#Sunset Projection Lamp

[lumiterosg]

How to Choose the Perfect Sunset Lamp for Your Space

[gmanmedias]

I'M GONNA BRING A LITTLE HELL, I'M GONNA BRING A LITTLE HEAVEN

💀 💀 💀

🦴 🦴 🦴

🪦 🪦 🪦

Melinoe from Hades 2 for anon!

[lunarsworld]

✩*ೃ.⋆ super great!

pairing: smallville!clark kent x f!reader warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (f!recieving) a/n: i love smallville n tom welling so bam

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fortunately, your english teacher assigned a group project for the class to help you boost your failing grade. unfortunately, you were paired with clark kent. the boy was sweet and all but you knew he had a side to him that nobody knew. you tried to get it out of him many times, but never prevailed. clark whipped his head towards you as soon as your teacher announced your pairing. “well, this is gonna be fun, right y/n”, he taunted. you rolled your eyes and stood quiet. “meet me by my truck after school ends, we’ll go to my place afterwards. save us both the torture and get the project finished asap.”

“wake up, we’re here,” clark said, while nudging you. for a guy who was supposed to be your enemy, his touch was pretty gentle. you grabbed your backpack from the floor of the truck and followed him into the barn. you wandered around the room, assessing every detail. to anybody but clark kent, you would’ve looked like a nosy prick probably trying to steal something. but clark knew you were just curious and wanted to know more about him, even though he couldn’t figure out why. when you were done snooping, you sat on the edge of his bed and he joined you.

a couple hours later once the project was finished, you and clark found yourself watching the sunset from the barn window and sharing random life stories. you started a tangent around 10 minutes ago and clark hasn’t shared a word since, although he never minded because he’d rather hear you talk about yourself. all that’s running through clark’s mind though, at that moment, is when to make his move.

at this point, it’s completely dark besides the candles and lamps lighting up the room. you stretch in exhaustion and yawn. “hey y/n?” clark murmurs, his tone kind of hoping you don’t acknowledge his calling. you turn your head to him, waiting for a response, “yea clark?” when he makes eye contact with you he almost forgets his question. nobody knew the effect you had on him, unfortunately you included. “why do you care so much about me? like you act like you hate me because you think i’m different but i just don’t get it.” you shake your head and giggle lightly. “clark, i never hated you. i hate when people mask who they are for others. and i know you do. and i also know who you really are. i think you’re super great and you shouldn’t hide it,” you say and he smiles in the way that makes you melt every time. “you think i’m super great, huh?” he repeats and starts stepping closer to you. he places his hands on your waist and looks at your lips, then your eyes. you try to mutter out a response, but it’s like your whole body is frozen except for the heat pooling in your stomach. he laughs lightly and then pulls you into a kiss.

your tongues clash together passionately, as if they had been waiting all their lives to dance together. he slides his hands under your turtleneck sweater and plays with the hem of it. in response, you pull his shirt off and then yours. he lays you down on the bed and continues kissing you, trailing from your lips, to your jaw, to your breasts, until he reaches where you ache the most for him. but before he takes off your skirt, he looks at you for reassurance. you nod your head but he scoffs, “i need your words, angel.” “yes clark i want this, need you, please c’mon.” you whine. he unzips your skirt and slowly pulls off your lace panties with his teeth. he kisses along your thighs, avoiding the spot you need him. “clark quit teasing.” you humph. as soon as those words leave your mouth, his latches onto your clit. he slides two fingers into you and continues to suck on your core. you groan and twist your body, trying to escape pleasure even though you’re chasing it. “angel, you beg for me to give you what you want but you’re runnin’ away from me. c’mon baby i jus’ wanna make you cum.” he says as you look at him. you look so fucking gorgeous, covered in sweat and looking all distraught. all because of him. “can you be a good girl for me n’ let me make you feel good baby?”

you immediately nod your head and relax again. he continues to go at it and it feels like his tongue is working at a super speed on your sensitive nub. he feels your body start to clench around his fingers so he starts thrusting them faster and deeper. “fuck clark i’m cumming.” you whine. “i know baby i can feel your pretty pussy squeezin’ my fingers. cum for me baby, i gotcha,” he groans. as soon as he says that you come undone on his fingers. he wastes no time cleaning up every drop of your slick, making sure none of it goes to waste. he comes up face to face to you and pulls you into a kiss. you giggle and begin to reach for his pants. “whatcha doin angel?” he questions, even though he knows. “you helped me, lemme help you.” you say. clark knows your intentions are pure and you just want to get him off too. “how about next time? you need your rest hun.” he says and you pout in return.

little did you know he wouldn’t let you suck his dick because he was embarrassed. embarrassed because he already came just by eating you out. too bad that wouldn’t be the last time that happened either.

[donelywell]

October 7 2023

One day, Sonic got into an accident while trying to show off and do daredevil stunts in a new zone. Unfortunately, he barely made it and accidentally broke his leg.

While being forced to sit around and recover, he got bored very quickly, becoming a nuisance to Tails who was treating his injured foot. Tails knew he didn't really mean to be a dick head, but it was beginning to get on his nerves as the stir crazy hedgehog was practically bouncing off the walls trying to find something to do.

With a glimmer of hope, Tails' communicator buzzed with Knuckles' message about their scheduled DnD session today. The kit completely forgot about it because he was trying to wrangle Sonic into sitting still to not ruin the cast. Something sparked in Tails' brain and quickly made a group chat with Amy and Knuckles to see if they were all down to playing Dungeons and Dragons for a quick one shot.

Amy pointed out that she was watching a sick Cream & Cheese today while Vanilla was out on a trip that she didn't go into detail with, so she couldn't leave the house for several hours to play. Tails pointed out that they could all go over to her house to play, and she immediately got excited, listing off all the things she was going to set up before they come over.

Knuckles was a little apprehensive, because he wanted to continue the story they were already playing, and he didn't want to leave the Master Emerald unguarded. Amy swooped in and said that the Chaotix owed her a favor for helping them with a case, so she could simply use the favor to have them watch the Master Emerald. Still unsure, Knuckles agreed, but pointed that he would make several calls through the one shot to make sure everything was okay on the island.

With everything planned out, Tails went over to Sonic to let him know what he got planned for them today. At first, Sonic was against it, saying he's not as into the roleplaying and numbers game as his little brother. Which led to Tails rambling first about all of the times the hedgehog has told him about that time he went to Camelot and fighting a Genie in a lamp, but then pointed out that it was either this, or sitting on the bed still with nothing to do.

Sonic immediately agreed after that, but embarrassingly muttered that he didn't need to do all of this just because he was bored. Tails huffed, his twinned tails twitching in mild irritation, that this was more for him than Sonic because it'd finally get him to stop bugging him while he was trying to do something.

Tails helped him get on his crutches and over to the Tornado, and running back inside the fallen-plane-made-home (base) to grab a large box of fidget toys and his DnD notes & premade character sheets.

While in the air, Tails rambled about how he's wanted to play this one shot he made for a few months now, how to play the game because Sonic has never played before, and tried to warm him to the idea of playing DnD with them more maybe down the line even if his leg isn't broken. Sonic just sat in the back of the plane, idly listening to Tails' ramblings while mindlessly playing with a fidget toy and feeling the wind in his face. Though the wind didn't feel as great as when he's standing on the wing, feeling any wind against his quills at all is refreshing after being cooped up for a few days at home recovering.

Once they landed just outside of Sunset City, Sonic insisted on helping Tails carry everything. The fox just looked at the injured hedgehog unimpressed but eventually caved and let him hide the DnD notes in his quills. Due to Sonic being in crutches, they ended up taking the subway over to the heart of the city to get to the Rose Family's Apartment. The brothers made small talk while walking, talking about what projects they're working on or where they plan to explore to next.

The duo made it to the apartment and noticed that Knuckles was already there, and laughed at the fastest thing alive being late. The blue blur fired back that he was currently out of commission at the moment and the subway station was having some technical difficulties. Red and Blue continued to butt heads as Yellow and Pink continued to set up the session table (coffee table). Tails only butted into the light hearted bickering to ask Sonic to give him the DnD notes back.

As the fighting calmed down, Amy revealed the snacks and comedically large box of costumes she has for everyone to wear to help them get into character. Tails revealed the characters they could choose, with Knuckles choosing the Cleric, Sonic the Fighter, Amy the Wizard, and Tails being the DM.

They all got situated in their costumes, character sheets, couch placements, and pillow arrangements while snacks, dnd dice, and fidget toys littered all around them.

It went great, Sonic quickly understood the rules and how to play the game, Cream sometimes came over to watch the battles they faced, Knuckles and Sonic only sometimes butted heads, Amy had a lot of fun getting in character and casting spells that wowed the table, and Tails was relieved that Sonic was actually having fun.

Tails laughed while Sonic and Knuckles were quipping back and forth again while Amy was in the kitchen making something for them all to eat for dinner, a soft smile formed on his white muzzle as he realized Sonic was petting the tail he absentmindedly rested on his brother.

We should do this more often, he thought.

[the-kr8tor]

Once More to See You

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 8.4k

Synopsis: Like Alice in wonderland, you accidentally fall to another universe where everything is different from your universe, including your best friend, Hobie Brown. Will you be able to come home to your best friend before you get ripped apart molecule by molecule? Or will you fail and leave the love of your life wondering where you are for the rest of his life?

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader, CW Blood, CW violence, TW death, CW injury, CW vomit mention. Bestfriends to lovers (speedrun edition), established relationship, Hurt/comfort, Angst.

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Eyes almost crossed, back hunched and aching, you tinker at the tiny components of the inter dimensional watch Hobie started putting together. He brought it to you last night with a paper bag filled with your favourite takeout to bribe you in helping him. “It's for emergencies,” he said, “I don't trust that vampire from the future,” he grumbled in between bites of chips.

The soft music from your record player filters through the dimly lit room, save for your work lamp, the sun is just about setting in the horizon. You have the perfect view of the expansive London skyline just outside your window. It's a foggy day, clouds hanging above like cotton balls, fluffy and grey— rain's coming, you surmise from the unmistakable smell of petrichor. It's already raining somewhere, you think. And you worry immediately for him since he's still on patrol. Did he bring a raincoat with him at least? But knowing him, he'd just swing around while there's a downpour. And when you scold him while he's dripping wet, soaking your carpet, he'd just shrug and say, ‘I looked bloody good at it though’ to which you'd scoff, but secretly agree.

Distracted, you poke at the wrong wire with your metal pliers, a spark from the main power source shocks you, flinching and yelping, you check for any damages on your fingertips.

“Should've worn rubber gloves, love.” Hobie's sudden whisper in your ear makes you jump out of the stool, goosebumps appearing on your arms as he catches you before you land harshly on your back. “Got you. Maybe you should invent seatbelts on barstools, hm? You'd make a fortune from pubs alone. No more drunkards falling face first.” He jokes, arm snaked along your back, hand splayed over your ribs, and face dangerously close to your own.

You decide to quip back as revenge for making you almost fall. “I would invent it if you weren't dropping so many projects on my lap.” Still floating above the floors with the help from his hold, he fakes letting you go. You squeak, hands instinctively flying to his shoulders for support. Maybe you shouldn't have teased him when he's the only one standing between you and a bump on your head. “You little—”

He raises a pierced brow, “what'd you say again, love?” His mischievous smirk tells you that he's about to do it again, so you surrender. How could you fight him when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world that's worthy of his touch?

Lips clamping down, you still glare at him despite the overwhelming fondness for the man holding you in place.

“That's what I thought.” Chuckling, he sits you upright back on the stool, he even fixes your shirt for you. “There, lookin' mighty fit today, why are you all dressed up?”

It's your turn to quirk an eyebrow, “dressed up? Hobs I basically live in this shirt.” He unabashedly roams his eyes over to the old band shirt that he made himself once upon a time. “Bold of you to assume I have some place to go.” You say even with the searing heat from your cheeks, and clammy hands.

“We could go,” Hobie shrugs, hiding his sudden shyness, you have that effect on him. “There's a new building we could swing to, if we go now we could still catch the sunset.” He inches closer, hand smoothing down the goosebumps on your arms.

“It's gonna rain, Hobs.”

“How'd you know? You a weather girl now?”

“I can smell it, and also my knees feel it.”

“What are you eighty?” He says with a laugh. “Does that make you a cradle snatcher?” Half joking, he really wishes that you'd get the hint.

Eleven years of friendship and counting, you still haven't crossed that invisible line between friendship and something more. It's not from the lack of trying from Hobie's end, no, he has told you a few times that he fancied you, more than a best friend would. But you're too afraid to say it back, to say or even scream that you fancy him, or love him is the better way to put it. But you're afraid that it might not work out, that friendship is the best thing for the both of you, that all the longing looks thrown between you, and all the lingering touches were all just attraction because you've known each other for basically forever; and the feeling wouldn't last once you do get together.

You don't want to risk your friendship only for it to end in tears and heartache. No, you love him too much to hurt him like that, and he knows it too.

He was more bold with his feelings for you a few years before, years before he was bitten and was given the heavy responsibilities. But now that he bears the title of Spider-man, he's starting to think having a romantic relationship with you while he's tangled up in all the danger he faces everyday, isn't such a great idea. So his advances are much less now, Hobie just misses you, he suppose, that's probably why he asked for your help with his own batch of watches even though he can handle it on his own while he's blindfolded. An excuse to just see you, an excuse to be in your presence. Because if you can't be together, he'd settle for staying like this forever, just best friends.

Best friends who unequivocally love each other, best friends who are waiting for the right time. Even if it means waiting for forever.

You smile softly, knowing that his joke is a half wish. “That means you're a coffin snatcher then.”

Hobie leans closer, hands on top of your table that's behind you, arms caging you in. You can smell the leather on him, and the usual scent he sports when he's particularly in a good mood. You'd know, you gifted the cologne to him. He thinks you're uncomfortable because of the position, he was about to move away but you remedy that with a smile, and with your hand placed on the back of his elbow. He can feel how your pulse hammers against your skin.

“C’mon, love, the view's pretty up there.” His view right now can't compare though.

“I can see the view from here, besides, I still have work to do.”

He tilts his head, an act he knows you can't resist. “I’ll swing you back home quicker than you can say ‘cougar’” you laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners, and he thinks your smile is better than any sunset he has ever seen. “You've been cooped up in here for too long. When was the last time you've seen the sun—?” You open your mouth for a quip but he beats you to it, “not including seeing it from your windows.” Nodding, he raises both eyebrows, looking at you through his long lashes.

For a moment he thought you'd agree, that you bought into his charms. But you clear your throat, moving away, lips tightly closed like you refuse to spill any secrets. Or spill out a confession. I don't want to ruin this, you think, if I go, what would happen up there? Your mind runs through a thousand scenarios, a consequence of your genius mind. It's not all good, you suppose, and you're sure that whatever happens on top of that skyscraper, you'll never come back from it.

You love him, you really do, but he has a heavy burden to carry. You don't want to add to it. Leaning to the side, still sitting on the stool, he instinctively hovers his hand close to your side, just in case you fall off again.

“I fixed the problem on your watch by the way.” Changing the subject is good, changing the subject means you don't have to face reality.

“Yeah?” He acts nonchalant, yet, there's a lump in his throat that threatens to choke him. It's not all your fault, he thinks. All the tiptoeing around each other, all the heavy side glances aren't all your fault, it's his too. He might've faced a hundred or so dangers but he can't seem to find the courage to finally say those three magic words. Jaw tightening, he's not mad at you, he's mad at himself.

“Your initial power source didn't have enough juice. Hence why it can't generate the right particles for inter dimensional travel.”

Hobie leans on the table, hand still close to your waist, eyes roaming intently at your handiwork. You're good, too good at making these watches, even better than Miguel could be. Or he's just biased. You made it look good too, even with the hodgepodge of materials he gave you.

“You figured that out in less than twenty four hours?” He's in awe of you, he could've thought of that, but it would've taken him a tad longer. “Fuckin' brilliant,” he says under his breath.

You raise your chin proudly, “I did, it was easy-peasy.” It was not, you barely slept because you couldn't sleep not while this huge glaring problem sits at your work table. If it needs fixing, you're gonna get it fixed within the day or you think you'll crumble into dust. Especially if it's Hobie asking for help.

Hobie beams, he's incredibly proud of you, but, “you crossed your lines, love. If you want me to catch on fire then you did it brilliantly.”

“What?” Your smug smile melts, eyes scanning the colourful wires. Shoulders sagging, you glare at him. “No, it's not.”

“Yes it is,” chuckling, he takes your hand to guide and point it out for you. “Right there. Between the cooling system and the red wires.”

Eyes narrowed, nose wrinkling, he smiles at your cute expression. “I can't see— oh.” You see it, the mess of wires lies just under the new power source that you were so proud of. “Fuck.”

“You owe me,” Hobie pokes your side.

“No, I don't. Not all of us have super eyesight.”

“Really? Blamin’ my poor eyes?” Hobie widens his hazel eyes, brilliant swirls of colours mesmerize you.

“Your eyes are far from poor.” You shove his face away from you gently, smiling, you laugh at his fake glare. “Don't you have to patrol, spiderman?”

He surrenders, huffing, he takes his mask from his back pocket to put it back on his head. “Fine, just make sure to fix your wires, I don't want to come back to a crater the next time I visit.”

“I'll uncross them, don't worry. I'm not an amateur, y'know.”

Hobie pats your shoulder for now, maybe he'll pay you a visit again tonight just to make sure your flat didn't turn into ashes. You call him back before he could exit through your fire escape.

“Be careful, please?” Your worried tone makes him turn back around to face you. You imagine that he's at least smiling under his mask. “Just…I have no idea what to do with your watch if you suddenly croak.”

“Always so bloody sweet,” walking back towards you, he grins even though you can't see it. Your worries make you reach towards him. Holding him by the lapels of his leather jacket, you trace the little stitches he made. His spider senses tingle, and he hears how your heart quickens. “I'll be fine, yeah? Don't worry ‘bout me.”

“You know I'll always worry.” You whisper.

“I know, I'm like that too when it comes to you.” Your breath hitches in your throat. He shuts his senses down so he can't hear how fast your pulse thumps, or how you weakly swallow down your nerves. “Why don't I come back here tonight, ease that genius mind of yours.” He pokes your forehead, you nod. “Good, I'll bring takeout, that isn't instant ramen. Seriously, love, that shit ain't good for you.”

“It's tasty though.”

“You'll get kidney stones.” He begins to walk backwards, so he could still see your face as he goes. For some reason, he doesn't want to go. But he suppose that he always has this feeling whenever he visits.

“I've got a clean kidney,” you softly smile, waving goodbye, hoping that he comes back to you in one piece just like always.

“Sure you do,” one leg after the other, he exits from the window until you're staring into your open window and until his lingering scent fades.

“Right,” you sigh, slapping your cheeks to stay in the present, then turning around to continue your work.

For an hour you painstakingly untangle the wires with your tweezers, minutes turn into hours, and your empty stomach grumbles. Lower back aching once again. For a second you're just about finishing it, then a spark lights up, then a blinding explosion of colours.

You should've worn rubber gloves.

—

Hobie swings casually towards your flat, it's a lot harder to swing with one hand while the other holds onto the plastic bag filled with your favourite. Smiling under his mask, wind blowing towards him, buildings whizz past as he increases his speed.

The smell of smoke hits his nose. Then puffs of black tar greets him where your flat used to be.

Heart in his stomach. He lands on the pavement less gracefully, the bag slipping through his trembling fingers.

A crowd watches on at the burning building, pieces of glass lay under his boots, crunching as he stands frozen on the spot. His eyes roam for your familiar face, around the people that watch the blaze, grief curls around his throat when he doesn't find you amidst the throng of strangers. It slowly suffocates him.

Your name spills out of his lips, hoping with every utterance of your name you'll emerge unscathed. He feels dizzy.

A firefighter notices him. Hope blossoms in his chest when Hobie turns towards the uniformed man. But the forlorn face the man sports under the soot covering his skin says it all. “There's no survivors!” He yells above the sirens, Hobie crumbles to his feet. “There's no survivors. You're too late, Spiderman.”

He's too late. His ears ring, he could only hear the crackling of the fire whilst it eats away at you. Charred wood collapses, nose stinging from the smoke, vision blurry as tears silently fall.

You're gone. And all that's left of you are ashes that float down towards him like grotesque snowflakes. Sticking to his suit, heat clinging to his skin.

It's too soon, he had a lifetime with you. A sudden burst of rain pelts at him. You were right, rain was coming.

He should've tried harder to convince you to go out.

—

A swirl of neon colours whizz past as you fall into the kaleidoscope depths. Scream stuck in your throat, hand stinging from how you grip the watch, or what's left of it. It's now in your hand, jagged metal pieces piercing your skin. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, bracing yourself, you fall on the harsh concrete. The portal spits you out feet first, skidding across, body tumbling on the ground. You're otherwise unharmed despite the harsh landing.

Eyes adjusting in the light, you blink rapidly, shielding your eyesight from the intense sun.

Wait, the sun? Wasn't it sunset a few minutes ago?

Sitting up, you roam your eyes around where you landed. The familiar London skyline is to your right, while on your left are buildings you can't seem to recognize no matter how you try to remember.

“I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.” You say, full of bewilderment. The watch worked, but in the way you wanted it to.

The roof where you landed on is dirty, full of abandoned broken furniture. Pots upon pots of dead plants stacked on top of the other. Good thing there isn't any broken glass or you'd be bleeding.

Propping yourself up, you stand up on two wobbly feet. Stomach churning, vision warbling, you think you're about to be sick. You can't believe Hobie does this on a daily basis.

You inhale sharply, trying to compose yourself and the instant ramen in your stomach. “Oh fuck.” Exhaling, you calm yourself down. Heart finally steadying to a normal rhythm, you sigh before you check the remains of the cracked watch in your hand. “Shit!” The broken pieces fall off from your palm as you look at it. “I'm fucked!”

Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick a cardboard box, it soars across the roof. Groaning loudly, you stomp on the ground as if it was its fault that you're in another dimension.

You felt it before it happened. Something spreads inside you, like a bolt of lightning has struck you. The sensation starts from the crown of your head to your fingertips, goosebumps appearing on your skin, you glitch for only a second but it's enough to give you motion sickness.

“Oh my fuck—!” A blast from behind you reverberates, wind rushing around you, whipping your searing skin. “What the—?”

If being stuck in an alternative universe wasn't enough, a guy wearing huge mechanical wings is approaching you quickly. Too quickly.

Before you could duck, the cackling vulture grabs you from the roof. Lifting you up, the whiplash from his momentum almost breaks your neck.

“Got you!” He laughs in your ears, metallic claws digging into your biceps. A black slithering blob weaves around his bicep, crawling up to your own like a slimy worm.

“What the hell, old man!” You scream above the noisy exhaust of his wings. “Let me go! I was literally just standing there!”

He clicks his tongue, like he's chastising a child. “No, no, no, not until he gives me what I want. Then I'll think about letting you go, but it's a long drop.”

“Who—?” As he says the word ‘drop’ you look down, vertigo making you nauseous. You must be a hundred feet above the streets. You wish Hobie was here to save you. Tears in your eyes, panic sets in, making your hands tremble and your chest desperately heave in air.

A flash of red and black, a harsh crack of bone, and a splash of something warm on your cheek, you fall from the vulture’s hold.

Gasping, reaching for something, anything to hold onto, you get snatched up before you turn into a bloody street pancake.

A strong arm envelops you as you hug tighter, face hiding away from the harsh winds. Clinging onto the stranger, they seem oddly familiar under your touch. They smell familiar too, like your nose is so used to it that you can recognize it above anything else. Leather and bergamot, the scent he wears when he's in a good mood.

You raise your head to take a peek at your savior. The spikes on his head are dark and swirly, like an evil unicorn's horn. They don't shine in the sunlight anymore, it's the same deep shade as his mask. He no longer bears the resemblance of your Hobie. He feels like him, smells like him, even the warmth spreading to you is the same. There's a deep familiarity, yet, there's something amiss.

“Hobie?” You call, and when he shifts his head to gaze at you, his grip loosens.

Craning his neck down, the eyes of his mask widens. “Y/N?” He breathlessly asks, arm sliding off from shock. “Shit!”

“Hobie!” Briefly falling, he catches you immediately. You both land on a roof, his arms are around you, hand shielding your head from the collision as you both slide across the terracotta roof. Eyes closed, you hide your face on his chest as he bears the impact for you.

Hobie groans, glad that he's wearing leather that helped with lessening his injuries from the awkward fall. Opening his eyes, he thinks he has died when he sees your face look back at him.

Expression etched into worry, you check for any injuries on his body. You get a good look at his suit, it's different, way different than you saw him last. The only thing that stayed the same is his old leather vest, but it looks like it's more well worn than the last time you've seen it. There's marks on the leather, and holes where it's not supposed to be in. You'd mend it for him like always, but there's more pressing matters.

Hobie reaches for you, black cloth enveloping and swirling around his toned arms, showing a bit of his scarred skin. You don't miss how his hands tremble as he holds your face in his calloused hands. It's all familiar to you, yet, his hands are more rugged, rougher, but you know it's him. You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Did the vulture finally get me?” You raise an eyebrow at his question. The heaviness in his chest slowly fades for the first time in years, he wants to tell you everything, to hold you forever in his arms until all the holes in his heart are filled by you once more. His thumbs wipe the crimson off of your cheek, an instinct of his.

“W-what?” You shake your head, and he relishes at the sound of your voice. The same voice he has only heard in your old voicemails that he plays before going to bed. “I think you have a concussion, Hobs.” Gently, you reach for his mask, he stops you before you could lift it away.

“Hobs,” he chuckles weakly, “I haven't heard of that name in years.”

You know this isn't your Hobie but you can't help but sympathize with him, you can hear the sadness and hurt laced with his deeper tone. You'd ask, but it isn't your place. Literally.

Hobie sits up with a groan, back cracking, the sound making you wince. “Sounds like you need to stretch more.” You joke.

He laughs, his mind tricks him, making him think of all the teasing you've said to him once upon a time.

“I think my back is beyond saving by just stretching.” Head leaning on his elbow, arm propped up by his knee, he still can't wrap his mind around your existence. “Which dimension did you come from?”

You straighten your back, lips curling into a smile. “How'd you know I'm not from here?”

Hobie reaches for his mask, for a moment he pauses. Still, with an apprehensive tug, he takes off his mask. Shock and confusion is evident in your expression. Reminding him of the time when he told you he was Spider-Man all those years ago.

“You're…old.” A hundred questions flood your mind at the sight of his crow’s feet that decorates his eyes. He has smile lines around his mouth, he still has piercings but there's less of them now. His hair is graying, patches of grey that weave around his locs. Under the wear of time on his face, you could recognize that face amidst a thousand faces. It's Hobie, but not your Hobie. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

He chuckles deeply, he misses that humour of yours. “You look how I remember.” he whispers, you could barely hear his words.

You knit your eyebrows together. “Did I travel to the future instead of a different dimension?” The same sensation passes through you, rattling your bones and wracking your senses. You glitch once again. Stomach churning, you cough out harshly.

Shaking his head, Hobie stands up then he gives you a hand. “Not time travel,” you take his hand weakly, lifting you up, he worries for you. “Definitely from another universe. Come with me to the safehouse and we'll fix your watch, yeah?”

Nodding, you trust him completely. “Okay, just to remind you though, don't jostle me around too much—”

“You get motion sick from web swingin’, I know, I remember.” His heart aches, and you can see it hidden behind his hazel eyes.

—

After swinging across the city, and with you fighting the bile rising to your throat, you two finally make it to his safehouse that's masquerading as an old laundromat. You and older Hobie enter from the back door, and another door greets you, all thick steel and seemingly bullet proof.

He enters a set of codes on the numpad that you didn't notice until he was pressing numbers in. You don't bring out the fact that the passcode was your birthday.

The door beeps, an indication that it's unlocked. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiling softly at your nervous eyes.

“Stay behind me, yeah? Don't mind the lads. Or the whispers.”

“Whispers? Why would they gossip about me?”

“Nothin'” he turns back around. “Just stay close to me.”

“Okay, I wasn't planning to wander anyway, it looks like a small house so—” just as you say it, a long staircase leading down to what looks like the abyss makes you think otherwise. “Are you evil Hobie? You planning on bringing me to your little house of horrors to kill me?”

“Are you part of the sinister six?” He asks flatly, slightly enjoying the banter.

“No—”

“Then you've got nothin’ to worry ‘bout.” Hobie continues to walk down the stairs, heavy boots thudding against the concrete with every footstep. Darkness surrounds him quickly, you could only see the outline of him under the dark. He notices the way you stay on top of the stairs, hands wringing together. “I've got a torch if you're scared—”

“Yes!” You exclaim too fast. “I mean, sure, yeah.” He doesn't tease, for that you silently thank him. You hear a click, and then a torch coming from a gadget on his arm lights the way. “Thanks,” you whisper, finally catching up with him.

The stairs lead you down further, with only Hobie's torch guiding the way, you subtly hold the hem of his vest. If he minded, he never said anything. Ears popping, another door greets you at the end.

Hobie knocks, a rhythm that you can't quite place. A panel on the door slides open, a pair of eyes roams over to Hobie's face and then to yours. Brown eyes widening at the sight of you, they close the panel, then they open the metal door with a creak. Light escapes from the opening, and you shield your eyes from the sudden brightness.

“Holy fucking shit,” a female voice exclaims. Their cadence is full of surprise, and somewhat breathless. “W-what— how?”

“She's not from here,” Hobie explains, almost sounding forlorn at his own words.

Your eyes finally adjust, and you see an older Yuri gawking at you. She has aged well and gracefully, you think, as she sports the lighter hair with confidence and wrinkles barely noticeable.

“Yuri?” You still ask even though you're ninety nine percent sure that it's her.

“The one and only, gorgeous.” Without thinking, she drags you inside, pulling you in for a hug. You heard her sniffle, and you felt how her shoulders relaxed just from the hug alone. So you let her embrace you, with your hand awkwardly rubbing in an attempt to soothe her. Pulling away, she holds you at arm's length. She pats your shoulder, smoothing your sleeves, “still gorgeous, and still unfair.” Snorting, she lets you go, turning towards your companion. “Gwen's been waiting for you.”

Hobie gets flung back to the present, the simple sight of Yuri hugging you has brought him to the past, back when everything was better.

You stare at him, and he knows there's a lot of questions swimming in that genius mind of yours. He nods once wordlessly, not trusting his own mouth to form coherent words right now.

You follow him just as he instructed, Yuri reluctantly lets you go. Your nails dig into your sweaty palms, and eyes restlessly looking around the safe house. The place is expansive, walls high up, and when you look down, you see weathered tiles that have cracked from time. There's a train track in the middle, and you realize it's an old metro station. Instead of advertisements and train schedules on the walls, you see several monitors hanging on it, thousands of wires running through all of them, beeping and buzzing coming out of the computers. There's also weapon racks littered around the place, large and something that looks like it came from a sci-fi film.

There's a lot of people running around, all clad in the same style as Hobie. Leather, chains and metal spikes all adorning their forms. You quickly look away whenever you pass a stranger who widens their eyes at the sight of you.

Tugging at Hobie's vest, you peer at him. “Why does everyone give me that same look? And who's Gwen?”

He doesn't stop his strides, “Gwen's a friend, she knows you, kind of.” He decides to tease you. Maybe it's his brain trying to compensate for the time he hasn't done it. “Why? You jealous? Green eyed monster rearing its ugly mug?”

You scoff with a playful smile. “Technically, I don't know you, so…” his smile wavers, “there's no way I'd be jealous. Also you're…old.” His smile returns, there's a question that suddenly pops in your mind. “Are we a thing here?” You suppose you should ask just to get it away, and this isn't even the same Hobie back home so you don't lose anything by asking.

His face flattens, something passes by his eyes and he turns away. “Don't worry ‘bout it.”

“That's not answering my question, or any of my questions—”

“Gwen.” Hobie passes by you without sparing you a glance.

He enters a large open space that is full of computers and screens that blink and beep. There's a dozen or so people that walk around the area, all looking frazzled and tired. It looks like a command center of some sorts. A stranger bumps into you, accidentally shoving you by your shoulder.

“Sorry, I—” The man stops in his tracks, it's Ned, or at least this universe's version of Ned. The wrinkles around his eyes and white hair says that he must've been the same age as this Hobie. The clipboard in his hand falls from his grasp, eyes wide and watery, he gasps. “Y/N—”

Hobie appears next to you, “yeah it's her, Ned.”

“B-but…she's—”

Hobie shakes his head, wordlessly having a conversation with his best friend. “We'll talk later, I promise.” He softens his voice. The interaction has you more confused. They have a stare down with you caught in the middle.

You give Ned an apologetic smile. Crouching, you take the fallen clipboard, giving it back to him. “Here, sorry for bumping into you.”

His hand trembles as he takes it. “It's okay, I gotta go.” Rushing, he leaves you and Hobie.

“Is he okay? Please don't tell me you're working him to the bone.” You scold him.

“No, you know I'll never do that.”

“Just like I said, I technically don't know you.” Exasperated from all the dodging Hobie has done, you walk away and towards the command center where a large table sits in the middle and in-between a huge screen.

Hobie has forgotten has stubborn you can be, following behind you, he can already see Gwen looking furious just standing next to the table, all menacing like.

“Hobie, what the fuck did you do?” The sudden angry tone makes your skin jump, kind of reminding you of your days back in school. “Have you finally lost your damn mind?” The blond woman gestures towards you.

There's red streaks in her braided hair, clothes perfectly suited to her form. She stands out from the rest, she looks sporty in her varsity jacket and white trainers. But of course she wears a pair of leather pants and an old band shirt that says ‘fuck getting fridged!’ You have no idea what that means.

Before she could blow a gasket, you explain yourself. “It's not time travel actually,” you say, voice faltering once you notice all eyes are on you. “It's interdimensional travel— on accident! I didn't mean to.”

Gwen crosses her arms over her chest, “you a spiderperson? Do you answer to Miguel?”

“No, not a spiderperson, just some idiot who made a huge mistake by trying to make her own watch because my best friend asked me to.” You take the broken watch from your pocket to place it on the table. “See? I broke it.”

“Your Hobie asked you to help him?” Older Hobie asks, you nod, his eyes flick over to you and then the bracelet. “Sounds like something I would do.” He whispers to himself.

“Wait, you don't have a watch on you anymore? Then—” Gwen starts but your glitching interrupts her.

It was only two seconds but you felt like your insides were being ripped apart, and your eyeballs were getting scooped out by a spoon. Heaving, hands gripping on the table for balance, you cough loudly as Hobie pats your back.

“Motherfucker—! That one was worse than the last one.” You almost choke on your own spit. “Goddamnit.”

“I was about to ask why you're not glitching, I guess I got my answer.” Gwen hands you a water bottle. “Here.” Turning towards Hobie, who's already picking apart the bracelet, she sternly calls for his attention. “What do you plan with her?”

“Fix her watch then let her stay because she's Y/N.” He nonchalantly says, lying through his teeth to rile up his already mad right hand woman.

“Your real plan, Hobie.” She taps her foot impatiently, you still wonder what his words meant. “We don't have the time or the resources to help her right now. Especially when our little machine still hasn't turned on.”

“Would you rather have her molecules ripped apart or spare a few parts so she could go home?” Hobie places his hands on top of the table, eyes narrowed, challenging Gwen. Whilst you take in his words. “Our main focus still hasn't changed, she's a guest and if we don't help her she will die.” Inhaling, he continues, “you heard her, she has someone to go back too. Someone who's lookin' for her. Do you really want him to experience that kind of—” he stops after feeling your eyes on him. He clears his throat. “We'll help her fix the watch, it'll take me a few hours to finish it and we'll still be on schedule for the attack.”

You set aside your oncoming demise to ask him about ‘the attack’. “Schedule for what?”

Gwen visibly relaxes from your gaze, you surmise that this universe’s you has history with her. “We're gonna take down Osborn once and for all.”

You knit your brows together. “You haven't done that yet?”

Gwen and Hobie blinks in surprise, intrigued, everyone else who wasn't already eavesdropping looks at you expectantly.

“What do you mean ‘haven't?’” Gwen asks, eyebrow raised.

“We already did that in our dimension a few years ago. I still have a few scars from it.”

Hobie cranes his neck towards Gwen, hazel eyes suddenly forlorn, shoulders heavy, and jaw tightening. “You succeeded?”

It all hits you, they've failed in where you and your friends have succeeded. You gained where they've lost, and you feel for their pain, you for*his suffering. You now know why he gave you that look the first time he saw you.

Composing yourself, even though your chest feels heavy, you still act as if their revelation doesn't bother you, when it has impacted you like you're the one who lost. “Y-yeah, I mean everyone helped a lot. I just did the best I can.” You scratch the back of your neck, “we had this thing that can cripple the symbiote inside his men—”

Gwen takes out a small circular device from her pocket. “Like this?”

You shake your head, “no, we just hooked a bunch of amplifiers around the area and Hobie and his band played really fucking loud. My ears ring just thinking about it.”

“Yeah we all know about them hating loud sounds but that didn't work for us before.” Gwen and Hobie's hopes are dashed. “And after all the tries, we stopped trying that method.”

“Why don't you guys ask for help with spider society? I'm sure—”

Hobie cuts you off, scowling at his feet. “I did, I asked for help. And what did that vampire from 2099 say?” He grows frustrated, knuckles shaking, eyes looking away from you. “He refused, saying that no one could intervene. That this was my canon event, and if anybody helped that it'll put the multiverse into dangerous territory.” Shaking his head, the man before shows up, and Hobie turns away from him. “It's bullshit, that's why I left.”

“We did find out why sound doesn't disable the symbiotes. Osborn made some kind of shield around them.” Gwen pipes up, shifting the conversation before Hobie gets angrier from the mere mention of Miguel.

“Like armor?” You ask.

“Yes, it's invisible to the naked eye. Thanks to Hobie, we finally found their Achilles heel. If only we could get this damn device to work then we'll be free of him and his regime.” She continues.

“Maybe I can help—”

“No,” Hobie quickly says, hurt in his eyes, he avoids yours. “No, I'll get your watch fixed up and you can go.”

“But I may be able to help—”

“No,” he emphasizes, with a shaky breath, he calls for Yuri. “Take her to the extra room,” instructing Yuri, she smiles at you apologetically. “Stay there until your watch is fixed.”

“She might be right—” Gwen starts but Hobie ignores her.

You glitch once again, stomach turning inside out, this time you feel like your skin is being ripped away. Eyes rolling on the back of your head, head spiralling. The next thing you know, you're laying on top of a hard mattress. Groaning, vision adjusting, you sit up carefully.

Your eyes adjust to the dim light hanging above, a single light bulb that swings from a draft seeping out of a crack in the wall. The room is small, barely even fitting the single bed. Walls of grey concrete surround you on all sides, there's a few posters on the walls that are tacked lopsidedly. They're all worn down, like they're older than you from the looks of the fading ink. A singular guitar sits at the corner, black and cherry red, hundreds of stickers are placed on it, adding to the roses that are painted all over it. It screams Hobie, but not your Hobie. Just sitting on his bed makes you miss him, even though you know they are not the same.

Stretching your aching neck from awkward angles it was put through because of the glitching, you spot a polaroid picture sticking out from under the pillow. You don't want to be nosy, but seeing your own face smile at you has you reaching for the photograph.

It's you, but not you exactly. Your face is the same, clothes you can't recognize. The only thing you can recognize is the way you hold onto Hobie. This universe's Hobie. Cheek pressed on his own, mirrored smiles on both your lips, his arm around your waist, pulling you close as if you'd fade away. And your arms enveloping around him like you're shielding him from harm. There's one detail that jumps at you with how yellowed the paper is and how crumpled the corners are, you're both incredibly young.

“Oh,” There had been signs, and this now confirms it.

You look at the steel door as if you had x-ray vision, as if you can see through it and see the Hobie that this version of you had loved once upon a dimly lit pub where the polaroid was taken.

Placing the picture back where you found it, you test your shaky legs. You make it two steps before you start glitching out, tumbling towards the door, forehead pressed on the cold steel, you heave dryly.

There's tears in your eyes when you open the door. Silence greets you, the air is cold and stagnant, the lights that were blinking at you earlier are now dim enough that you have to feel your way towards the concrete hallway and out into the warm light. Your hands glide along the almost frozen walls, rough sandy concrete hitting your palms like sandpaper. Footsteps quiet to not rouse the sleeping crew.

Finally making it out, lungs cool, and teeth chattering, you feel sicker by the minute. Hobie stands next to the large console, back towards you. Metals clicking and grinding against each other, Hobie doesn't look over his shoulder from your presence.

You knock on the wall to not startle him and ruin his work. Hobie finally cranes his neck to look at you, shoulders tensed and eyebrows knitted together in either frustration or concentration.

“You okay?” You ask, voice echoing in the vast room.

“I should be askin’ you that.” He goes back to the table, immediately tinkering.

“Well, are you?”

“You're stubborn.”

“My best quality.”

You hear him softly chuckle thanks to the silence hanging in the air. Walking closer, you smile at the sight of his rubber gloves that protect his hands.

“So?” You ask again.

“Never better.” He flatly says, eyes focused on putting your watch together.

“Why'd you leave the society?”

“Thought you were smart?”

“I am, and a consequence of that is being utterly curious.”

Hobie sighs but doesn't stop working. “Creative differences.”

“Ah, I knew it. You and my Hobie would get along well.” Your words trail off when you see the same spherical tech sitting next to him. “Is that the thing you can't figure out?”

He spares it a glance. “Yeah, the bane of my existence.”

You go around him to look at it closely. Eyes narrowed, arms tucked, you lean closer. “I think—” you grab it before Hobie could stop you. The glitching must've taken a toll in your critical thinking because you crack it open like an egg in your hands. “That's your problem.”

“What the fuck?” He says breathlessly, almost yelling, eyes wide, hands already grabbing the tech to fix it. “What is wrong with you?”

“Thin shell.”

“We've established that you have a thin skull—”

“Rude, but I'm talking about that.” You point at the sphere while Hobie's cradling it like a baby. “the shell is too thin,” you take half of it, pointing out its faults. “See? You need to make the shell a bit thicker, put a pressure plate so that—”

Hobie has a growing smile. “When it's thrown it automatically turns on. With the thicker shell it can withstand it and with it helps distribute the energy more evenly. Shutting all the shields down around its vicinity without needing to push a button.” His eyes widen with realization with every word he says that you already know of. “That way we can arm every rebel with a hundred of these and take down Osborn's venoms without risking close combat. Fuckin' brilliant.” He looks at you in wonder. Embarrassment flickers in his eyes, he should've thought of that, yet, he didn't. You might not be his Y/N but you're worthy of her name.

���Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” Your next sentence has your hands shaking, he notices. “Was your Y/N as brilliant as me?” You finally ask.

Hobie's cheery face falls, “She was smart, but not that brilliant. Her bravery makes up for it.”

“I'm sorry.” Tears stick to your lashes, heart aching for the man before you.

“You are curious.” After years without you, he still has no idea how to respond to those exact words. “How you feelin’?”

“Me?”

“Finding out a version of you is dead must be fuckin' weird.”

You shake your head. “I first thought that I'd see an old wrinkly me.” A half joke. You smile at him to make him feel better, but with how forlorn those hazel eyes are, you might've made it all worse. You weren't lying, you wanted to see a glimpse of your future, but finding out the version of you here is long dead doesn't compare to the feeling of losing someone you've known for years, loved even. “It's terrifying, but it doesn't compare to how hurt you must be. Losing her, I mean.”

He didn't see you grow old. He didn't experience growing old with you.

Hobie clears his throat, “I know you're not her.”

“And I know you're not him. But it looks like we both share the same feelings for them respectively.”

“That obvious?”

“Hobie once told me that in every universe there's always someone for Spider-Man. So yes, it's obvious.” You give him an empathetic smile. ���How'd you know it's the same for me?” For us?

“You talk about him like how I talk about her. Takes one to know one, love.” He holds your hand briefly, like it was acting on an old instinct. “Have you told him? How much you're bloody smitten? I have a feelin’ you haven't.”

You nervously chuckle, hands fiddling with a loose screw on the table. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, waitin’ for the right time? Scared of what would happen in the long run?” He says knowingly.

You don't look him in the eyes. “Yeah.”

Something flashes behind Hobie's eyes, after a beat of silence, he finally speaks. “She died protectin’ my crew, did you know that? She died protectin' me, and how do I thank her? Years of failing, years of fighting and we've only come close but never winning in the end.” Hobie sniffs, head raised to look at the graffiti painted on the ceiling. “If i just told her that I loved her, I would've had more time with her. Instead, I was a coward, all those years wasted because I'm a coward.” Hobie finally looks at you, the warm light from the lamp lights the trapped tears in his eyes. “Don't wait for the right time.”

You shake your head, heart clenching at the sight. “I don't think all those years were wasted. You loved her quietly, and I think she did too. Time spent together isn't wasted, just like your silent love. Love is never wasted.”

He smiles softly, the resemblance of a younger Hobie is etched under the small smile. “You would know.”

“I would know,” you smile back. Trepidation hangs around your neck like a two ton steel necklace. “How would I know that he feels the same way? What if it doesn't work out? Or worse, reject me?”

“His loss,” Hobie grins, a genuine one that you haven't seen this version of him sport. It's the only thing you need for reassurance. “But I highly doubt that will happen.”

Nodding, you feel determination where the heaviness once resided. “I'll tell him when I get back. I promise.” You say wholeheartedly.

“You better, don't make the same choices I did.” Hobie holds your hands like how someone holds a feather, gentle and kind. “At least I got to see her one last time, eh, love? A bit younger but beggars can't be choosers.” You feel something heavy on your wrist. Looking down, you see a working watch. Hobie slyly put it on you, it even has your dimension already keyed in on the screen. You look back at him, mouth slightly agape. “Too much power, that was the problem. Sometimes the easier solution is the best.” You laugh at him using your own words against you.

“Thank you, do me a favour?”

“Tit for tat, huh?”

You giggle, then you face him seriously. “Crush Osborne. Fucking decimate him. Or I'll come back and bring the cavalry.”

Hobie's finger ghosts above the button. “You know where to find me, love.”

“And you know where I am.” You smile as the portal opens behind you. A gust of air breezes past you, eyelashes fluttering in the wind, a kaleidoscope of colors dancing on Hobie's face, illuminating his hopeful eyes. “I'm serious, if you need help—”

He slides his hands away from yours. “Go home, Y/N, your Hobie is lookin' for you.” With the mention of him, you give him one last smile for him to remember. You take a step back and fall back into the portal.

—

You fall unceremoniously on the wet pavement, body crashing on a pile of discarded boxes and metal trash cans. The crashing sound would've startled anybody and would have their attention, but no one seems to pay you mind as everyone stares at the ashy remnants of your flat. Groaning, you slap your forehead because of your stupidity. You feel relieved because you seem to be home. Everything seems to be in place, and everything seems to be normal.

“Fucking idiot.” You whisper breathlessly at the sight of your charred flat. Your relief gets washed away when you see Hobie in his suit kneeling down in agony whilst bystanders watch on in grief. Your eyes flick over to him and back to your flat, then back to him.

His shoulders are shaking, head in his hands, nails digging into his mask. You'd yell his name if not for the crowd. Instead, you walk to him, legs still wobbly but getting steady with every step. Soon enough, before you could make your presence known with your hand reaching for his shoulder, he moves his head so fast that you're afraid that his neck would snap. The eyes of his mask widens, standing up, he grabs you lightning quick.

Arms holding you close, you feel his warmth as he slides his hand to your pulse. Hobie sighs in relief, even laughing as he slots his face in the crook of your neck.

You mirror him, hands kneading on his back, telling him you're back and you're not going anywhere with the simple touch.

“I thought— where—?” he starts, but you press your lips on his cheek. He practically freezes in place even with his mask acting as a barrier.

“I love you,” you confess, just as promised, and truthfully. “I love you—!” In a half second after the words are uttered, he swings you both effortlessly on a rooftop, away from prying eyes.

Hobie steadies you on your feet, mask discarded in a heartbeat. “You mean it?”

“Of course I do.” You don't miss the sight of his tear stained cheeks. Your hands reach for him, thumbs rubbing softly on each cheek. “I love you, Hobie.”

“Good, then you don't mind me doin' this?” The warmth of his hand seeps through his gloves, that won't do, so he takes his gloves off to feel you. His bare hand is on your nape, the other is placed on your waist, fingers tapping on your skin lovingly.

You already know what he's asking. “Nope, not at all—”

With an inhale, he closes the distance, kissing you, taking your breath away.

You've fulfilled your promise.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[beckpoppinscosplay]

Taking more interesting portraits on your phone for minimal money and equipment that can fit in a duffel bag

a guide for cosplayers, fashion folk, and people who like looking nice in selfies.

By Beck Poppins

first off, its nice to have a big blank background. Some of us are lucky and have big massive white walls, most of us don't. My space that I can take photos in is my shitty midwestern basement. It has the best light control (i can get it nice and dark) and i have space to set up this bad boy, the photo backdrop.

These stands are very common, usually around 30-40 bucks, and they are so god damn useful. Not only can I light it from the front but from behind, they fold up REAL small and don't take up room, i can hang up any kind of fabric. I so also use them for things like party backdrops and some video calls. This is pictured here with 2 of my 10 dollar ring lights, we are only going to be using one of those today.

Fabric wise you can use anything, bed sheets, raw fabric off the bolt, party streamers, whatever. I am using a wrinkle free panel photo backdrop that i think cost me like 25-30 bucks and it was worth it to me because i don't have to iron it but you can use whatever. I will also say plain white gives you a LOT of options when it comes to lighting, we can make this look like whatever we want, no editing in post needed.

It's important to remember all of this wouldn't need to be bought all at once OR in total. these are loose suggestions that can be collected over time. before we get snapping, one last important bit of kit, I love bluetooth photo clickers they are SO cheap and you can stick em in your pocket and you dont have to fight getting your camera to get the right shot.

So where we are, my overhead lightbulb, my back drop, and my clicker.

I will be in boring clothes, no make up, and a mask in each picture so you are just seeing the unedited shot and nothing else, not even expression.

We can soften this shot up with that cheap ring light right in front of us that is holding up our camera on its little attached tripod. Most ringlights have at least 3 settings and you can fiddle with cold, warm, and neutral (seen here)

Now that we have a basic set up, lets play with junk!

My favorite extra style of light right now is a sunset lamp, about 15 bucks and a REAL power house. It blasts extremely bright blended colored light and has so many settings which really give you options.

Straight white light from a sunset lamp

straight pink light from a sunset lamp

Sunset lamp in blue and a ring light set to warm

If you have that backdrop and it a little sheer you can move that sunset lamp behind it and do some really cool stuff!

Red sunset lamp behind, warm ringlight infront

If its behind its a great way to use shadows and add some props and imagery to your photo

We can also put stuff between us and these lights to add interest, one of my favorite things is to use a recycled plexiglass out of a thrift store frame and hot glue.

here i attached it with photo clamps to an extra photo stand, but if you wanna be cheap you can prop it up between stacks of books or clamp it to the back of a chair, play around. This is a very simple way to add texture and interest.

Neutral ring light, blee sunset lamp, hot glue/plexi sheet

sheer fabric also makes a great layer, I used a sheet of sequins on tulle here, but you can use anything sparkly, or embroidered, or knit, there is a lot of texture to play with.

orange sunset lamp through sequins

another great recycled item is hooch bottles with the labels peeled off and filled with water, they gives a soft watery refraction for zero dollars. I am using the sunset lamp but honestly, a flash light will also give you a little bit of this.

blue sunset lamp through rum bottle, overhead lighting.

If we wanna get really fancy and nuts, try a projector. Mine is a bare bones model around 70 bucks and I use it for a lot more than photos. (you can watch movies! project ghosts on halloween! do family slideshows)

This is your option if you wanna add SPECIFIC imagery to your photo.

You can just add a nice high res photo to a thumb drive and BAM (a lot of museums have open download services for everything they have that's fair use, a great place to find images!)

painting projected, warm ring light

pool photo projected alone

Now lets mix them all up! Once you have your photo lights all set up, don't be afraid to add some in photo light source as props to bring it all together.

bubble photo projected, behind backdrop sunset lamp in light blue through rum bottle full of water, warm ring light, cheap led moon lamp held in hand.

rear used led light in gold and a projected painting

projected magic nonsense, distant blue sunlamp, LED in a little 3d printed orange bubble on a bit of fishing line

All these options are editing free, infinite, and all fit in one duffle bag and can be used again and again and again to make all kinds of photos! try different backdrops and lights! Once you add a little costumes and editing? WOW!

[instantdoodlez]

Jashtober days 1-20

Alright, it's a while later than I was hoping to post it, but here it is. Same deal as the warmups, moving my art and commentary over from Twitter, because that site sucks ass <3

Day 1: Single. Didn't realize it meant like.. a music single until the day of, so it's pretty basic. Got a Mr Jash Like ™️ though, so that was a strong start to the project.

Day 2, Astral. Space themed Soul drawing. Soul is the Stars in my hc (the way that Mind is the sun and Heart is the moon in canon), so I figured it would fit well enough.

Day 4, Light. Nothing to really say on this one. (skipped day 3 since it was a duplicate prompt, 'power hour')

Day 5, Angel. My best try at what the angel at the gates in Chonny's inferno looks like. Biblically accurate because it's just cooler. Meant to add a normal-ass clipboard in their hand for the funny, but I forgot.

Day 6, Forest. Dear god, the background on this one killed me. Took many layers and overuse of the blend tool. On another note Mr Jash liked the post on twitter and that, yet again, jumpscared me (This is a pattern /lh)

Day 7, Moss. The little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Didn't know I would ever call fungi cute, but the little mushrooms were my favorite part to do. Proud of this one overall. And it got Jash liked as well, so! 🎉

Day 8, Tidal. Jesus, did all my ship of theseus drawings do relatively bad in the algorithm. Anyways, this one was based on the fifth ship of theseus. Very pretty color pallete, cool colors.

Day 9, Cruisin'. This one was posted late because I couldn't get the shading right and just left it for the next day. Looks much better now.

Day 11, 8-bit. Dug out my old pixilart account to make this one. (Skipped day 10 because "apathy, haha funny". Also to help stave off burnout)

Day 12, Haiku. Heart coming up with his magnum opus (that line from Haiku/lh). This one's background took forever. Many different layers.

Day 13, Encore. Drew The Announcer, everyone's favorite eldritch horror story narrator. Props to GW for making me actually like Monster Mash, I don't even mind the original one now. Mr Jash liked this one too, so that's nice :]

Day 14, Reflection. Whole with a scribbled out face… cool design, and pretty visually interesting. Happy with this one. It also got jash liked.

Day 15, Momento. Had a hard time drafting this one before I realized "oh.. momento.. like.. momento mori.. I am very dumb". Regardless, very happy with this one. It's probably my favorite out of all the jashtober drawings I've done.

Day 17, Theseus. Based on the first Ship of Theseus song, a drawing of the shipmaker. (Skipped day 16 because it was another repeat prompt, Hindsight)

Day 18, Sunset. Based on the lines "When I woke it was daylight, and the clouds were pink / The sun was coming up or going down, I think" from Drink to Death.

Day 19, Savages. The crowd sure does love an upset.

Day 20, Crowned. Mind. Wanted to add a nightlight in the shape of the sun but the composition got too crowded, so I compromised with the lamp chain.

And, that's it! All 17 prompts I've done so far. I'll continue posting the rest of the Jashtober prompts one by one on here. Have a good day/night, and thank you for reading this far if you have!

[sirfrogsworth]

The Curse of Artistic Vision

I think being an artist comes down to developing an image in your head and then feeling compelled to manifest it. Sometimes you are able to improve upon that image in your head. Or you end up with something different that you like better.

But sometimes, for various reasons, you can't quite make that image a reality. And I don't know if other artists feel this way, but it feels like heartbreak every time. Not quite on the level of an incident of human decoupling, but it definitely sticks with you for a long time.

Sometimes I am limited by the current state of my skillset. I just haven't learned enough and gained enough experience to take a photo like the one in my brain.

And sometimes I am limited by my body, which puts huge restrictions on the amount of energy I can dedicate to crafting a photo.

I feel my knowledge and experience has never been at the level I am currently at. I think I have the *potential* to shoot just about anything I can imagine. Which is a cool feeling. I also feel like my image editing and manipulation skills are at the highest they have ever been. Which means anything I can't do in-camera, I can achieve in Lightroom and Photoshop.

But I just don't have a lot of energy to capture photos right now. And I am very limited by how much physical effort I can dedicate to the photographic process. Which is very frustrating. I'm hoping if I build a new studio in the house that will help a lot.

In the meantime, I have this library of images I took before 2017. Many of them I was not able to achieve my artistic vision.

But... I came close.

Which means on many of these old images I can use my editing skills of today to achieve what I could not back then.

And so I have started a huge re-edit project where I go back and realize my images as I wanted them to be.

I had this idea for an image of someone in the middle of a dark forest in an open field reading a book and the only illumination was a lamp that seemed to be plugged into nothing. It popped into my head and it just seemed like a cool photo to create.

In July of 2016, my friend Ryan was visiting and we decided to try it. We even rented a big fancy 50 megapixel camera for a few days. I had never used a professional level camera and it was my birthday and I wanted that experience.

I even had this cool idea to hide a flash in the lamp so it would look like it was illuminated.

The resulting image was not anything like I had in my head. And for some reason, I edited it super bright, and you can barely even notice the cool lampshade flash trick. If you lower the exposure of the RAW file there is a well-defined circle of light in the grass, but it is hard to see in the 2016 edit.

Where is the dark background? Why didn't I underexpose the background to make it look like night or sunset? I knew how to do that back then. I totally could have crafted the photo in my head at that time.

But then I noticed I only took like 8 photos of this scene. And I *always* overshoot. I took 300 photos of a bridge recently.

Then I remembered what happened. We moved a giant rocking chair, a lamp, and lighting equipment to the middle of my neighbor's yard and by the time I was ready to take the photo, I was about to pass out. I believe it was very hot as well.

And so the above was the best I could do under that circumstance. My body limited my artistic vision. And this has been bothering me for years. Sometimes I will think back on this photo and how cool it looked in my head and I will feel that heartbreak again.

When I look at the RAW file... it is actually much better than my edited image.

Which makes me curious why I made it so damn bright. My best theory is I had a monitor that was slowly dying and I didn't realize how dim it got because our eyes are so good at adjusting, and it's possible all of my images from that era were overly bright because I was overcompensating for a dying display.

That fancy camera (Canon 5DS R) was a dream to work with. And having so many extra megapixels to play with is such a joy. People say you don't need more megapixels these days, but when you are doing high level image manipulation, having as much information as possible makes it a lot easier. Especially when making complex selections.

So, I've got a good start. I have a lot of pixels to play with. I was almost certain I could manifest my vision with modern knowledge and tools.

I'll start with the baseline edit in Lightroom. I'm not going to worry about the sky, as that will need to be swapped for my nighttime aesthetic.

The circle of light was there! It was just hiding in my bright exposure. So that's neat. And when you lower the exposure of the background, the lampshade trick presents itself as well.

At this point I was getting excited because I could see the potential. I just had to find the right sky. This one looks perfect.

Okay, it is time for the big reveal.

Did I finally get this image out of my brain and into reality?

I DID!

I don't know if people will like this or find it artistically interesting, but Ryan and I were both very happy with the new version.

Also, I think Ryan's purple shoes really steal the show.

Though I had one idea that was never in my head originally.

Should I try it?

I still haven't decided on the fireflies yet, but Ryan and Katrina like them.

I can't state how nice it was to work on a 50 megapixel photo from a full frame sensor coming from a 10 year old camera with 4 stops less dynamic range and 24 megapixels.

This is zoomed in to 100%!

And the image doesn't even get soft at 300%.

Sorry, I got caught up in the megapixels.

And there is one detail you'll probably never notice unless I point it out, but I completely rebuilt the lampshade because I overexposed it.

I always say small details add up to big results. Plus I had to use some creative problem solving to figure out how to recreate a lampshade and I always enjoy that part of the process—where you don't know how to do something and then you figure it out. Very satisfying.

In any case, my brain feels better now. I feel like I was able to settle something that has been bothering me for ages. And I am grateful I was able to realize my artistic vision—even if it took 8 years.

Here is the before and after. It's fun to switch back and forth.

On to the next photo. And it may involve a furry little orange friend.

[lumiterosg]

Sunset Projection Lamp

[emkayewrites]

Another photo that inspired one of the chapters of ''Curtain Fall', my Lukola fanfiction.

Here's a sneak preview:

It was going to be a hot summer.

She could sense it.

Traditionally, English summer involved occasional rain showers and the need to pull on a warm pair of socks but this year the weather had been consistently dry and warm.  In fact, the fluffy pink socks she had bought to London were still in her suitcase over a month later.

These were the thoughts on her mind that evening as she stepped into the twenty-fifth floor apartment that she was calling a temporary home.  The space was open plan; a kitchen complete with marble worktops that stretched into a living room that was surrounded by large windows. An orange-red sunset painted the city skyline before her. 

She slipped out of her black, open-toed kitten heels and enjoyed the soothing coolness of the floorboards on her sore feet.  She switched on a few lamps, moving around the cream sofa and glass coffee table that took center stage in the living room area.

Ping!

She deliberated ignoring her phone.  All she wanted in that moment was to soak in a bath, then curl into bed and fall into a very deep sleep.  Her better nature advised her against it, recalling that the last time she had been out-of-contact for an entire day was also the last time her mother had almost had a panic attack. 

This was the thing about press days.  They were all-consuming.  Today, it had been swelteringly hot but there had been no opportunity to stop and sufficiently hydrate herself, let alone answer a text message.  She reminded herself that there was a time in her life where she would lose entire days to social media; feeling a sense of shame when she came to the end of her Instagram feed, something she had not known was even possible.

The message was from Luke; it was a screenshot from an article.

The article was titled: Nicola Coughlan wowed in a chic white shirt dress by London designer Simone Rocha. She was greeted with an image of herself: blonde hair expertly parted at one side with bright-red lips.  The dress in question was cinched in at the waist by extra sleeves that functioned as a belt. It was a look that Aimée, her stylist, assured her was sophisticated and fashion-forward. 

“Wow, I know her!” He had commented.

She laughed despite herself, flopping down onto the sofa.

She was still in the dress.  The photo had only been taken a few hours ago and was already featured in Vogue’s Best Dressed At Wimbledon list before she had even had a chance to get home and into a change of clothes.  Life had gradually become strange but since the Derry Girls finale last month, the media and fan attention had ramped up in a very noticeable way.  

“For the last time - get me OFF your Google Alerts, demon.” She texted back, still smiling.

There was an ongoing chain of messages between them that had started since their weekend away.  Some mornings she would wake up to a meme from him.  Other times, she had been the one to share a random musing that sparked a day of back-and-forth commentary, complete with GIFs.  They had continued this pattern despite the reality of her life catching up to her.  Very quickly, she had become an actress that was ending her run on one highly successful show and about to headline another.  Her publicist and agent were inundated which meant she was inundated. 

Now, days were spent at some glamorous event or other and any free time was dedicated to catching up with work emails and her family and where possible, Luke.  Everyone and everything else would have to wait.  This would be her routine until Bridgerton started filming.  Speaking to Luke every day was important.  It reignited the trust and humour that was central to their friendship.  It was not a spark she wanted to lose this close to the start of filming even if some days all she could muster up was an emoji response.

You can read more here:

[umbramoons]

hello hello!

can I request tech proposing to f!reader and then their pabu wedding? thank youuu have a good day

OH JOY, A BEAUTIFUL REQUEST, ANON! I had such a great time writing this one. (Didn't add in a whole lot of detail about the actual wedding, but I hope the rest is alright.) Tech is a sweetheart, and I'll adore him until the day I die. Thank you so much for requesting this, beauty! (Also, happy Tech Tuesday, everyone!)

Reblogs and comments mean a lot! Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

A Golden Proposal

Tech x F!Reader

Warnings: Nothing, just a few kisses!

Word Count: 1.9k

Free dividers by Saradika

“What’s this?”

Tech quickly moved to hide whatever he was hunched over. You only had time to glimpse something extremely small and round before it was covered by his hands. “I would rather you did not ask me about this one, mesh’la.”

You peeked over his shoulder, hoping to get another look at this project he’d been acting strange about. “You’ve been working on this for days. Can’t I just look at it? I promise I won’t break it.”

He smiled warmly, an expression that would have made your heart flutter if you weren’t so accustomed to it by now. “I have no doubt that you wouldn’t compromise my work. However, this is one project that I can’t let you see until I have finished it.”

“Why?” Your chin rested on his shoulder as you kept your eyes fixed on his hands, which were still obscuring your view of this mysterious device he was working on. “Is it a surprise?”

“Perhaps. But I cannot resume my work with you observing me like this.”

You sighed melodramatically as you leaned away from him. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone for a while.” After pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you let him be, leaving to go find Omega. She and Lyanna were probably off getting into trouble. Again.

As Tech watched you go, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, as well as the typical spike in endorphins he received whenever he looked at you. It was difficult to keep someone as curious as his beloved partner in the dark about such things, but he had managed it. And he was almost finished. He could have this finished by tomorrow if he really focused. 

But he didn’t want to rush this project. This one had to be perfect. 

He picked up the delicate tool he had dropped when you walked in, repositioned his lamp, and got back to work.

A few days later, you started to notice that it wasn’t just Tech. Everyone was acting strange. Sure, the Batch had never treated you unkindly, but they were all a little more… smiley with you than usual. Omega and Wrecker, especially. You could hardly look in their direction without one of them not-so-subtly trying to cover their laughs of glee.

So you probably should have been more suspicious when the team cornered you right after dinner and told you that Tech wanted to talk to you. Down on the beach. Alone.

To be honest, you weren't sure what to expect as you made your way down the winding paths of Pabu. Tech hadn't been paying much attention to you the last few days… maybe he was trying to make it up to you?

You slowed as you neared the end of the path and the ocean came into view. Where the path ended, a trail of lanterns began, lighting a way down the beach. And at the end: a large blanket draped over the sand, where Tech was waiting.

Your heart skipped at the almost painfully romantic sight. The lanterns already made the scene beautiful, but the sunset casting a golden glow across the island left you breathless. Almost as much as that wonderful man always did.

Despite your attempts to stay calm, a huge grin spread across your face. Even though your expression was eager, you managed to keep your steps measured and slow. No matter how badly you wanted to just sprint down there and tackle him onto the blanket so you could kiss him properly. You didn’t want to ruin the moment by overwhelming him on accident.

Tech raised his head as you got close, and the smile he sent your way made your heart absolutely melt. It was downright unfair how cute he was. He got to his feet, and you took his hands as he reached for you. As always, he lifted your hands up to his lips to gently kiss the back of them. However, in a development that made your stomach flutter, he didn’t leave it at just one kiss like he normally did. His lips trailed over your knuckles, down your fingers in a quiet, worshipful caress.

“Cyar’ika…” The warmth in his voice put the heat of the setting sun to shame. “Thank you for joining me.”

Not wanting to reveal just how enamored you were in this moment, you tilted your head in a playful manner. You kept your tone as light as you could with butterflies swarming around in your chest. “You thought I would say no to spending time with you?”

He shrugged as he slid an arm around your waist and tugged you down to the blanket. “Well, I was concerned that you felt displeased at the lack of affection I have been offering you as of late.” Once you were comfortably seated, he pulled you against his side, a familiar position for the two of you. “I assume this is an adequate way to begin reparation?”

“Watching a sunset together?” Your head rested on his shoulder as your eyes scanned the waves gently rolling into the beach. The glowing oranges of the sky almost made them look like melted gold, or amber… some kind of gem. “This is a gorgeous start.” 

There was a quiet hum as Tech reached over to touch your chin, tenderly coaxing your head off of his shoulder. “Gorgeous…” His gaze roamed your face appreciatively before he leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek. “I would have to agree.”

You felt your cheeks warm beneath his lips, and you began to duck your head, but his hand was back on your chin in an instant.

“None of that, mesh’la,” Tech whispered softly. “Do not hide your face from me. You have always been radiant, and this sunset has turned you into an absolute vision.”

After a moment, you raised your head to meet his eyes, smiling at the way the golden light of the sunset made his eyes shine. “I could say the same thing about you.”

He smiled again, shaking his head affectionately. “You are too kind, cyar’ika. But I did not call you here just so we could exchange compliments.”

“Then why did you want me here?”

Tech let his lips ghost over your cheek one last time before shifting to take something out of one of the many pouches on his belt. You swore there was a new one every time you saw him. Then he passed his binoculars into your hands and gestured out to the horizon. “Look.” He pointed to give you a more specific area to focus on. “Do you see that island out there?”

Raising the device to your eyes, you could, in fact, see a tiny island. The glare of the setting sun made it difficult to make out, but it was there. “Yeah, I see it.”

“The people of Pabu utilize it for certain… customs,” Tech explained, watching you as you continued to examine the distant view. “Traditionally, when two individuals are married, they spend a week alone on that island. Several domiciles have been constructed there, and the couple spends the week in one of their choosing.”

You made a quiet sound of interest, still looking through the binoculars. “So Pabu has an exclusive honeymoon retreat. Who knew?”

“…I would like you to accompany me there.”

For a second, you didn’t understand what he meant. He had just said that newlyweds were the only ones who ever visited that island. For you to go there with him, he would have to be suggesting…

The binoculars nearly slipped from your grip as the realization hit you. You quickly turned back to Tech, and your eyes widened when you saw the ring in his hand. There was no diamond, no precious stone embedded in the piece of jewelry, but a vine of intricate engravings wrapped around the band. “Love… is this what you’ve been working on?”

Tech nodded, taking your hand in his. “I may not have the financial means to purchase a typical engagement ring, but I still want my future wife to have something beautiful. Or my best attempt at it, at least.”

“Do you mean it? You really want me to be your wife?”

His hand left yours, moving up to cradle your face. “My darling cyar’ika… how could I want anyone else? The real question is, do you want me to be your husband?”

You nodded, a little more eagerly than intended, but you didn’t care. The love of your life wanted to marry you. If anything, you weren’t eager enough. “Yes. Absolutely, Tech.” 

The way his eyes lit up with pure joy made you want to say yes a thousand times over. He took your left hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press a loving kiss to your ring finger. “Thank you… thank you, my love.” 

Then the ring took the place of his lips on your hand. It fit you perfectly, suited you perfectly. Just like he did.

You couldn’t properly express your excitement by saying yes a thousand times. So a thousand kisses would have to do.

You were up before the sun on the morning of your wedding. There was no way you could stay in bed knowing that in just a few hours, Tech would be your husband. 

Phee had helped you find someone who could sew you a dress, and you had to admit that the gown was magnificent. It was simple, but the embroidery trailing down the skirt matched the ring Tech had made for you. Omega spent days scoping out where the best flowers could be found on the island, and she assured you that she would make you the biggest bouquet you’d ever seen. She had offered to braid flowers into your hair as well, but you suggested that she keep practicing that skill on Hunter first. 

Now, the wedding was less than an hour away, and Omega had yet to show up with your flowers. You weren’t too worried, though. She had been going on and on about how gorgeous your bouquet was last night; she had to be finished with it to be that pleased with herself.

Besides, you would marry Tech either way. Without flowers, without a dress, just as long as you could be with him forever.

“My darling…”

You turned around to see Tech staring at you with unabashed adoration. And you didn’t even try to stop yourself from staring back. You had never seen him in a suit before, and it was a dang good look for him. The color was a few shades darker than the armor he normally wore, and the little red accents from his tie and the rose pinned to his lapel made him especially eye-catching. 

Tech approached you slowly, instantly cupping your face in his hands once he was close enough. “...There are no words, my love. Beautiful would be an insult when you look this divine.”

There was no use trying to slow your heartbeat. It was your wedding day; you were allowed to be excited. You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you leaned into the adoration of his touch. “Haven’t you heard that it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding?”

“I do not need luck,” Tech said matter-of-factly, tracing his fingers down your cheek. “I have you.”

You opened your eyes to smile at him with all the love you could muster. “You’ll always have me.”

“And you will always have me, cyar’ika.” He leaned down to capture your lips in one last kiss; the final kiss you would share before you became husband and wife. “Always.”

"There you are!"

The two of you separated as Omega ran up, holding a bouquet of flowers in her hand. You hadn't doubted the girl's ability to create something beautiful, and the bundle of flowers didn't disappoint. It wasn't as large as you had been expecting, though it still had a substantial amount of blooms, all tied together with a silky red ribbon.

She skidded to a stop in front of you, holding up the bouquet with a pleased smile. "I found a better ribbon this morning. I thought this would be nicer than using one of Hunter's bandanas."

"It's perfect, Omega." You took the flowers from her, pleased to find that it fit almost flawlessly in your hands. "Thank you so much."

The girl was practically bouncing on her feet, almost radiating more excitement than you were. "Come on, everyone's waiting!"

She darted off again, no doubt to join the others gathered beneath the great tree. You straightened the delicate chain of jewelry hanging around your neck and gave Tech what was quite possibly the biggest smile he would ever see. "So, my love? Wanna marry me?"

He grinned right back and reached for your hand, caressing your fingers with his own. "Darling, you have no idea."

[twisted-in-underland]

“You’ve never had a friend like me? Hehehe, I seem to get that a lot!”

Unique Magic:

Friend Like Me: By entrusting their lamp to another person - or “master” - Maram is able to access near cosmic powers. The spells must be made in the style of a wish by the “master” that Maram then fulfills. Due to the strength of the magic, Maram can only fulfil three “wishes” before to much blot is accumulated.

Info template belongs to @unfinished-projects-galore!

Side note: Maram is not a student at NRC or RSA, I’m just using the Scarabia template because it fits the aesthetic of the character in general 👍🏻

Other info: Concept sketch & information

[image updated due to unnoticed spelling errors]

(More info under the cut)

I know I said I was going to work on Yuri and Roma’s sprites…but Maram has been on my mind and I needed to get them in colour 🫣

For those who are new, Maram Grant is twisted from Genie from Aladdin and takes inspo from both animated and live action versions! I mention someone named “Ali” later on (like once lol), that’s my TWST!Aladdin; his full name is Amir Ali but he often goes by just “Ali” or “Al”.

Much of Maram’s basic info is available in the concept sketch post linked above, so I’m going to try to just clear up a few other things I’ve thought of.

~~~

Maram doesn’t attend traditional mage schools like NRC or RSA. I’m really leaning towards the idea that genies have their own schooling system. This is primarily because they use their lamps in place of mage stones. I imagine young genies start learning to control their magic early on through their parents (so they can attend elementary/middle school with other kids) and go through more structured learning in high school.

Genies primarily live in small communities like towns or villages similar to humans. Some communities are more nomadic than others and enjoy traveling around the Scalding Sands. The bulk of genie communities are located in the Scalding Sands, but there are some scattered communities in other areas of Twisted Wonderland. Maram claims her uncle lives somewhere in the Sunset Savannah, and that they have a friend who goes back to the Shaftlands when school is closed for breaks.

The big thing I wanted to touch on is that “Friend Like Me” isn’t technically a unique magic like what we’ve seen in game. This particular power is something all genies have access too, but because Maram is friends with a number of mages (i.e. Kalim, Jamil, and Ali) they decided to give the ability its own name. It’s just a little bit of Maram’s fun loving nature poking through.

Aside from the obvious risk of overblot when casting such powerful spells, there’s a lot of trust that goes into casting these spells. I mentioned in the concept post that to genies their lamps are everything to them; it’s how they monitor and recover from blot and they can act like little homes for the genies if they want. The big thing is that each genie revives a lamp and pair of bracelets when they’re young and is special to the individual. Genies can’t enter the lamps of another genie unless they’re given permission which is rare. The bracelets can be replaced if necessary as they’re closer to the concept of magical pens. The lamps, however, are nearly impossible to replace if lost or broken. Given the fact that the lamp has to be given to another person, there has to be a lot of trust between both parties.

Likewise, the genie has to be sure that the person they are entrusting their lamp too isn’t going to make any stupid “wishes”. This includes things that the genie could conjure up easily, without the need to access such powerful magic. The risk of overblot is not worth conjuring up money, food, clothes, etc. which they could normally do with ease

Ngl between Kalim and Jamil, Maram trusts Jamil with their lamp much more than Kalim. As much as they love Kalim’s friendship, Maram feels like Kalim would make an impulsive request out of excitement 😅

And just a silly little fact about Maram, they really like the colour blue and enjoy big Ol’ pants like jupe-culotte/harem pants.

And that’s all I wanted to clarify! Like always feel free to ask any questions, I’ll try to answer as best I can with what I have already figured out!

[invisibleraven]

“This is not the end. See you later, my love.” for Rose/Ray/Reggie. Permission to destroy me lol

One of Reggie's favourite times as a dad was bedtime-which, granted, was weird, but he absolutely adored tucking Julie and Carlos in, indulging them with stories, and songs, even turning old Sunset Curve songs into lullabies. Sure, maybe some would say they were getting a bit old for it, but until they asked him to stop, he would keep it up.

Plus-now that his new album was done, he knew he would be hitting the road sooner rather than later, meaning he would be away from his kids-his family for untold weeks. Don't get him wrong, he loved his career as a country star, but he hated how much time it took him from them.

"Do I have to go on tour?" he whined to Ray and Rose one night.

"Not if you don't want to tesero," Rose replied, playfully shoving him over in bed. "But it would disappoint an awful lot of your fans."

"Plus it'll be all the sweeter to come home afterwards," Ray added as he squeezed into the other side of the bed.

"And you're sure you and the kids can't come with me?" Reggie asked, using his best puppy dog eyes in hopes they would relent, even if he knew they never would.

"We talked about that," Rose sighed. "As much as I miss touring with the Petal Pushers, we are too old to be living on a bus for weeks on end, and we can't take the kids out of school for that long."

"Plus you remember how bad it was last time we did that?" Ray reminded him with a shudder. Reggie grimaced along with him-he did remember, trying to fit the five of them, plus his band and people on the bus, with Julie and Carlos running around crazy, stir crazy from the ride. It had been a less than relaxing family vacation and they had all agreed-never again.

"Fiiiine," Reggie relented. "But I'll talk to Marci about coming home at least once before I hit the East coast, and maybe you guys can come to a show? It'll be spring break by the end, so we could all go somewhere."

"That sounds lovely," Rose stated, worming her icy toes between his thighs as she lounged with her book, Ray snickering as he spooned Reggie, the two of them used to Rose being the night owl that she was.

Time passed all too quick, and soon enough it was the night before he was set to go. His bags were packed, his crew ready to set off at first light. He wished he had another few weeks to spend at home, to inhale the apple scent of the kids' shampoo, to listen to their stupid jokes and fights, to hug them tight, listen to them squeal as it turned into a tickle fight.

God he hated leaving.

"Daddy! Tuck me!" Carlos demanded, in the way only a five year old could. Reggie sh0ook his head, but heeded the call, passing Ray and Rose who had already bestowed their good nights while he had dealt with the disaster that had been bath time. Felt Rose squeeze his hand as she passed. They had explained to the kids that he was going, but it was now a reality and Reggie had no idea how his spouses would deal with the fallout the next day.

"Alright scalliwag, into bed with you," Reggie sated, scooping Carlos up and tossing him back under the covers, pressing kisses to his nose, just to get one more boyish giggle. Reading him The Gruffalo practically from memory now, and turning on his little astral projection lamp so the ceiling swirled with stars. "Love you buddy. I'll see you in a few weeks-you're in charge of fun while I'm gona okay?"

"Okay daddy, love you," Carlos replied, clinging a little tighter as he hugged him, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, and was asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow. Reggie took a moment to memorize this-while he was still and not causing trouble. The fluffy curls of his hair, the snuffly little snore, the bow of his lips.

It was so hard to rip himself away, but Julie was waiting on him.

Julie at almost ten, insisted that she didn't need to be tucked in, to be read to. "Indulge your father-just for tonight will you?" he asked, and she relented, as she always did, a secret little smile on her face as she snuggled into her multitude of pillows as he picked up the book.

When she was younger, Reggie had read her fairy tales by the bucketload, had done the princess tea party every time she asked, sang along to every Disney karaoke. Now that she was older, he found adaptations of fairy tales for her-a bit more mature, but still full of love and adventure. They had just finished Ella Enchanted, and now they were a few chapters into The Princess Bride.

He had just relayed to her that Westley's boat had been raided by the Dread Pirate Roberts and she looked at him wide eyed as he closed the book. "Is that it? Is that the end?"

Reggie smiled at her sweetly. “This is not the end." Showed her how much book they had left. "But we both have early mornings, so it's time for goodnight. We can finish it when I get back, or you ask Papi to read it to you."

"He never does the voices right," Julie grumbled. "But will you call when you're gone?"

"Just try and stop me."

Julie nodded, sombre as she pulled him in for a hug. "I love you daddy. Goodbye."

"Never goodbye mija. It's see you later, my love.”

With that he pressed a kiss to her forehead, hoping his tears didn't reach her face before he wiped them away, turning off the lights as he went, knowing Julie would take some time to fall asleep-for not being his biologically, she had certainly inherited his insomnia when it came to nights like this.

"Everybody tucked?" Rose asked, handing him a glass or horchata as he slumped onto the kitchen table.

"It sucked," Reggie grumbled, before righting himself and taking a swig. "I hate this, I hate leaving."

"We aren't exactly doing a jig here either," Ray stated, nudging him with his shoulder. "Though it will be nice to have more room in the bed..."

"Hey!"

A playful little shoving match started, with Rose rolling her eyes. "You two will end up on one of the couches if you wake the kids up."

"Sorry," they chorused.

Rose came over then, plopping herself on Reggie's lap. "Now cariño, we all hate it when you're gone, but deep down, you know you love touring-getting to see all your fans, getting to explore the country, getting to share your music with the world."

"I know it just....it gets harder and harder to leave you guys every time," Reggie replied. "I'm always scared that I'll come home and you won't be here, or won't want me back, and I know that's stupid, but my brain just always worries."

Ray and Rose exchanged glances, then Ray left, coming back with a large book. "Here, take the scrapbook with you."

"But that's for the kids!"

Ray snorted. "Reggie, we have pictures of you-of all of us everywhere, thanks to me. You'll only have your phone. So take the scrapbook, add some pages to it so you have stuff to show us when you're back. Because you have to bring it back."

Rose nodded. "I worked too damn hard on that thing for you not to return it-and you-to us."

Reggie giggled wetly. "I can do that."

Rose smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Nw, how about you tuck us in for one last romp before you leave us for months?"

He barked out a laugh, but just told her to hang on as he got up, taking the stairs two at a time, Ray hot on their heels, flicking off lights as they went.

Maybe their tuck in involved far less stories, and far more smooches, but Reggie felt loved and comforted by the time the covers were pulled over the three of them, and he swore he would keep this feeling with him until he could come home again.

But he was totally taking the money from this tour to buy them a bigger, sturdier, less squeaky bed, or their next 'tuck in time' might have them all on the floor.

[em-prentiss]

no proof, not much (but you saw enough)

----

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

Or, how Aaron and Emily fall, through the perspective of multiple settings: the jet, his office, the SUV.

Word count: 3.5k

----

It happens slowly.

Harsh exteriors are worn down, distrust morphs into mutual respect. Slowly, yes, excruciatingly so, but it happens. Sir’s and Agent’s lose their pointed edges, mellowing on lips that start out reluctant, end up blazing with warmth.

The office is the first one to note it. It’s a cold place, despite the minimal personal touches littering the Unit Chief’s desk. There are scarcely happy memories here, between the lifeless beige walls and the polished oak carrying pounds upon pounds of bloody files, their contents heavier than the sheets of paper they’re printed on. There is no room for light, though the sun streams through the windows in gossamer curtains—the Unit Chief knows this, he knows it well.

And yet a ray of light walks hesitantly in and hands him a peace offering, though peace has for a while been settled in a still sheet above their heads. She’s no longer new to the disjointed family they call a team, but where she’s starting to loosen with the others, she’s still stiff with him. Even the office knows it, from its omniscient view over the bullpen. Her voice mingles with the others’ in a laugh, the pale shape of her hand curls around the media liaison’s shoulder in a lighthearted squeeze.

Both the office and its occupier are well aware that this is something new. They’re good friends; it sees him more than his family does. He keeps it company on dark nights, the lamp at his elbow the only source of warm light across the whole floor, burning steady amber. The office knows the man at the desk more than the agent tentatively crossing it, and yet they both catch the way his brows tick up in surprise when he spots the sweet treat in her hand.

His mouth curls around her name. The tail end of it sounds like a question; she greets it with a bashful smile the office guesses doesn’t often cross her features.

Emily reaches the edge of his desk, says so and so about a sale at the bakery—and quickly clarifies that she bought for the rest of their coworkers too, don’t worry. She thrusts out her hand, he takes the chocolate croissant, murmurs a quiet but genuine thank you. 

Nodding, she takes her leave, chewing on the corner of her lip as she slips past the open door. Her retreating form is traced by his eyes, curious, lingering, before they drop to the pastry held in his hand. The office watches as he picks it apart, takes a bite—two, three—even though it’s a well known fact (to the office, anyway) that the team leader has no stomach for a sweet tooth.

Still, he eats the croissant. Lets crumbs tumble messily on top of his desk, sweeps them away neatly with a tissue. His eyes travel to the window; both he and the office watch as the rest of his team tear into their own pastries. The generous supplier perches on her desk, satisfaction in her eyes and a small smile on her lips. She looks up, as if sensing his gaze, and he flicks his eyes back to the file in front of him.

That is the tentative start.

From there it’s a smooth, sloping hill—impossible to determine when trust had deepened to a professional relationship between coworkers, when that had formed into camaraderie. When butterflies began to flap their wings and flutter, when eyes started to linger and touches ached to do the same.

___

The jet rarely flows with heat. Its frequent occupants know that, and more than often they’re well prepared with blankets and warm beverages, no matter the weather outside.

For the most part, the newest addition to the team also knows this. She’s bundled in professional blazers and soft cardigans most of the time, but the Florida heat doesn’t allow for anything heavier than the barest of tank tops. Her skin is faintly glistening when she plops into one of the lone chairs, shoulders stiff as she holds herself away from the leather of the seat.

The Unit Chief sits with her, evidence of the sticky heat shown in his loosened tie. Their eyes meet and they share a look, unanimously miserable but unwilling to voice it.

It’s something new, these shared looks between them. The jet notes them with interest, tries to pinpoint when exactly they’d started. The farthest it gets is Milwaukee. 

But looks are all they share. No words are exchanged, no pleasantries swapped as she digs out a book and he opens up a file, his pen in his hand even before they’re in the sky. The jet hums around them, providing white noise that makes some of the team curl up and sleep as it takes them home. It rises above the clouds, stabilizes at over a thousand feet, absorbs the subzero temperature outside and allows it to leak through the walls. 

The woman shuffles back comfortably against the seat, cooled enough to let it touch her bare skin. But it doesn’t take long before she’s shifting again, leaning away, tucking her arms into her body. Covering her elbows with her palms, surreptitiously kneading her skin with her thumbs. She does all this quietly, but being the boss means being ever aware.

Without fuss, the Unit Chief gets up. He walks over to the table next to the couch, pops it open and reaches into the hidden cavity there. Everyone eventually learns about it; it’s stocked with soft, downy blankets that are mostly unused because everyone has learned to carry their own.

Still, every once in a while, the compartment is cracked open. 

Hotch picks up a blanket and carries it back to the shivering agent. She looks up, glances at it, then at him, and immediately refuses, so fast it must be reflex. The jet ponders this, as does the Unit Chief, his brows pinched in a gentler version of his usual frown.

Emily, he says softly, the rumble of his voice running parallel to the hum of the jet. Of all things, it’s what makes her pause.

The sound of her given name seems to take her by surprise, even more so than the offered blanket. Eyes rounded, brows momentarily raised, as if caught off guard. She quickly composes herself, smooths out the surprise in her features as she shakes her head, refusing again. 

One too many take it’s and I’m good, thank you’s later, the blanket is resignedly wrapped around her shoulders. But she stops shivering, her muscles finally easing back into the seat. Her head is turned decidedly away, facing the window, but when her eyes flit to him they catch his gaze.

One more exchanged look, a hidden smile in his eyes that doesn’t show on his lips. She looks away.

___

The SUV doesn’t see much, compared to the other places they’ve been. Its mission is always brief, and yet it’s well acquainted with the man at the wheel. Seldom does someone else steer it, so long as he’s there.

This time is no different.

It’s not that the woman doesn’t try—she does, valiantly, to push him to the passenger seat—but the fact that she’s here is already too much. The SUV knows this from the way the man grips the wheel. He’s never gentle with it, always firm, always alert. Ever aware of the lives in his hands, be it in the face of a Glock or under the wheels of a Suburban. 

But a plate of brownies is placed carefully on the console between them and his grip loosens. She offers him one, around a chocolatey mouthful, and the way the corner of his mouth tilts upward is seen only in the side view mirror, a secret tucked between him and the road.

He declines, she grumbles, and then a warm hand is taken entirely off the wheel. The SUV doesn’t lament the loss. Hotch’s careful eyes no longer pierce the windshield with a heat more acute than the sun overhead; he turns, eyes falling to her, and the SUV finds itself without attention.

This is a first. But the open road ahead of them is forgiving, and so the SUV is, too. It watches, listens above the crunch of gravel, as he protests—it’s all sugar, won’t do any good—and she wraps a tissue around a brownie and places it in his hand.

You haven’t eaten anything all day, she refutes stubbornly, though she’s already won. When she brings up the medication Hotch bites the brownie between his teeth without further complaint. It’s the reason they’re driving past the airstrip and toward the long road, after all.

Slowly, Emily forces another brownie into him. And then his medication. And, when the sun dips lower down the sky, she’s somehow able to kick him out of the driver’s seat altogether.

The SUV hums beneath the hands of someone new. These ones are softer, more at ease, more than often one casual hand on the wheel rather than two. It’s a blissful break from the perpetual ten and two, and as the Unit Chief grows increasingly drowsy in the passenger seat, the SUV carries them further into the sunset.

___

The bullpen witnesses his first laugh—at least, the first one she’s pulled from him. The coffee machine separating them, the handles of their mugs almost touching as they wait for the coffee to brew, she makes an offhand comment about diesel fuel, the government praying for their demise, and a Nespresso machine. Her tone is bone dry, a halfhearted grumble that’s more for her than for him. It’s not even meant to be a joke, but the sleep deprivation is getting to them. 

Hotch laughs, stoicism cracking under the soft curve of his lips, and Emily stares. The bullpen—the kitchenette, rather—watches a light dusting of pink spread across her ivory cheeks. It witnesses her wide eyes in return, before lightly dissolving into the same laughter.

These precious sounds are contained within the kitchenette’s walls. Nobody hears them, save for the two living souls pouring their coffee and the lifeless entity surrounding them. Lifeless, yet still swelling with the same surprise that etches across the woman’s features, long after they’ve both dissolved into silence and her face is downturned to the bitter depths of her coffee.

It’s so very interesting, the brightness in the Unit Chief’s eyes as he similarly looks down at his own coffee, lips thinned back to their original shape. So very interesting how the brown of his irises warms, suffused with light even though he’s yet to take a sip of his coffee.

So very interesting how he lingers after he’s done—because he does nothing to prepare his coffee but pour it, and she dumps boatloads of sugars and creamers until the swirl of her coffee lightens to the color of his eyes—and observes her for a fleeting second.

His mouth parts, then softly joins again, bottom lip slotting against top. Picking up his mug, he turns away and out of the kitchenette, shoulders slackening beneath his jacket. He goes, and her eyes follow.

___

The room is not fully dark. The thin curtains let in street lights; they stream in and carve long golden rectangles on the threadbare rug, illuminate hastily packed bags and files stacked neatly atop a desk.

Rooms like this often get visitors like this—fleeting, temporary. The man and the woman have been here for two days, but they only occupy the room to sleep. It knows they won’t be here for long, though it ponders their business. They carry badges and firearms, heave around files and gory pictures. At night, the two hardly speak to each other, except for unnecessary pleasantries—would you like the bathroom first? No, thank you, you go ahead—that speak to their upbringing.

The inky dark of midnight wraps around the gaps between the street lights. The motel room sits, quiet, observing the two sleeping figures bundled in separate beds, until one starts to thrash. The other one stirs, groggy, while the other still fights demons. 

A ragged cry shatters the silence. Even coated with layers of sleep and terror, the room can tell it’s the woman. Her companion blinks sleep from his eyes and tosses the thin comforter from his body, slipping from his bed and to the edge of hers with surprising speed.

Eyes impossibly alert, brows slipping into concern, he stands some distance away and calls out her name.

Emily. 

It’s a hoarse whisper, then urgent. She still thrashes, so he places a hand on her shoulder and shakes, fingers gripped into the flesh of her shoulder. Louder this time, more insistent, desperation curling around the letters of her name.

She wakes up. Opens her eyes with a gasp, the damp patches on her pillow explained by the tears pooling under her lashes. 

The man lets out a similar sound, only lower. You’re okay, he whispers gently, his hand still on her shoulder. You were dreaming.

They’re typical comforts in a situation like this.

What’s not typical is the way she launches into his arms instead of away. A pained sound tumbles from her lips; she curls into him, folding over herself, and the arm he wraps around her back keeps her secured to his chest.

A whimper of his name, a breath of hers. Whispered shhh’s that the room suspects he’s had plenty of practice at. His hands rove over her back, fingers smoothing the sweaty fabric of her shirt. She clings to him so tightly he has no choice but to perch on the edge of the bed, half holding her, half slipping out.

It’s hard to tell whether she’s crying or breathing. The man encourages her to breathe anyway, the low timbre of his voice carrying a bit of firmness that she bends beneath. Minutes stack up on the other side of midnight, a new day starting as the woman’s chest begins to slow beneath the man’s—Hotch’s—instruction.

His lips nudge against her forehead. It’s not yet a kiss, but the gesture is loving, and well practiced. Soon after it’s his hand on the nape of her neck, his fingers threading through the tangled mess of hair he finds there.

The woman doesn’t relax for a while. Not until he situates her back against the pillow, her arms still clutched around him. Neither of them say anything further; it seems an unspoken deal that he’ll lay back with her, run his palm between her shoulder blades until her breath evens out.

Eventually, it happens. The man’s eyes blink through the semi-dark as the woman sleeps on, still wound around him. He waits—and the room does, too—until a half-circle is traced by the clock’s arm, before carefully untangling their limbs.

He’d been sleeping on the opposite side before he woke. His back to her bed, almost hiding. But now he slides again beneath the sheets and turns to face her, the target of his eyesight clear to the room, even half shrouded in darkness.

___

In the office it starts, and in the office it comes full circle.

Only his shoulders are stiff with tension. The office guesses that it has something to do with the lumpy gauze under her sleeve, the butterfly bandages along her left cheekbone. She’s not as upset as he is, and not for the same reason. Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she still tries to fight back even though she’s in the wrong.

“You would’ve taken ages to come, Anna didn’t have that much—”

“The unsub was armed—”

“And I was, too—”

“That’s not protocol!” He shouts. 

Emily sucks in a breath, the office takes a pause. Not because of his raised voice, no. It happens—rarely, but it happens. What doesn’t happen is his voice cracking, breaking in half. Fading into silence.

The air thickens. Hotch swallows, the solid lines of his body turning to liquid. “Jesus, Emily, you know better.” His voice is weary, wilting. 

She’s silent. Stricken, lips parted, eyes searching. Emily has intelligent eyes, the office thinks. They see practically everything, absorbing the world with a desperate hunger drawn in the circular outline of her pupils. So it makes sense that when the office glimpses a shine in its Unit Chief’s eyes, she does too.

“Why…why are you…?” She steps closer to him, boldly swipes under his eye with her thumb. He jerks away, a shuddered breath heaving his lungs when her finger comes away wet. 

Her mouth still hasn’t snapped shut yet. Emily takes another step, understanding dawning on her features. 

About time. 

“Hotch—”

“I can’t,” he breathes, shaking his head. 

“Can’t what?” She murmurs. There’s hardly distance between them; her hand molds around his cheek, hesitant. The lines of her shoulders are stiff, as if she’s waiting for him to pull away. 

The office knows he won’t. He’ll say he will, but as long as she’s giving in first, he’ll have no choice but to follow.

Fingers twitching at his side, he blows out an exhale. 

“I can’t.” His hand finds her waist; the office swells with satisfaction. She bends into the touch, her grip tightening on his cheek. “We can’t, Emily. It’s not…”

But he’s bowing into her. Their heads almost touch, his bending down, hers looking up. The glossy darkness of their hair glints almost identically beneath the lights, raven on raven.

“Do you want to?”

The office holds its breath. Its owner is good at denying himself of what he wants.

Thick, suffocating silence. A string pulling taut. And then another shake of a weary head. “We can’t.” He repeats; a broken record, a mantra.

Pale fingers curl around his ear. A thumb with bitten nails swipes under his eye, smears the wetness on his skin until it dries. “That’s not a no,” she says quietly. “I’m waiting for a no, Hotch.”

He doesn’t give one.

Silence rings. For a beat, two, three. Then she’s tilting his head further down, rising on her tiptoes even though she’s in boots, and pressing their lips together. His silhouette shakes, shoulders trembling. Three sticky heartbeats later and he skates tentative hands up her sides, squeezing and shakily exhaling into her mouth. She’s slow with him, patient, and when they’ve broken free they haven’t broken free at all, because his forehead is on hers, an inch between their noses.

“You can’t do that again.” He rasps. 

Emily hums, lips turning up. She tilts her head, catches his mouth again with unusual slowness. “We’ll talk about it later, boss.”

When they leave the office, there’s hardly space between their bodies.

___

The park is one of many in DC. It’s not anything special—yes, there’s benches and tall trees and a gravel pathway, but nothing that could tempt a restless pair of lovers. Today it’s doubly cold, a frigid crunch to the grass that scares away everyone but the two figures strolling around under the watery sun.

There’s soft murmurs between them, passed occasionally like the steaming paper cup they share. The woman holds it for longer, sometimes to drink, sometimes to squeeze around in her bare, pale hands. The man notices, and brings them to a stop, quietly chiding as he covers both her hands with his. He doesn’t wear any gloves but she sighs, shifting to hide her hands entirely beneath his own. The corners of her mouth tip up, as does her head, her eyes searching for her companion’s.

They meet and the park almost blazes with heat. Her smile, somehow both sly and bashful, curls around an excuse, her shoulders shrugging helplessly. 

The man shakes his head. It seems a practiced move, exasperated and fond. His thumbs are restless on the back of her hands, kneading fervent circles into her skin.

She tolerates it for a minute before dragging her hands from his grip to get him walking again, passing him the cup and instead hooking her free arm through his. They stay for longer than the weather allows, some identical tension melting from their shoulders, a heavy weight in their eyes fading as pink bites their cheeks. Talk isn’t frequent, but touches are—his lips to the top of her head, her fingers sinking into his coat, her chest against his arm.

When the cup is drained—he lets her have the last sip—the woman tosses it and curls her fingers into her palm, the pad of her thumb skimming under her nails as if it’s habit. She nudges him off the path, onto the grass. Their shadows follow: long, starkly black companions that trail after them, turning a party of two into four.

They lean into each other. Hard lines fade, blur. Two silhouettes become one, joint from shoulders to feet. 

A right hand reaches for a left; fingers interlock, forming a weave of soft skin and calluses. The shadow of them is cool above the grass, and when he gently cradles her cheek in his free hand, tilting her face upward until their lips join in a kiss, the silhouette warps. It merges into a single, fluid shape, formless and inelegant. 

Even when they break apart, they’re still joined.

[kooabreen]

that moment when you find your old sunset lamp from when you tried to make your dorm pretty - it’s hidden in a box with all the other stuff that was a tad too sentimental to donate (rat figurines you found abandoned outside the music building that sing opera if you press their paws, cheap plastic champagne glasses that you used to drink the wine you snuck on campus, a bundle of random stolen incense from each of your old friends)

you’ve been mopping all day so the furniture in your living room is all out of sorts, pushed to the walls leaving space in the center

your tv doesn’t work anymore (you took a lighter and screwdriver to the base of it in order to bend the plastic so that it would fit on the hutch you bought - it lasted a good 5 months before dying) so you’re left with a borrowed record player and a few thrifted records to create some ambiance

the quality of music isn’t great - it’s all scratched and distorted and grainy, but it’s music and that’s all you needed at the moment - it’s a lot of obscure jazz and classicals, the cheapest records you could find

it’s warm outside and sunny - neighbors are working on their lawns and an icecream truck is nearby, riling up the kids on the block - you decide to open all the windows up wide, letting in sounds and smells and fresh sweet air

curtains are drawn closed, letting the sunset lamp shine in the center of the room - it’s pointed upwards so that each wall is basked in light

and then you dance in a very embarrassing way - all gangly limbs and unpracticed motions - you can’t see the picture you make, but you can catch glimpses of yourself in the shadows projected onto the surrounding walls - after awhile, that too becomes part of this strange dance - shadow puppets and silly poses join awful awful dance moves

after a while, you’re winded and sweaty and you feel like stopping, but the world hasn’t stopped around you yet. people are still laughing outside and crows are still yelling at each other - the record needs to be flipped, but there’s almost no need for that - the world is it’s own sort of soundtrack as you take a break on the floor, catching your breath and feeling the way sweat gathers behind your knees and where your arms meet torso

your back is to the lamp, so you see your shadow self ahead of you - smaller now that you’re sitting and seemingly inconsequential in the liveliness of the moment, but capable of many silly and ridiculous things and moments that are often spurred on by last second decisions

i hate making important decisions and i hate having to be serious about my future - i’d much rather break tvs and look around forgotten boxes and pretend i’m a kid again creating shadow birds with the hands i use to write

[xfyeahkahlendeveraux]

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