered softly, hand gripping your chin and bringing an ornate wine bottle to your lips. Against your will, your lips parted, allowing the spiced red liquid to enter. It didn’t taste like wine, an oddly thick mixture, though you had no idea what it could possibly be.

The other boys cheered, now standing in a loose semi-circle behind David.

When you finished drinking deeply from the bottle, David kissed the remainder off your lips, so soft he barely brushed your lips with his own, plump and warm. “sleep,” he said, and you were gone.

[avoyagetoarcturus]

Instagram Draw This In Your Style challenges I've taken part in.

Winter Gyaru Gal on a vaporwave MBTA train for @fentiocean

Gothic Clown for moodyvonree

Winter teddy bear babe for moodyghoulart (First and last thing I'll paint on a phone)

Twisted Timbers Tammie for avadrawsdigitally with some Hailee Steinfeld Afterlife inspiration

Pirate for @blaubug with some Golda Rosheuvel inspiration

[marveltrumpshate]

Want to participate in Marvel Trumps Hate, but don't know what to offer? Think outside the box!

Stumped on what to offer because you don't write fic or draw? Marvel Trumps Hate welcomes a huge variety of fanworks and fan labor (see our sign-up post), so there are different ways you can contribute. You'll be amazed by the breadth of skills, talents, knowledge, and types of creative expression found in fandom!

Here's a smorgasbord of offers that we've either had before or seen people discuss as possibilities for MTH 2024 or future years to help inspire you. What you can offer is not restricted to the list below; these are just examples to get you brainstorming about what you can auction off because trust us, even if you think you might not have something to offer, you probably do!

ART (VISUAL/ILLUSTRATIVE)

Drawings/illustrations

Single-page and multi-page comics

Pixel art

Paintings (oil, acrylic, gouache, watercolor)

Mixed-media artwork on canvas

Ink-on-bristol art

Embroidery on canvas

Pour paint/spin art

Rotoscopes

Digital coloring books

AUDIOVISUAL WORKS

Fan music or filk inspired by characters, ships, or fics

Podfics

Videos (fic trailers, themed edits, vids set to songs)

Animations (making original art/animation or turning existing art into animation)

BETA SERVICES

Editing

Cheer reading

Soundboarding/planning/development work

Fact-checking

Culture-picking

Sensitivity reading

Knowledge about specific topics or experiences (e.g., identities, lifestyles, professions, interests, fields of study)

Research

CRAFTS & MERCH

Candles

Lip balms

Soaps

Stained glass/suncatcher

Scented beanbag-style sachets

Candy/chocolate/baked goods/jellies/sweets

Fic/character/ship/theme boxes (like book boxes)

Pins, magnets, patches, charms, standees, key chains, ring holders, calendars, stickers, bookmarks, temporary tattoos

Sculptures and clay figures

Ceramic mugs and other ceramic items

Apparel/wearable accessories (shirts, jackets, scarves, gloves/mittens, hats, face masks, regular masks, cowls, pajamas/onesies)

Backpacks, tote bags, itabags with custom window shapes, leather dice bags, wallets, pouches/pencil cases

Plushie animal or Tsum Tsum versions of Marvel characters

Dolls (crochet, needle felt, matte board, hand-sewn)

Embroidery hoops/wall art and cross stitch pieces

Jewelry (diamond painting, macrame, metal, crochet, wire, beads)

Woodwork/wood burning (cheese board, box/chest, USB stick, coasters, photo frame, alphabet blocks)

Glasswork

Custom Funko Pops

Paper cut light boxes

Pillow cases, quilted pillows, baby blankets, dishcloth/washcloths, potholders

Handmade leather journals

Linoleum stamps

Dog/cat/pet toys

Artbooks, paper doll books, and coloring books

Hand-dyed yarn skeins

Custom tea blends

DIGITAL (GRAPHIC DESIGN)

Gifsets

Graphics/edits

Mood boards

Photo manips

Fic covers/posters/banners

Icons and headers

Webweaving

Tumblr or website layouts

Digital calendars

Wallpapers

Custom Discord emojis

FAN LABOR & TRANSLATION

Typesetting

Bookbinding

Recipes based on characters, ships, or themes

Names, tags, and summaries for fics

Audio/sound editing and/or soundscaping for podfics

Book cover design and printing

Art/comic/fic translation

Website/game/AO3 skin coding

Fic rec lists

Fic playlists/fanmixes

Knitting/crochet patterns

Art coaching

Help with launching and organizing fan events

WRITING

Fic

Poetry

Meta posts

Social media AUs

Physical letters written by characters to the reader or between two characters

Remixes of your fic or an existing fic with the author's permission

Whether you can do something on this list or something else altogether (we're sure there are a lot of other things that you can do that we haven't thought about or seen before), we hope you'll consider signing up before the deadline: September 28, 11:59 PM ET.

[creations-by-chaosfay]

If y'all would like to give me a fantastic start to my week, reaching my goal would definitely be it. My shop is well stocked and quick commissions are available. Quilts from coasters to bedding size, as well as four watercolor paintings, and several digital downloads.

It would be nice to pay off Cacoa's ER bill. Then hire a plumber before the wet season really gets going.

Here are a few current listings:

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Beneath Miles of Stone - Part five - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: Bullying

Michael has a lot of stuff. A lot of heavy stuff. Despite him assuring her that he can move it all in on his own, she still wants to help.

It would be kind of a dick move if she didn’t assist with all of this. An hour in, and the apartment is already transformed from bland and empty into a hoard of pastel rainbow decor and soft white staple pieces.

She takes a break to admire the painting of a fluffy white angel cat over watercolor Van Gogh scenery. Michael comes through the door, panting, with his White Cottage microwave in tow.

“Who painted this?” She asks him.

He smiles, blushes, puts the microwave down and then his hand on his hips. “I did.”

Her eyes grow wide. “This is amazing.”

He chuckles. “Thank you.”

She likes Michael a lot already, but she’s also very jealous of him and his many talents and cool possessions. He makes her want to decorate and be creative, both skills she’s never been able to possess correctly.

She hasn’t gotten the key made yet, so she goes out and does that while he starts unpacking his things. By the time she’s done, her apartment looks astonishing. Fairy lights twinkle over gauze white curtains and a big speaker plays soft hiphop music in one corner of the living room. Her couch is full of comfy white and grey fluffy throw pillows. An incense burner releases gourmand, smoky aroma into the air.

Michael is stretched out on the couch, taking a break, watching Legally Blonde on DVD. Her small TV is now in her room and his bigger flatscreen dwarfs the stand that it was on.

She sits down beside him with two glasses of water. Before she can set hers down on the coffee table, he stops her. “Wait! Coasters!”

He digs through two boxes of stuff before he finds new marble coasters for them to set their drinks on.

She laughs at him and he grins back. “I know, I know,” he tells her, “typical trust fund kid BS.”

“You’re fine,” she says. “I was laughing at the coasters because the table is already a mess.”

“Listen,” he says, “this table just needs some tee ell cee. A sander and some paint would do her wonders.” He pats the wooden top.

“Can I help?” She asks, excited and jumping at the opportunity a little too eagerly.

“Of course you can,” he assures.

She remembers him telling her that his mother is an artist. “Did your mom teach you to paint?”

He nods. “She also taught me how to make miniatures. You know, like dollhouses but for adults?”

“That’s amazing. Do you trade art with her?”

“I do,” he says, “we send things back and forth in the mail. Although my dad says it ‘clogs up their post office box’.”

“He’s not a fan of art?”

Michael snorts. “He hates everything except golf. Sometimes I think he hates me.”

She shakes her head. “Does he really hate you? You’re the perfect son.”

Michael sighs. “No, but he hates gay people, so it’s close enough. When I first came out to him, if my mother wouldn’t have been there, he would’ve probably shot me. He’s a real man’s man if you know what I mean...”

She nods, smiling ruefully. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.”

Michael thinks for a moment. “We should get a dog.”

“I would love that, but it’s no pets here.”

He raises his eyebrows and sips at his water. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

They decide it has to be a quiet dog, one who’s comfortable being alone at night, and there are an abundance of local shelters displaying perfect furry candidates online.

“Rocky. Pitbull mix. Potty trained, good with kids and other pets, sweet and loves everyone.” She shows Michael a picture of a medium sized black, stout dog with shiny grey eyes.

Michael shows her his own selection, a retired service beagle named Winnie. “Short for Winnifred,” he reads, “loves people and other pets, very polite, and hardly ever barks.”

“I love them both,” she groans, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Same,” Michael sighs. “It’s one in the afternoon. Do you work tonight?”

“Yup.” She presses an arm over her face, blocking out the ceiling light.

“Don’t you have to sleep?” He asks.

She’s not tired at all because she slept through the night—wet dreams work wonders on insomnia—but she agrees because Michael sounds like he needs some alone time. Plus, her DVDs and TV are in her room now, and if she can’t sleep she can watch an old, comfortable flick.

The problem isn’t getting to sleep, it’s staying there—waking up sweating, gasping, whining John’s name. She slaps her mouth shut, presses her face into her pillow, and prays to any deity listening that her voice wasn’t loud enough for Michael to hear. First day in the new place and his roommate is a fiend. It would make any sane person want to revoke their rental agreement immediately.

She should be embarrassed and anxious that Michael potentially heard her, but instead she’s grinding against her sheets and thinking of tall men handcuffed to beds.

This won’t work. This isn’t working. She’s so pent up that it’s borderline painful. She sticks her hand into her sleep pants, past her underwear, and into a sloppy mess, tries to think about anything but John while she rubs herself raw, but in doing so her brain latches onto the thought of him and pretty soon he’s the only thing on her mind.

She tries to paint a decent fantasy of what she would like sex with him to be, but really she doesn’t give a shit as long as it’s him. And that’s what scares her. He could be absolutely celibate and she’d still crave whatever he wanted to give her whether it be a rough kick or a soft caress—she’d be his dog, and **this is the worst time for her to realize that because her alarm is going off for work.

She orgasms at the cost of being ten minutes late.

The locker room lights are off when she goes to put her things away, which is unusual. Since she started, they’ve been lit around the clock. In fact, she’s not even sure where the light switch is in here because she’s never had to use it. Fumbling around in the pitch black is making her even tardier. Finally, when she finds the switch and flips it, the room illuminates, and standing under the migraine-inducing glow is someone who makes headaches seem like a dream come true.

Benny grins from his seat on the bench, which he quickly abandons in favor of looming over her. Once again, the sweaty, edematous mass of him blocks her exit.

She’s too busy contemplating if anyone would hear her scream to see him hold his open palm out expectantly.

“Give it to me,” he says.

“What?” She asks, imagining in another universe she sounds angry and oppositional instead of whiny and terrified. In another universe, she can also kick his ass. Not in this one, though. In this universe, she does as Benny demands and hands him her phone so she doesn’t have to suffer through the touch of his greasy skin a second time.

He holds her phone in one hand while the other holds his own. She doesn’t bother trying to see what he’s doing because she can’t get her feet to move let alone stand on tiptoes and look over his shoulder.

This goes on for a while in which her only thought consists of asking herself if she could run to the door and make it into the populated infirmary before he can catch her. Again, this is a solution mainly dependent on her stubborn feet.

She’s not really worried about what he puts on her phone. It’s what he’s getting from it that sets her pulse careening.

He reaches out and tries to shove it into her jacket pocket, but luckily that’s when her feet decide to save her and step away from his hands. He scowls at her like she just insulted his mother.

“Fine.” Benny opens his hand and drops her phone on the stone floor. She winces when she hears the shatter, then looks back up at his pleased, disgusting expression.

“Remember our trip.” He pushes past her, not enough to hurt but to make her yelp and stumble, and slams the door shut on his way out.

Her phone isn’t broken. The screen has a tiny crack in one corner but other than that it’s still perfect.

She grabs her bag from her locker and brings it with her to the nurse’s station, labeling the locker room as an unsafe and off limits space, which are becoming more bountiful by the day.

John is not her patient tonight. On her day off they must have had an influx of admissions because she’s responsible for 10 of them and the infirmary is unusually and appropriately staffed.

Her hopes of his nurse trading him are slim to none because he’s a wonderful patient and over time everyone has seemed to agree that they want him on their assignment sheet.

The other nurse’s that take and give her report always talk about what a cool, easy going guy he is and how they’re surprised that he needs that many guards with him.

“What do you think he did?” Stan, one of the day shift nurses, asks her.

“My bet’s on released a circus full of wild animals and let them trample a small town, but I could be wrong.” She taps her pen against her report sheet and laughs at her own joke.

Stan snorts. “He probably killed some rich guys.”

The other nurses like him so much that most of their theories on why John is in four point restraints with four men guarding him at all times is because he’s done something valiant that pissed someone powerful off.

That’s probably the other reason his wound looks better; not just because of her, but because if you like a patient or connect with them you’re more than likely going to give them the best care you can provide.

If she’s honest, it kind of makes her feel sick. Not because everyone has grown to like John, but because that means she’ll have less chance of being his nurse from here on out. Also, she knows it’s kindergarten mentality, but she liked him and treated him well first while the other ones had to get to know him beforehand.

Her case load is heavy. A couple IV’s, wound changes, someone with a tracheostomy. She sits down to chart, finally, at 3 AM.

One of the other nurses, Bill, calls for her across the hall.

She fights the urge to groan while standing on sore feet and walking over to his medication cart.

Bill grins at her, looking like he’s really enjoying himself. “My patient in 9 wants to see you.”

“Me?” She asks.

Bill shrugs, still looking very amused. “He says he needs to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Bill tells her. “Seems that he likes your company, though.” He gives an eyebrow raise at the awkward expression crawling onto her face.

She reminds herself that this her workplace for the 80th time and that Bill’s suggestive expressions are just him messing around. Joking. That’s all. He’s joking.

John is watching the door, waiting for her. When she pops in like a mouse and scurries to his bed, he feels the urge to pat her on the head for showing up which would be the only thing he could do to stop himself from grabbing her up and kissing her.

His smile is wide and genuine. “How’s the roommate search?”

“Uh, I got one.” She smiles timidly, hoping he doesn’t think she’s erratic and air-headed for finding someone so fast

His eyes widen just the smallest bit. “That’s good, is she…nice?”

She nods too eagerly. “He’s great. And he has great decorations.”

The key word here—at least the one his ears attune to—is he. Not because a woman and a man living together automatically entails romance or connection, but because John knows men—John is a man—and most of them turn out to be less than good.

He tries not to look mean, to keep his smile, to focus on her being here with him in the present and alive and well; If he doesn’t, rage will start talking, nefarious, whispering sin in his ear, assuring him that it wouldn’t be hard to break out of these handcuffs and make sure her roommate becomes her loyal dog for the rest of the time he spends living with her and alive.

“If you wouldn’t have suggested it, I’d probably be homeless by next week.” She tries to sway the conversation toward optimism because she sees something in his expression that reads like he’s a little upset. He probably does think she’s a moron at this point.

Maybe it’s just good that she’s happy. He tries to shift focus onto that. The roommate can’t be malignant if she’s so upbeat.

It’s been very easy to talk to John most times, but then there are moments like this when something awkward and unsaid hangs between them and more often than not she doesn’t know what it is. Maybe he doesn’t either.

“Just be careful,” is what he decides to say.

She chuckles. “I will, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t understand what’s funny—again, but he appreciates the laugh. One of them can get him through a few hours, and they’re so easy to wring out of her pretty throat.

One of the security guards stands, stretches, yawns. He says he’s going to take a break. The other guards are asleep, so once he leaves they’ll be alone.

“I’m gonna go to vending, John you want anything?” He asks.

John shakes his head no. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry if I bothered you while you were busy,” he says, too eager to talk as soon as the guard walks out. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She purses her lips, which he thinks means she’s trying not to leak an expression that will probably be embarrassing. Really, she’s trying to tame her lion heart back into its cage before it sinks its teeth into him and refuses to let go.

“I’m okay, John.” She attempts smiling. “You’re the one in the hospital bed.”

He shrugs like his stab wound and near death are just a hiccup.

She talks again. “And I’m glad you called me in. I like talking to you.”

His face is all smile now. “Likewise.”

He tells her to pull up a chair if she wants, and she steals one of the metal ones that the breaking guard left behind, sitting by his bedside. They start with a casual conversation about the weather that turns into a discussion on harsh winters in Belarus.

“Did you grow up there?” She asks him.

He nods. “I traveled a lot.”

“So, you’re Russian?” She puts her chin in her palm and stares at him like he is the most interesting person in the world. She’s adorable like this. He wants to brush the stray hairs from her cheeks.

“Yes. American, now.”

“Do you speak Russian?” Her eyebrows raise.

“да, красивая девушка” His tone automatically slides into a deeper baritone when he says this, and it makes her shudder.

He needs to be nerfed. Outlawed. He should not be handsome, nice, like-able, and be able to speak a different language in his perfect voice. It’s really not fair at all.

She’s too busy trying to tame her rogue thoughts to ask him what he even said. The desire to climb into his lap and straddle him crosses her mind twenty times in different ways. She blinks heavy. “You’re the coolest person I know.”

They talk until the guard comes back from his break, mainly about Belarus and what it was like there and where else he has traveled.

Although she has a ton of charting to catch up on, she doesn’t want to leave him. The taste of human connection is on her tongue after a couple years of abstinence and she’s becoming addicted.

When she exits his room, it’s with reluctance and impressive self control.

She tells him to sleep. He promises he’ll try.

It would be easier to do her job if she wasn’t catching Benny sneering at her whenever they’re in the same space, but she gets through it, reasoning that John has it worse than her because he has to suffer through six hours with the asshole guard in his room. And, it’s easier also because of…well, John himself.