#✩ Shnooks Writing !!

[0rphiichaze]

     “Ughh… what time is it..?”

The pleasant drag of Toaster’s drowsy voice cuts through the previously quiet atmosphere, pulling your attention away from the laptop at your fingertips. Frosty blue eyes flutter open, meeting your own. You turn away from them for a moment to look back at your screen.

      “2:17.”

He groans and rolls a bit closer to you.

     “Shit…”

You reach one hand out, slowly carding your fingers through their silky smooth locks. It draws out a sleepy hum from his lips, and they subconsciously lean into your touch.

     “Why didn’t you wake me up..?” His voice is still a quiet murmur, purred into the bed sheets pressed against his cheek. You simply shrug, though a smile comes to your lips.

     “‘Dunno.”

Your tone of voice says otherwise, causing Toasty to peek one eye at you. You can’t help but chuckle at their expression. “You just looked cute I suppose.”

A familiar sputter of syllables slips from their lips, and he buries his face back into the bedsheets. You can’t help but laugh, carefully pulling your hand from their hair. Or at least, you attempt to.

Their hand catches your wrist and drags you back — planting your hand back in his hair. Their hand stays loosely wrapped around your wrist, his skin much warmer than usual. Another quiet chuckle slips from your lips.

     “God, you’re adorable.”

He groans, but doesn’t reply.

✩ Reblogs are appreciated !!

[noperopesaredope]

The Lorax Musical Rewrite: Act 1, Scene 1

Look, just assume that for this first scene, everyone is singing unless indicated otherwise. Also, listen to “Thneedville (Demo)” before reading, so you can know what they are actually singing. Btw, I didn’t write the song, I just planned out the stage directions and other details not related to lyrics.

Act 1, Scene 1:

Setting: Thneedville

(Lights slowly go up on an empty stage as the beginning of “Thneedville (Demo)” starts playing. On stage are the buildings and streets of Thneedville, or at least the basics. All the buildings are broken and crumbled, and everything is a slightly bleak color)

Ensemble

In Thneedville

It’s a brand new day

(As the ensemble begins to sing, they gradually enter the stage, acting out daily life. All are dressed in far too many clothes, and some are holding shopping bags filled to the brim with random objects)

Ensemble

Can’t see the sun

But we like it that way

(Ensemble pauses what they are doing before turning their heads towards the audience)

Ensemble

Here in Get-More-Than-We-Need-Ville

(All go back to what they were doing)

Ensemble

In Thneedville

Where the buildings are broke

(Where the buildings are broke)

And the streetlights drop

And the chemicals flow

Little Girl

(Standing front center stage) I just went swimming, and now I glow! (Runs offstage)

Ensemble

(All put their hands on over their hearts and face towards audience) Just one place has stayed the same

The hill that bares our founder’s name

A tradition we maintain

Random Man

Soon to become a pizza chain!

Ensemble

Pizza chain!

Pizza chain!

(Everyone goes back to what they were doing before Mr. O’Hare enters from upstage right and walks grandly over to upstage center, followed by a bodyguard. All turn to Mr. O’Hare)

Ensemble

(Cheerfully) Oh look it’s Aloysius O’Hare (Aloysius O’Hare)

The man who

Bottle up fresh air

And became a zillionaire!

(All lights on stage go off except for a spotlight on O’Hare, who has walked to center stage)

O’Hare

(To audience, as though telling a secret) Everyone round here works for me

I sell them something they should get for free

We’ll live in perfect harmony!

(All stage lights come back up and all surround O’Hare)

Ensemble

In Thneedville!

In Thneedville!

Hip hooray! Hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!

(All stage lights begin to go dark with the cast exiting the stage as a spotlight lands far downstage left, and Ted comes onstage to stand under the spotlight. Ted addresses audience for the rest of the song)

Ted

All I ever wanted is a whose-it

I would never flaunt it

Oh how I’d use it

Everybody has one

Like Jared and Julie and Jim

And even Ronald Shnook has one

And nobody’s lamer than him

(Lovingly) And I would play with it all day (Play with all day)

And never ever lose it (Never lose it)

Cause all I’ve ever wanted is a whose-it

(Hesitates) Except-

(Runs to downstage center, spotlight following him)

For the time that I wanted a scooter

A cell phone, a trombone, a laptop computer

A sports car, an SUV, robot that looks like me

A broadsword, a surfboard, a gas powered sled

Little pet monkey that danced on my head!

But this!

This is totally different!

Cause all I’ve ever wanted in my life

Is the stuff that I

Don’t have

(Stage lights come back up as the ensemble re enters stage and dance their instructed choreography. Ted doesn’t join them, instead staying in place as he looks straight at the audience or slightly upwards, depending on director’s instructions)

Ensemble

In Thneedville, it’s a brand new day!

Ted

All I ever wanted is the stuff that I don’t have!

Ensemble

Can’t see the sun

But we like it that way!

Here in Get-More-Than-We-Need-Ville!

Ted

Want it terribly!

Ensemble

In Thneedville!

Ted

Want it horribly!

Ensemble

You’re never alone

Ted

All I ever wanted is the stuff that I don’t have!

Ensemble

Because you always

Got the stuff that you own

Ted

Where is the stuff that I

Haven’t had?

Ensemble

Here in Spend-Until-You-Bleed-Ville!

Growing-Like-A-Weed-Ville!

Please-Don’t-Mention-Greed-Ville!

We’re happy here in

Thneedville!

[starsfornoah]

favorite noah and brian moment? coffee or tea, and what type of either?? (like, i love green teas) opinion on snakes? favorite year of school?? (i loved seventh grade, i had the BEST english teacher) what color is your room, or what would be your ideal room theme? have you read any other books with characters that are lgbt+ and we’re actually well written?? do you like white chocolate? (i love it, no one else does though) this is a lot more than three three things but i’m very curious...

oh my god thank you??!!!!!im going to section this of for easier reading. best noahandbrian moment? i love the roof but i cant go past the forest, as a questioning 13 year old this scene hit me so hard in the feels (located in the pit of the stomach) and i just love the way its written. coffee or tea? I DRINK SO MUCH TEA I LOVE IT (and what type?? Irish breakfast and caramel latte for coffee) green tea i good but i dont like proper japanese matcha opinion on snakes? YES SNAKES favorite year of school?? ummmm second grade all i remembe is playing with shnooks in class and beating everyone in the schoolwork sooo. what color is your room, or what would be your ideal room theme? were renting so my walls are bland but id like a nice light coffee colour or black or greyhave you read any other books with characters that are lgbt+ and we’re actually well written?? oooooh yes this shits my expertise: six of crows (mild gay; a multiple point of view storyline; isnt centred on the gay; fantasy), aristotle and dante discover the secrets of the universe (fuckin epic slow burn; a lot of anger; a lot of talking about feelings; sequel coming soon), the song of achilles (if youre a greek gods fan yessssss; its so gay; death and sex as a warning). and for some gay girls we got: tell me again how a crush should feel (the writing isnt great but this is the best lesbian book ive found so far (single point of view; a plot twist; super damn cute) carry on and the raven cycle are pretty good but very popular so im sure you can find a lot about themif anyone wants to suggest more please do!!do you like white chocolate? i do. i would kill a man for lindt white chocolate

[k-stateyoungwritersworkshop]

“The World is My Favorite Color”

Well, readers, it’s Wednesday, our midway point through the week, and our young writers are still full of pep and great ideas for creating amazing pieces of writing. Today, the young writers began thinking more about their reading on Friday and developed poetry during a variety of exercises.

Speaking of the reading on Friday, I want to give you a tad more information so you can put this important event on your calendar. The reading on Friday, June 30th will begin promptly at 2:30pm in the UMB Theater at the Beach Museum. During this time, each young writer will present a bit of their writing from the week. Before the reading, at 2:00pm, we will have a short reception with refreshments provided by Arrow Coffee. What better way to kick off the weekend than seeing some talented young people read their fiction, poems, and plays?

Now that you’ve got that event written on your calendar, let’s get down to business.

After the young writers created collective poems, local poet Traci Brimhall visited the young writers.  Traci is an assistant professor in the English Department at Kansas State University and teaches creative writing, with an emphasis on poetry. Her poems have appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, The Believer, Slate, The New Republic, Ploughshares, and Best American Poetry 2013 & 2014. Traci’s positive energy and excitement for poetry helped the young writers explore nonsense in poetry.

How do we create beautiful nonsense? Traci had the young writers delve into nonsense through Lewis Carroll’s “Jaberwocky” and write their own emoji poems. For the emoji writing activity, Traci gave our young writers two stanzas of emojis. Then, each young writer interpreted the emojis into words to create lines of a poem. Traci emphasized that it’s okay for the emoji poems to be nonsense, and in fact, encouraged our young writers to embrace the nonsense. And, boy, did they ever!

“A dancer did the shnook meet, terrified he ran at snail’s pace.”

“They stomped their feet and clapped their hands/Pumped their fists and danced all night/Till the snails came out and the moon flowers closed/And the sun came, shining bright”

After sharing these emoji poems, the young writers ventured out into nature where they wrote anaphora poems -- poetry that repeats words or phrases at the beginning of lines. While I’m sure the scenery helped inspire our young writers, their talents truly shown through in their written work.

“I still remember the days we were here/Careless and free”

“The world is my favorite color”

After sharing their poems, Traci then tasked the writers to distill their writing into haikus.

“The ground is dirty/But people don’t realize/This is where life is”

Before leaving, Traci had the young writers recap what they learned from her visit. The young writers decide on these four take-aways:

·         “Poetry doesn’t have to make sense”

·         “Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme”

·         “Poetry is versatile”

·         “You can derive poetry from anything”

Keeping these take-aways in mind, the young writers spent the afternoon exploring other forms of poetry. They began with found poetry, in which poets take everyday pieces of writing, look them over for interesting words and phrases, and create a poem made of those pieces. Our young writers worked with instruction manuals for household appliances, housing applications, and newspaper articles. They cut the words out that appealed to them and created something entirely new and interesting.

Sam used articles on how to maintain a garden and information on gemstones.

Malea’s found poem came from an article about umbrella sales.

Sierra’s document was a “How to Train Your Puppy” guide.

After assembling their found poems, young writers then shared their writing with their peers.

"Feel the fluffy, glittery, grainy goo/that comes in a multitude of colors and textures”

“A breathtaking masterpiece of art/especially rare gems are desirable to exquisite collectors” 

From the amazing poetry I heard today, I can say without a doubt that you do not want to miss the reading on Friday. Check back in with us tomorrow as our young writers explore songwriting!

-Kirsten, Program Assistant

[lekangbcu-blog]

Mindmap/ brainstorming - original design

research 

http://livehopething.blogspot.com/2015/02/tin-of-shit-valued-at-8000000.html

The Tate values excrement more highly than goldBy Catherine Milner, Arts Correspondent30 Jun 2002Critics of modern art will at least applaud the irony. The Tate Gallery has paid £22,300 of public money for a work that is, quite literally, a load of excrement.The canned faeces of Piero Manzoni, one of Italy’s most controversial artists, have been bought by the gallery from a sale at Sotheby’s.Can 004 is one of an “edition” of 90 tins of merda d'artista created by Manzoni in 1961 as an ironic statement on the art market. Each can contained 30 grams of his faeces and Manzoni sold it for the same price as if it were gold.The price paid by the Tate for its merda - £745 per gram - exceeds, however, the £550 that the contents of the tin would cost if they were made of 24-carat gold.The gallery yesterday defended its decision to spend taxpayers’ money on the work. The money for the purchase came from the Tate’s acquisitions budget, which it receives from the Government.

“The Manzoni was a very important purchase for an extremely small amount of money: nobody can deny that,” said a spokesman for the gallery.“He was an incredibly important international artist. What he was doing with this work was looking at a lot of issues that are pertinent to 20th-century art, like authorship and the production of art. It was a seminal work."The purchase is not the only excreta the Tate has in its collection; it has also bought three paintings by Chris Ofili featuring elephant dung.Although the tin was bought in the Italian art sale at Sotheby’s some time ago, the gallery has kept secret the amount it paid. It put the can on display last year without making any public announcement.Last week the gallery denied that it had tried to play down the purchase. "We buy 500 works a year so we can’t talk about every one,” said the spokesman.Manzoni died, aged just 29, within two years of creating his tinned art. He was a hard drinker and his alcohol consumption led to him to suffer from a liver condition. In a letter to a friend, he explained that his motivation for tinning his faeces was to expose the gullible nature of the art-buying public.“I should like all artists to sell their fingerprints, or else stage competitions to see who can draw the longest line or sell their shit in tins,” he wrote. “If collectors really want something intimate, really personal to the artist, there’s the artist’s own shit. That is really his."The cans were sealed according to industrial standards and then circulated to museums around the world.In addition to the Tate, both the Pompidou Museum in Paris and the Museum of Modern Art in New York have bought cans since. At least 45 of the original 90 cans have exploded, however. This is exactly what Manzoni intended.Soon after he created the cans he told a friend "I hope these cans explode in the vitrines of the collectors.” The Tate Gallery says that it has had no such problems.

Shit! Manzoni’s work doesn’t do what it says on the tinSo Piero Manzoni filled his cans not, as labelled, with Merda d'Artista, but with plaster. Does that matter? Does the concept still stand? Or should the Tate get rid of their investment fast? In 2000 the Tate bought a tin purporting to be the excrement of Italian artist Piero Manzoni for £22,350 from Sotheby’s. The news provoked outrage. How could Nicholas Serota lavish such money on this four decades old send-up on the absurdity of the art market, whose artistic intervention, after all, was not intended to be a thing of beauty or permanence? Indeed, Manzoni once said that he was exposing “the gullibility of the art-buying public” with his tins of Manzoni’s Merda d'Artista. Hadn’t the Tate been had from beyond the grave by the cheeky Italian?Maybe not. Maybe the Tate’s purchase was astute. Last month a tin of Merda d'Artista as sold by the same auction house in Milan for £81,000.Perhaps now the Tate should offload their can on the market pronto and pocket the profits. I say pronto, because there are reports that Manzoni’s excrement did not fill those tins. Agostino Bonalumi, who worked with Manzoni, recently wrote in Corriere della Sera, that the 90 30-gramme tins that Manzoni filled in 1961 before his untimely death aged 29, contained not faeces but plaster. This might be one of the greatest outrages perpetrated in the history of art. Or not.Quite possibly the contents don’t do exactly what they say on the tin. “I can assure everyone the contents were only plaster,” writes Bonalumi. “If anyone wants to verify this, let them do so.” Good point: surely now is the time for Serota to get out the can opener and find out. Is there a conceptual art curator at Tate Modern who specialises in determining the authenticity of 46-year-old Italian artist’s faeces? It would be a singular job description.But no. The Tate tin will keep its mystery. A Tate spokesperson says: “Keeping the viewer in suspense is part of the work’s subversive humour.” But did Manzoni leave instructions to that effect, or are the Tate making it up as they go along? If the latter, the thought is that they are protecting their investment: the value of the work might well plummet if the boring truth that Bonalumi posits was discovered.AdvertisementDoes it matter? Does it matter if Manzoni’s tins do not contain merda d'artista? It’s actually a more serious question than you might think because it concerns what kind of authenticity is necessary in art and what is contingent. For example, would it matter if the 8,601 diamonds that stud Damien Hirst’s new work, For the Love of God, were really paste? Would it be an hilarious Manzonian artworld gag if all the cordons, bag checks and bouncers that prefigure the spectator’s five minutes’ face time with Hirst’s head were completely unnecessary and that the diamonds were not worth £15 million? Or would the revelation be really, really annoying and make us poor shnooks queuing at the White Cube feel cheated? And, even more crucially, how much would the revelation that the diamonds were dross affect For the Love of God’s £50 million price tag?Similarly, would it matter if the condoms on Tracey Emin’s bed had not seen active service in the artist’s love life? It’s an intriguing question since, surely, much of the interest in and value of Emin’s self-revelatory work relies on the presumed authenticity of the sex life she discloses in her work. Her condoms must be real or we would be entitled to be quite cross. Or would we?Either way, if there is an afterlife, Piero Manzoni surely must be enjoying the fact that the art world remains just as ludicrous as when he sought to expose it nearly five decades ago.Is modern art sh!t? In 1961, Piero Manzoni produced 90 cans labeled Artist’s Shit, Contents 30 grams net, Freshly Preserved.

The Italian artist went on to sell his ‘art’ for the price of its weight in gold. This made many people very angry, mostly because no one could work out whether it was a disgusting and demeaning insult to the public, or whether it was an absurdly clever piece of modern art. Almost 50 years on, one of these cans sits on a plinth in one of the most popular art galleries in the world, London’s Tate Modern, where it still provokes outrage and admiration in equal measure.Manzoni intended the cans to play a subversive role in the art world, following on from Duchamp’s Fountain, which was a urinal he placed in an art museum in 1917. Like many surreal moments, they cease to be so when ignored or accepted by the establishment. In 2006, fearing the latter had happened, 77-year-old artist Pierre Pinoncelli attacked a replica of the urinal with a hammer in the Centre Pompidou, Paris. He was arrested and prosecuted for damaging the artwork, but succeeded in avoiding paying for the damages by arguing that Duchamp would have approved.Excrement is arguably the original man-made material – producing it is an act of creation in which we are all involved. However disgusting we may find it, there is a certain pride associated with doing it well, or at least regularly. Prior to Manzoni, it was the feces of kings and queens that were most valued because of their importance in medical diagnosis. For instance, the stools of the British king, George III, were port-colored during his bout of madness, one of the clues that enabled historians and scientists in recent times to diagnose that his insanity had a physical origin, namely the condition porphyria.In contrast, the normal brown color of stools is produced by a combination of bile and bilirubin, the former producing the yellow overtones, while the red pigment bilirubin comes from red blood cells, and also fluoresces. Excrement also contains anerobic bacteria from the gut that break down the fecal matter, and it is this bacteria that poses the main problem for anyone wanting to preserve excrement. These bacteria do not require oxygen and will continue to thrive in a sealed can, building up gases and ultimately causing explosion.To kill such bacteria, two alternative strategies can be employed prior to canning. The first is pasturization, an extremely unpleasant process of heating to kill the bacteria. The alternative is the drying of excrement, which occurs naturally on a sunny day in every pasture in the land. Sun-dried excrement is not only easier to preserve, but is also a useful fuel when it originates from certain animals, the best examples of which are the bison and the cow. Unfortunately, dog excrement is not as useful in this respect, which is a pity given its prevalence in cities and the awkward problem of its disposal. 

https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/artblog/2007/jun/12/shitmanzonisworkdoesntdow

Shit! Manzoni's work doesn't do what it says on the tin

So Piero Manzoni filled his cans not, as labelled, with Merda d'Artista, but with plaster. Does that matter? Does the concept still stand? Or should the Tate get rid of their investment fast?

In 2000 the Tate bought a tin purporting to be the excrement of Italian artist Piero Manzoni for £22,350 from Sotheby's. The news provoked outrage. How could Nicholas Serota lavish such money on this four decades old send-up on the absurdity of the art market, whose artistic intervention, after all, was not intended to be a thing of beauty or permanence? Indeed, Manzoni once said that he was exposing "the gullibility of the art-buying public" with his tins of Manzoni's Merda d'Artista. Hadn't the Tate been had from beyond the grave by the cheeky Italian?

Maybe not. Maybe the Tate's purchase was astute. Last month a tin of Merda d'Artista as sold by the same auction house in Milan for £81,000.

Perhaps now the Tate should offload their can on the market pronto and pocket the profits. I say pronto, because there are reports that Manzoni's excrement did not fill those tins. Agostino Bonalumi, who worked with Manzoni, recently wrote in Corriere della Sera, that the 90 30-gramme tins that Manzoni filled in 1961 before his untimely death aged 29, contained not faeces but plaster. This might be one of the greatest outrages perpetrated in the history of art. Or not.

Quite possibly the contents don't do exactly what they say on the tin. "I can assure everyone the contents were only plaster," writes Bonalumi. "If anyone wants to verify this, let them do so." Good point: surely now is the time for Serota to get out the can opener and find out. Is there a conceptual art curator at Tate Modern who specialises in determining the authenticity of 46-year-old Italian artist's faeces? It would be a singular job description.

But no. The Tate tin will keep its mystery. A Tate spokesperson says: "Keeping the viewer in suspense is part of the work's subversive humour." But did Manzoni leave instructions to that effect, or are the Tate making it up as they go along? If the latter, the thought is that they are protecting their investment: the value of the work might well plummet if the boring truth that Bonalumi posits was discovered.

Does it matter? Does it matter if Manzoni's tins do not contain merda d'artista? It's actually a more serious question than you might think because it concerns what kind of authenticity is necessary in art and what is contingent. For example, would it matter if the 8,601 diamonds that stud Damien Hirst's new work, For the Love of God, were really paste? Would it be an hilarious Manzonian artworld gag if all the cordons, bag checks and bouncers that prefigure the spectator's five minutes' face time with Hirst's head were completely unnecessary and that the diamonds were not worth £15 million? Or would the revelation be really, really annoying and make us poor shnooks queuing at the White Cube feel cheated? And, even more crucially, how much would the revelation that the diamonds were dross affect For the Love of God's £50 million price tag?

Similarly, would it matter if the condoms on Tracey Emin's bed had not seen active service in the artist's love life? It's an intriguing question since, surely, much of the interest in and value of Emin's self-revelatory work relies on the presumed authenticity of the sex life she discloses in her work. Her condoms must be real or we would be entitled to be quite cross. Or would we?

Either way, if there is an afterlife, Piero Manzoni surely must be enjoying the fact that the art world remains just as ludicrous as when he sought to expose it nearly five decades ago.

[cookiesbookcorner]

Anyone Here Have a Wattpad Account?

If so, my Wattpad username is LenaLuna16. I tend to write more romance based stories. Most are not for the faint of heart.

My friend, her username is Shnooks, is coming out with some youtuber fanfic stories.

Go check her and I out!

I will start holding contests! If you have a story you want read and promoted, message me! I’ll read it and if I love it, I’ll put it in my top three favorites for March. If not, I’ll leave comments explaining why. Either way, you get feedback.

[0rphiichaze]

     “I think you missed, love.”

Twinkling verdant eyes study your smug form, his own exuding a similar aura. His freckled cheeks glow with a rosy blush, his face smothered in glossy kiss stains. Firm arms wrap around your waist and tug you impossibly closer.

A quiet little hum slips from your lips. “News to me. What exactly did I miss?”

Xyx chuckles lowly, ignoring how the blush on his cheeks blooms like roses — slowly spreading across his face. “What’s this game you’re playing, hm? Want me to beg?”

The last word is murmured next to your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He’s trying to get you riled up now —  you can’t help but blush. 

     “Oh shut it.” You huff, but can’t fight the smile that creeps to your lips; one that tugs persistently until your cheeks sting and your eyes shine with joy.

His own face is alight, a grin plastered to his face. Eyes hooded, he leans towards you.

     “Oh c’mon babe— indulge me?”

You chuckle. When he looks at you like that, who are you to say no?

✩ Reblogs are appreciated !!

[0rphiichaze]

The door to your house closes with a squeak.

Today had been… Well, it wasn’t awful. Just the same draining 9 to 5 slew of pages and pages of documents and forms handed to you by your boss. It was honestly upsetting how quickly you’d gotten used to it — the sapping hustle and bustle of a white-collar job. Maybe one day you’d be able to do something different, something more; but for now you were stuck in this cycle. At least you had one thing to look forward to.

     “Owl, I’m home!”

Him.

The patter of feet echoes through the otherwise quiet home, and a familiar figure skidds around the corner of the hall. You can practically feel your mood lift as nightowl appears in front of you, like an angel sent from the heavens. He might as well be with those golden locks framing his rosy face. He gazes at you with a shaky grin.

     “Oh, cutie! I um, wasn’t expecting you to be home yet—“ There’s a waver in his voice and jitter in his posture. He straightens up unnaturally, causing your eyes to be drawn to his apparel.

     “…Are you wearing an apron?”

His cheeks flush bright pink. He rubs the back of his head, tussling his hair. “Yeah, I was uh—“ He abruptly cuts off, his head perking up like a dog who just spotted a treat. His eyes go wide, his head swiveling towards the kitchen. A slew of creative curses slip from his mouth, and he rushes towards whatever caught his attention. Just as you’re about to ask what’s wrong, you smell it. Something burning.

You hurry to the kitchen and find owl pulling a pan off the stovetop. Your face scrunches at the sight. Whatever was in the pan is unrecognizable now — reduced to a mess of blackened shapes. He twists the eye’s dial to turn it off and slowly turns back to you with a small frown.

He stands in silence for a few tense seconds, his shoulders drooped. Finally, he murmurs, “I really messed up, huh?” He tries for a laugh, but fails. It peters out into a sigh. “..I’m sorry, I was trying to make dinner today — but I got distracted.” His eyes drift over to the culprit; the discarded switch lite laying on the countertop. He looks back to the floor tiles. He adamantly avoids your gaze, almost like he’s afraid of what he’ll see there. It seems like he’s waiting to be scolded for his blunder.

But your mind is thinking about anything but reprimanding him. He was… making dinner for you? Your heart soars.

     “Owl… Can you look at me? Please?”

His hands clench at his sides. Slowly, his brown eyes meet yours. He bites his bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes glossy. It seems like he might just apologize again, but he’s cut off when you press your lips to his. His eyes immediately go wide before squeezing shut, his arms slipping around your back to pull you even closer. When you pull away, he looks at you with so much awe and adoration, you almost kiss him again. But you’re able to reign in your desire, instead opting to smile at him.

     “I love you. I really do.” And without any further explanation, you pull away completely, taking your phone from your pocket. “I’ll order something. What d’you want?”

     “You. I mean— pizza.”

After a moment, you smile.

     “I can do both.”

[0rphiichaze]

‼️‼️

scrambles over here hiihih m tryin to get outta writers block so uhhhh if you got any requests throw em my way (preferably nightowl or xyx related teehee)