This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.
I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.
(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)
Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.
And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.
I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.
And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.
But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.
But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.
And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.
So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.
And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.
But what if I hadn't known how to do that?
What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?
What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?
My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.
And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?
How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?
I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.
I think I'm gonna frame it.*
(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)
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Ghost x plus-sized reader
2.1k | fluff, drink spiking
Did you just call Simon weak? The rest of the 141 didn’t like that
“Can I carry you?”
At the pub table, you almost spat the last gulp of your drink at the question. You turned to the source of the gruff voice, meeting the man’s chest before craning your neck up to his eyes. He had to be over 6 ft tall.
You set your glass down. “I’m sorry?”
“My mates are betting I can’t get anyone to piggyback.”
“And you picked me?”
He nodded at your top. “Skulls are sort of my lucky charm.”
You scoffed, looking past him at the other ladies in the room. “Are you serious? There are plenty who weigh far less.”
His brow rose. “Are you calling me weak?”
You took in the width of his shoulders, how his loose black shirt couldn’t hide the thickness of his biceps – the left one inked. He was handsome, rugged with the scar across his cheek, his short blond hair and light scruff, but his stare and bluntness made him beyond intimidating.
How could you get out of this situation with the least fuss?
“N- no.”
His eyes softened a touch. “May I? Please?”
Playing along and getting it over with should be the safest bet. “Okay... But-”
He turned his back and squatted slightly. “Hop on.”
“Wait- are you sure you can?”
“Hop on,” he repeated.
At that point, it was not your fault anymore if he ended up embarrassing himself. So you gripped his hard shoulders and did as told before he swiftly hooked his large hands under your jean-clad thighs. He didn’t grunt or strain when he bounced you to position and straightened up. As if you weighed nothing, which was a feeling you never thought you’d experience.
You had to give it to him - his strength was impressive. You chuckled to yourself, seeing the top of everyone’s head amused you. Across the pub, the table of three men grinned at the massive stranger. The one with the mohawk was very much entertained as he gave him thumbs up.
It was then that Simon groaned, because his team was embarrassing the hell out of him. That, and he finally got to feel how soft and warm you were pressed up against him. A little creepy, but a man was allowed to fantasise about a birdie he’d been eyeing, right?
“That’s all, yeah? You just have to carry-”
He stepped towards the bar, making you latch onto him.
“Oh! Where are you going?
“I’m getting you a drink.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Please, I insist.” When he flagged the barman down, you held on tighter. “It’s the least I can offer for getting you involved.”
You laughed, your breath warm against his ear. “Are you going to set me down or am I having my drink on your back?”
“Don’t give me ideas.” He chuckled as he lowered you to your feet.
He leaned against the bar, arm folded as he stared at you on the stool, downing your shot before looking at yourself on your selfie cam.
“Would you… like something as well?” you asked after you tucked your phone back in your pocket.
He shook his head.
“Okay. Well, thanks for he drink. You could get back to your mates if you want.”
“I’m Simon,” he mustered instead.
“Hi.” You shifted in your seat. “Is something the matter?”
“No.” He frowned. “Why are you asking?”
“It’s just you’ve been staring, and there’s nothing on my face. I checked.”
Bloody hell, could he be any more awkward? He just wanted to ask why you were alone without being weird about it.
He looked away. “I didn’t mean to.” You make me stupid. It didn’t help that your previous drink had tinted your lips, looking even more kissable up close.
“I think your mates want you back though.” You chuckled, nodding at his table.
When he turned to them, they immediately busied themselves with their drinks, averting their gazes.
“They’re a nosy bunch, they are.” He inched closer to you. “The one in the beanie, that’s our captain. The other two are my sergeants.”
“You’re the lieutenant?”
He hummed. “The one with the mohawk is the prankster. He’s a bad influence. He’ll talk you into doing anything.”
“He put you up to this then?”
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips.
As if on cue, Soap looked up with an uncontained grin, only to look back down when he realised eyes were on him.
”Seems like he can’t wait to say hi.” He swiftly picked you up off your seat, bridal-style. “Is this enough to show you weigh nothin’?” he asked, fighting the urge to grab a handful of your soft thigh and waist.
“Oh- oh dear!” You laughed, arm wrapping around his neck, pretty fingers grasping his bicep. “Wait, wait, put me down!”
When you were back on your feet, you pulled your phone out of your pocket. “Sorry, I’m actually meeting someone. He’s almost here.”
So that was why you were alone. You were waiting for someone. Disappointment anchored at the bottom of his chest.
“Right. Okay.”
You smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Simon. I’ll see you around, yeah?”
He grunted and you headed to the end of the bar. He stood umoving for another second before retreating to his table like a kicked puppy.
“L.T., wha’ happened? She was havin’ so much fun!” Soap shot as soon as Simon took his seat next to him.
“She’s meetin’ someone,” he said quietly.
“Aww… Sorry, Ghost,” Gaz said. “But hey, she let you carry her!”
With your back to him, you looked at your phone whenever a man walked in.
Huh, first date?
You flagged down some other blond man who walked over to you with a smile. The barman took your order before you chatted with him with a polite smile, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.
Simon was in no place to watch and invade your privacy – he really should look away. But what was it that simmered in him when the bloke scooted closer, his arm along the back of your chair?
He laughed, pointing at something on the TV. You looked up, and your hand deftly covered your drink, like an instinct.
He smirked. Smart girl.
“I know she’s with someone, but I can tell she likes you more,” Price said, and Simon finally tore his gaze away from you.
“Ye should fight ‘im, L.T. He dinnae stand a fuckin’ chance.”
“You can knock him out with a slap,” Gaz quipped.
He chuckled, blatantly looking over Price to you again. “Rather just look.” While it wasn’t for him, at least he could watch your pretty smile from here and quench his thirst a bit.
With the bloke’s drink in hand, he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, his other hand inching to your covered drink now. He tipped his glass over you, causing you to jump and grab serviettes to dab yourself with. Just as fast, his fisted hand opened over your drink before helping you.
“No fucking way,” Simon said out loud.
“What?” Gaz followed his line of sight.
He marched over, yanking the man around by the shoulder. “What the bloody hell did you just do?”
He stumbled off his seat from the force, making the lieutenant tower over him even more. “What? Who- Do you know him?” He turned to you.
His finger jabbed the man’s chest. “What. The. Fuck. Did you put in her drink?”
“Nothing! What are you accusing me of?”
Simon didn’t miss the crack in the man’s voice. He raised your drink to the man’s face, a tiny white tablet swaying at the bottom of the glass. “Empty your pockets.”
“Simon, what’s…”
“I’m not repeating myself.”
The man fished out his phone, wallet and keys with trembling hands.
“That’s not all.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s nothing else, mate!” he said exasperatedly.
Simon’s patience ran dry. He patted his front pocket, hand bumping over something. “You need to see this,” he said quietly to you.
You hesitantly stuck your hand in the man’s left pocket, coming up with a bag of white tablets.
The man smacked the bag out of your hand. “You planted that, you slag!”
“If you didn’t do anything, drink it.” He spat, holding out your drink to him, now cloudy and fizzing.
He stared at the glass. “Fuck you,” he said, pushing it onto Simon’s chest before dashing out of the pub.
“Did he…”
“The fuck was that, Simon?” Price questioned from behind him.
“Fucking piece of shit spiked her drink.”
Price turned to you, a hand on your shoulder. “You got his name and number, love?”
“Yes.” You blinked. ”Yes, his number and dating profile.”
“I’m sending the coppas his way.” He picked up the evidence on the ground with a serviette. “Simon, get the details and make sure she gets home safe,” he said before approaching the barman.
You dried his ruined shirt with a wad of serviette. “I can’t even begin to thank you for your help, Simon. Really, thank you so much. I wouldn’t have-”
“You did good.” He squeezed your hand over his chest. “You covered your glass when you weren’t looking, but spilling his drink on you was something else.”
When you looked up at him with wide eyes, he dropped your hand.
“Would you like me to send you home?”
“I don’t want to trouble you. I don’t even live nearby.”
“Would you let me, if I want to?”
There was a pause before you smiled. “I think I’d like that, actually.”
When he grabbed his jacket from the table, Soap patted him on the back.
“Good catch, L.T. What a fuckin’ disgrace, the lad.”
“Have fun, Ghost,” Gaz teased.
Outside the pub where the streets were quieter, you forwarded the profile and chat screenshots of the man from your group chat to Simon.
“Can’t be too cautious. I’m not surprised if that’s not even his name honestly.” You shrugged, stuffing your phone back in your pocket. “I knew it was dodgy he insisted on meeting here when I said I’d rather somewhere in the middle, in broad daylight. That, and he was half an hour late too!”
It was disheartening to know this was the reality of dating, that all sorts of people lurked online, sometimes not with the best intentions. He’d show you his ID just to prove he wasn’t a creep, just someone smitten with a staring problem if any.
“If it was me, I’d have taken you anywhere you wanted.”
You chuckled.
“On my back too, if you prefer. I think you quite enjoyed that.”
“I did, actually,” you teased. “Is it a bad time to tell you I’m starving?”
“Yeah? That’s good news, because I’m always hungry. A kebab sounds about right at this hour.”
“Extra chips?”
“Extra chips,” he affirmed.
“You know what, I think this is my sign.” You pulled out your phone again, deleting an app. “Don’t think online dating was ever my thing.”
Is a stranger at a pub who shamelessly stares at you more your thing?
“Going out with someone who offers to carry me around is more like it.”
He bit back a smile. “So? Another ride on my back?”
You chuckled. “Next time,” you said, taking his arm instead.
As much as he enjoyed your touch, he couldn’t do with your fingers over his jacket. He needed to feel you. When he held your hand in his, you smiled up at him.
Simon had to thank his team for painstakingly convincing the stubborn lieutenant to approach the lady he’d been staring at. You didn’t have to know there was no bet, that asking to carry you was his own idea, an outrageous excuse to talk to you. But he wouldn’t complain if he ended up helping you, taking you for a little supper and even got to send you home.
“When’s next time?” he asked at your door, squeezing your hand.
You really shouldn’t have said it, because he was going to make sure there would be one. It had become a goal to show you how you deserved to be treated on a date.
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Right now isn’t even too soon.”
You laughed, pulling him down by the shoulder to meet your lips.
Neighbour Ghost AU if he still had his family
Masterlist
For @glitterypirateduck ‘s Ghost Challenge :D check out her page for fic recs!
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Imagine cool bf Sukuna loser gf reader where reader is in the art room alone and he joins her and Sukuna initiates make out sheesh with her and she gets so flustered
𝝑𝝔 an: stop this is so cute!! i decided to add a little more details i hope u don’t mind anon!! original post is here, feel free to share your thoughts!!
cool boyfriend sukuna waits for everyone to leave the art class before ever entering the room because he knows his pretty loser girlfriend always comes out the latest.
you never see him coming up behind you as he makes his way from the open entrance and behind the neatly set up marbles to your desk, where you are seated peacefully, singing along softly and gliding your pencil across the paper calmly. your peace is eventually disturbed by his hands suddenly appearing on your shoulders as he pulls you into himself, noticing how you shut your sketchbook quickly and shriek loudly.
you go to push him away until your brain registers his laughter and you tug your headphones down, letting out an exasperated sigh. “‘kunaa! stop doing that, y’know i hate it!”
“heh,” sukuna pinches your cheek affectionately, one arm playfully settled around your neck while the other moves to ruffle your hair. “whatchu drawing there?”
that seems to fluster you as you look up at him and grip your sketchbook tighter, “nothing!”
“liar,” he sneers with a smirk and tries to pull it from your hands, hands that seem a lot more stronger with the way your grip is not easing. “you hidin’ something?”
“no, ‘kuna—”
he doesn’t let you finish, arms loosening around you to turn your chair over so you’re facing him, and puts his hand on your jaw, fingers digging into the flesh of your cheeks softly, not enough to hurt but enough to hold tight.
you stiffen, expression turning surprised as sukuna covers your slightly pouted lips with his, initiating a kiss. he’s quick with it, knowing how anything involving him showing any kind of affection make you putty in his hand, so he uses it so his advantage. your cheeks heat up under his fingers as you whimper and try your best to respond to him, melting under his touch.
sukuna smiles into the kiss knowingly, going slow and soft as his free hand strokes the back of your head mindlessly, to make you relax further. he sucks in your bottom lip gently, glides his tongue of it seductively before he dives deep once again, opening you up more.
it works wonders and soon enough you drop the sketchbook, gripping his shoulders instead as you try to tug him into you further, but he is an asshole so he bites your bottom lip and moves away with a victorious grin.
you let out a startled sound, looking up at him with shock.
“gotcha,” he whispers as he opens the sketchbook, quickly finding the last page.
“don’t!”
sukuna quickly recognises his figure on the page, eyes widening in surprise. a couple of sketches of his face and one of his body in his basketball uniform. and then he looks through earlier pages, finding himself sprinkled into your drawings even from last year. and his smirk grows mischievous at the realisation.
“this what you were hidin’?” he gazes at you, drinking in the way you cover your face with your hands. “you’ve liked me for a while now, haven’t you?”
you nod your head silently, still hiding from him.
he puts the sketchbook away and steps closer to you, hands coming up to pry yours away, “what a loser you are.”
you look up at him with glistening eyes, lips pouty and bitten by him.
“cute.” sukuna thinks out loud, as he pats the top of your head, enjoying the way you get embarrassed even more, burying your face in his shoulder.
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