#self portrait at the end of my life

[whisperthatruns]

Self Portrait at the End of My Life

I do remember beauty: A blue pool in the pine barrens, the fermata of a summer afternoon, tangles of hair on a soft stomach, my lips combing through them; Working quick and hard on a fire in the black backyard, knowing soon I'd see those bright lit faces bursting through the screen door saying there you are; And then being alone: howling on the mountain until my spirit expands, pans out and sees my body disappear below the tree-line; Or the vast expansive solitude of being a child in the backseat of the car at the end of a long trip home, the hum of adult voices, my head cradled in the sling of the seatbelt, the dark and permeable glass, the sky spilling in--- Still, I wanted the next thing. To collapse the paper dolls of my life back into the flank of an aspen. To hear the insides, like floating with your ears below the water. I suppose that's what I'm getting now, though I always pictured it differently. I thought I'd be on my back.

Sarah Matthes, Town Crier (Persea Books, 2021)

[canonkiller]

do you consider your self made?

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

This || close to submitting QSMP fanart to a competition at the library in my county. This is not a good idea but I think I can get away with nobody noticing. Maybe. Probably.

[iwantyoursexmp3]

realistically in a couple months i will look at this little acrylic mountain painting and be like wow this kinda sucks ass but i had fun and i was me and i felt connected to my best friend from my novel who is always painting little acrylic mountain scenes......tbh never liked paints as a child/teen cause art class never taught us how to actually fucking use them LOL so im also like wow i actually blended stuff in and it looks good

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Things I said would happen Wednesday: I would finish and publish a chapter of a fic

Things that instead happened Wednesday: I read a biography on the swedish actress Lena Nyman, who has been dead for more than ten years, and fell deeply in love

[vermillioncrown]

it's ib-brain since i spent the am of last night collecting all the paintings on steam

but i keep thinking of a ib-au of wangxian

(i had a post-canon "together forever"/"forgotten portrait" fic musings from '13, but that's... another story lol)

wwx is pretty good at 'art', right? and i say 'art' because we don't get too much in canon besides his teaser sketch of lwj, the fact he was raised like a prodigious young master that should have mastered the 6 skills and 4 arts

people made up all sorts of things about wwx as the yiling laozu, yeah?

modern-ish au, college student lwj needs to attend an art gallery for an assignment. the pieces on display are all by the enigmatic yiling laozu. he's not really into the art; in fact, a lot of the pieces are off-putting to look at

ends up trapped in the gallery, the ib routine, blah blah

periodically encounters two other patrons that have been trapped as well - the obnoxious wwx, who helps him pass through obstacles with ingenuity but infuriates him in turn before lwj stalks away; the shy mo xuanyu, who flees from lwj, but whenever they need to work together he provides new insights into the pieces that they see and their environs in the cursed gallery they're in.

"oh? we're in orchestra together! granted, i'm in the winds section..."

"... i'm in the same art history course...?"

lwj - he can't recall either of them. not that it's very alarming, since he usually doesn't bother with the other sections of the orchestra (that's his brother's problem) and he actively ignores the overwhelming student body in lecture halls

"so, which one is it really?"

[1gotsoemo1fellapart]

a drawing i did today! frank iero revenge era stuff

[bryqe]

this is my last goodbye to the lige i though i’d live but burned like paper. now i’m ready to become the new and strongest girl i’ve ever been. bye boy blue, i’ll take care of u.

[happyharcoreeddie]

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

FINAL

"NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt" (1985-present) / "Unfinished Painting" (1989 - Keith Haring)

NAMES PROJECT AIDS MEMORIAL QUILT: fucks me up bc so many people died and so many people suffered and their partners didn’t have legal rights as next of kin and so many had been disowned by their parents and had to be held by a stranger while they were dying and if i could resurrect anyone in the world i’d dig up either reagan or thatcher and kill them again (jaskierx) The sheer size and it's meaning make me cry every time. (artemistakenidentity)

UNFINISHED PAINTING: A self-portrait left intentionally "incomplete". I'm roughly the same age as Haring was when AIDS ended his life and I can only begin to imagine how it must feel to know that your life has been cut short a third of the way through. I get such a lump in my throat each time I look at this. (louisianna)

(The "NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt" is an ongoing community art project honoring people who passed away due to AIDS-related causes. It consists of approximately 50,000 panels of 3 by 6 feet (0.91 m × 1.83 m) panels, which is an estimated 54 tons of material. It is currently housed in San Francisco, but is often displayed in various places in the United States.

"Unfinished Painting" is an acrylic on canvas painting by Keith Haring. It measures 39 x 39 in (99 x 99 cm) and some information on it can be found on the National Portrait Gallery's website. It is currently on display at The Broad in Los Angeles. This was Haring’s last painting and it was intentionally left incomplete.)

[arminsumi]

HELLOOO THERE!! Can I request gojo dating reader because of a bet with suguru and falling for reader, reader doesn’t know and was hurt when they overheard they’re just a bet, angst to fluff pls 🫶🫶🫶

thank youuuu, hope your having a good day!!

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

𝐈𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

A/N: u have no idea how much i LOVE this idea anon!!! 💗💗💗 i really hope i did it justice 😩

Wc ≈ 1.4k

Pairing: GOJO Satoru x f.reader

Summary: Suguru betted that Gojo could make anyone fall in love with him, even someone who was his complete opposite — like you.

Warnings; angst-to-fluff, angst contents — {self-loathing (Gojo), crying, heartbreak}, a little bit suggestive at the end, kissing/making out

♪ michelle

It was nice while it lasted.

The handholding in public, the stolen cheek kisses, the pampering and spoiling, relishing in the jealous looks thrown your way when he fed you bites of his food in the cafeteria, bathing in Gojo Satoru's affection. A lot of people would have killed for your position, or even a glimpse into what it's like to date your college's biggest heart throb.

You two seemed to really like each other. It was like two mismatched puzzle pieces somehow fitting together — a fascinating connection was shared. No one would have put you and him together, not even Gojo.

The only reason he asked you out in the first place was...

"Suguru, that's such a nasty idea... I love your mind."

"Just don't actually fall in love with her. The whole idea of this bet is that you can prove any girl can fall in love with you, don't forget that."

Gojo had chuckled at this, it seemed so ridiculous.

Why would he actually fall in love with you? You weren't even his type. He never paid you a sparing glance, not at school, not at parties, not around town.

You weren't his type...

So why did his heart start panging excitedly a few months into your 'fake' relationship? Why did he swoon when you fell asleep laid on his chest in his dorm room? Why did he want to kiss you so badly every time he saw your face? Why did he jump like a cat whenever he got a text from you? Why did he kiss you like the world was ending?

And why did he cry when you found out the truth? He looked distraught when Suguru let the secret slip.

Why did Gojo Satoru, the strongest, beg on his knees for you to stay when you were about to walk away?

"Please! I'm so sorry! I know it was so wrong and fucked up — shit I regret it so much — I really like you! I swear to god, I swear on my life!"

You choked on your tears so badly that you could barely talk. "I can't believe you. This is such a fucking horrible th - thing to do to s - someone, Gojo."

He felt so hurt that you went back to calling him Gojo and not Satoru, like you used to when the two of you were just mild acquaintances.

"Don't go!" He almost yelled.

His arms wrapped around your midriff, he slid down like he was too weak to support himself — like his legs went limp. He slid down until he was clinging to your legs. He sobbed with such a genuine-looking crying face that you almost believed it. He wasn't play-crying like he does to get attention or persuade people, he was ugly-crying.

Gojo Satoru, the prettiest boy you ever knew, was an ugly-crier. A string of saliva glistened between his canines, his mouth hung open like a dramatic renaissance portrait of a distraught man. His eyes were pinched so tight that fat tears cascaded out the corners.

"Please don't go!"

⁕⁕⁕

Suguru found his best friend sat in the middle of the campus' main stairs. Desolate. One hand holding up his heavy head. Regretful. eyes closed.

"So it didn't go well?"

Satoru didn't raise his head, but he slowly opened his eyes and looked miserably at the floor. He watched a line of ants.

"It went as horribly wrong as you could imagine." he responded eventually.

Suguru came to sit next to him. "Are you really in love?" he asked him seriously.

"Of course I fucking am! — sorry..." Satoru snapped, then immediately mumbled an apology.

A long summer breeze went by.

"Try again." he suggested, "I'm sure she'll - "

"She fucking hates me."

There was a heavy silence after Satoru said that.

"If I were her, I'd hate me too." Satoru muttered.

Suguru went silent. He felt guilty, after all, he was the one that dared his best friend to do something as stupid as play with your heart.

Satoru watched the ants scurrying along. He felt as puny and weak as one right then. The realization of these feelings themselves are what urged him to abruptly stand up.

"I'm not giving up. I'm gonna explain to her that I really did fall in love — that I really do fucking like her so god damn much it's insane and stupid."

"That's the spirit — where are you going?" Suguru asked curiously as Satoru began heading over to the parking lot.

"I'm gonna go bring her flowers and... stuff..." he replied unsurely.

Will that really work? He wondered to himself.

"But it's gonna rain." Suguru said, "Heyyy, Satoru, listen don't just — ah, there he goes... idiot really fell in love when I warned him not to..." he muttered pitifully.

⁕⁕⁕

There was a knock at your apartment door.

You wrung it open to reveal a heartbroken Gojo Satoru, soaked-through with rain, standing in the downpour, panting while holding onto a bouquet of vividly red roses. You couldn't have witnessed a more dramatic scene in a movie.

His hair was completely flat with wetness. There were raindrops running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin.

On the walk to your apartment, Satoru had mentally written a speech for you.

It was definitely a well-rehearsed heartbroken boy's 'take me back' speech. Flawless and direct. Surely it would have sufficed.

But he didn't say even the first few words of his practiced speech when your door flew open.

All he did was break down crying and fall to his knees right in front of you, like some dramatic actor — except he wasn't acting, you could feel the realness of his regrets and miseries through each sob.

"Satoru..." you looked down at him pitifully. "Come inside, you're gonna get sick." you said tenderly.

For some reason, those very small words communicated more emotions than any form of 'I love you' ever could.

⁕⁕⁕

His pretty nose was slightly upturned. You noticed that when he first kissed you after your third date.

You noticed it again when you observed how red it had become from crying and sneezing.

Wrapping a blanket around him. Drying his hair. Fluffing it with your fingers. Making him some tea. Sitting him down on your bed. Putting on a movie. Letting him curl up into your arms — something he never did when you two were 'dating' because he was convinced he had to show off his dominance to win you over.

All of this together settled the air between you two. But it still didn't explain everything.

"Why'd you do something so dumb?" you asked him half-humorously.

He nibbled and chewed on his lip, eyes on the TV — not really, actually they were looking at your subtle reflection within it.

"I'm an asshole." he admitted.

"You don't say." you chuckled.

He felt bad, and uncurled his body and raised his face to look at you. Satoru never wore a serious expression in all the time you've known him, both as acquaintances and 'lovers' — except for now, which is how you know it's true.

"I wasn't supposed to fall in love with you. Suguru dared me because... well, because it seemed comical. We're opposites, no one would ever put us together right? But he and I thought that was a hilarious challenge. We wanted to see if I could catch you and make you fall in love with me, or something like that..."

He started mumbling his words and refused to look at you.

"Satoru."

"Yeah?"

He reared his head up at you.

"Did it mean something to you, the time we spent this summer?"

He didn't hesitate to respond, "It meant everything." he said.

"Well, then there we go." you said with a little smile.

"Am I being forgiven...?"

"Mhm."

He seemed taken aback and unsure. Was he really being forgiven? Were you reversing the script on him and pulling a trick on him now?

"Does this mean..." he mumbled quietly, "... that I'm allowed to kiss you right now?" he asked nervously, heart panging, eyes giving your lips a longing glance.

"You're such an idiot." you sighed, "Yeah of course it means you can kiss m — mmmf!"

You never managed the rest of your words out, they all got muffled on Satoru's lips. His hand came to cup your right cheek, fingers caressing your skin like you meant everything to him. He tilted his head into the kiss, broke apart for air, dove back in, kissed you feverishly fervently violently eagerly — with so much affection and thankfulness that you almost couldn't breathe due to being smothered.

"Sorry..." he panted after breaking the kiss, bottom lip glistening with saliva. "I'm sorry for breaking a heart as good as yours."

"Just don't do it again." you told him in a whisper.

The poor boy, two days without kissing was really too much for him. He went right back in and kissed you blue, until you gasped and subconsciously wrapped your legs around his slim waist and pulled him closer. His whole body felt hot and eager. You tasted so good, you looked so good, you loved him so good — he decided right there in the back of his mind that he'd marry you after graduation.

[washeduphazbin]

Could I get a one shot of, y/n is like Adam’s life ex gf she left after getting tired of his shit.. ended up falling in love with Lucifer.. (Mr. Steal yo girl thrice) and during the Adam and Lucifer battle Lucifer taunts that he stole all three of his lovers

YES. YES. I'm in love with Lucifer. Your wish is my command.

Sorry it's so short if we like maybe part 2

Also, poly luci x reader x Lilith (sorry, not sorry)

———

“Little duck?” Lucifer asked softly, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You were holding onto one of his plush ducks rather tightly,

"I can't help but think...that this extermination is my fault." Lucifer let out a gasp and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, "Lulu-"

"I won't have that negative self-talk in my house." Your brow furrowed in distress,

"But-"

"No buts."

"Lucifer! Adam's absolutely moved up the extermination to spite Charlie and us!" You argued, "I...what if I go back to him."

"Excuse me, what?"

"I don't want to!" You moved away from him to the portrait of Lilith, you and Lucifer hanging in the corner of the room. "I really don't want to..." You raised your hand and brushed against Lilith's horns and Lucifer's staff in the portrait. "You know I don't belong here; I'm not a demon, a sinner, or an angel either. I'm just a human who fell because I fell in love with you and your family." You smiled sadly over at him, holding out your hand. Lucifer squeezed it tightly, "What if I can solve all of this by just going back with Adam."

"That's not happening; I'm not letting you go back to that fuckwad;" He scoffed, brushing a hand through your hair, "Do you think you'll be happier with him? Without us? Without Charlie?"

"No." You laughed bitterly, "Of course not, Charlie would kill me."

"She absolutely would. You're like another mother to her; she wouldn't let you go back to that hellscape without a fight. Neither will I; I have a few words I'd love to share with Adam."

"Oh yeah? What would you say?"

"I'm sure you'll get to hear it eventually," he mused, leaning closer to kiss your cheeks. "Just stay safe and stay away from the Hotel until Charlie or I give you the okay, okay?"

"Okay." You whispered softly, bending down to plant a kiss on his lips,

"Did you really have to bend down like that," He huffed, hitting you gently with his cane.

"Oh, absolutely."

---

"Stay home? STAY HOME?" You roared, grabbing Lucifer's shoulders, "Everyone dying, and you want me to stay home!"

"For your safety and everyone's safety. Yes." He squeezed your shoulders tightly, "If it's between you and Charlie, I-"

"You choose Charlie every time."

"I love you-"

"I know. I love you too." You smiled softly, "Kick Adam in the dick for me?"

"It would be my pleasure, my lady. Here," Lucifer handed you his phone, "It'll live stream the battle; I hacked a VoxTech drone." He puffed his chest out proudly, and you beamed, taking his phone from his hands.

"I can't wait to see Adam get dick punched in HD!"

"There's the bloodlust I love so much; if I didn't have to go save Hell, I'd totally fuck you right now."

"Then you better leave now so you can come back and fuck me as soon as possible."

"Yes, ma'am!" He gave the dorkiest salute before teleporting out of the room.

---

"I am going to FUCK you!"

"It's fuck you up...dad."

Your face palmed, curling up on the bed, Lucifer's phone in your hand, watching the live stream.

"What? What did I say? Oh Shit-" Lucifer burst into laughter as he transformed into a snake to avoid being hit by Adam, "So this is what you've been up to since Eden, huh? I gotta you really let yourself go, buddy."

"Are you judging me?" Adam snarled in a disbelieving laugh, "You're the most hated being in all of creation!" Lucifer snickered as he turned into a bird,

"Well, your first wife didn't seem to hate what I had to offer, or the second bow chica. Wow, wow!" He splayed his fingers out in a V shape and stuck his tongue in between his fingers, "Not to mention your third."

"I'm sorry what!" He snarled,

"Oh, you didn't know? (Y/n)'s a doll, the tightest pussy Lilith and I've EVER shared!"

You made a horrified sound at the phone, wanted to absolutely curl up into a ball and die, Charlie didn't look any better.

"Dad!"

"You are so dead!" Adam shouted, "And I'm gonna find that bitch, and I'm going to make her pay!"

"Sure you are," he snorted, "I'd like to see you try."

[rainybubbles]

How do you meet COD men ?

Price, Soap, Rudy, Ghost, Gaz, Keegan

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC. )

P R I C E :

-"I'm going to die," you say to your friend.

-"What ? Why would you die ?"

-"I sent a pregnant Shrek cake to a military base."

-"Why would you do that ?!"

-"This guy ordered a cake for his soldier's birthday, but I also had the order for a prank and...

-"You mixed up the two boxes."

-"Yes."

-"So, actually,....a soldier is opening his box and..."

-"And he will see a pregnant Shrek cake."

-"...It was good to know you when you were alive."

-"You're supposed to reassure me !"

-"Oh sorry. You will die fast, don't worry. It's their job"

-"Fuck you."

-"How was the guy who ordered ?"

-"Like he could crash my head between his arms"

-"Shit."

-"But he was handsome, I guess."

-"Guess your last view will be nice, at least."

-"Shit, how do I even excuse myself for that ? I can't go to the base and say "sorry I sent a Shrek cake, but it was a mistake can you let me in ?"

-"I guess you just say it," a man says.

-You gulp when you recognize the Captain who ordered you the cake.

-"Sir, I'm so sorry, I swear it's not on purpose, I just mixed two orders and..."

-"And you made my boys laugh after a rough mission."

-"oh."

-"So thanks. Of course, it was not what I planned for a birthday, but seeing them happy was nice."

-"You're..welcome, I guess ?"

-He smiles.

-"But don't ever do another pregnant Shrek when I order from you, next time, please."

-"Next time ?"you say surprised.

-"It was delicious, I don't plan to change a good baker," he smiles.

And that's how you gain a regular after offering a pregnant Shrek cake. (even though each time he sees green on your hand, he seems scared when he takes the box.)

S O A P :

- He drew you like Gollum.

- I know, it sounds horrible, let me explain.

- You needed money, and you offered your services as a model for art classes.

- Soap was one of the students.

- During his leaves, he often took art classes to relax.

- And usually it goes well.

- But when he saw you....he thought he could never do justice to your face.

- He felt so self-conscious about his skills that he ended up doing a horrible portrait of you.

- And it could have ended up here, but the teacher decided to show everyone's pieces of art to analyze them

- So you saw Soap's piece where you looked like Gollum.

- And you knew it was from him.

- Everyone has a smile, while he was terrified.

- Usually, he's self-confident, but it's on the battlefield, in his life. The art was the only place where he was not sure he belonged too.

- At the end of the classes, he decided to talk to you.

- "I'm sorry for what happened today, I felt anxious and I ended up doing a bad portrait. It doesn't look like you at all."

- You looked up at him and smiled.

- "Why do you apologize? It was fun to see me like this, plus you need to start somewhere, no? You can't be a fucking Leonardo Da Vinci from the first day."

- He was too stunned to speak.

- "John or Johnny," he said.

- You looked at him confused.

- "Name's John, sorry, it seems you really blew my mind."

- You chuckled. "Nice to meet you, John. Hope next time your mind will be more confused for the next class."

- He nodded.

- Wait, did you say the next class? But it was nude models…

- Hope he won't draw a stick figure this time.

R U D Y

- You were an author.

- Well, it was not your main job since you only sold four books this year, but you considered yourself an author.

- And you had a hater. Someone who left a hateful review on each of your books.

- You knew that the next day after publishing your book, he would leave a bad review.

- So when your boss at the library told you that someone was regularly buying your books, you knew it could only be this hater, since the other person who bought your books was your mom.

- And you had had a bad day. So when your boss told you he was there, you were about to confront this hater.

- Maybe to understand what he didn't like or to know if he was just a coward.

- So you strode towards the spot your boss pointed at.

- "Hey, you," you said, not sure what to add after. When the man raised his head, he looked fit, and you knew you couldn't stand a chance in a fight if he decided to fight.

- "Wait, are you the author Y/N?" Rudy asked, with a sparkle in his eyes.

- Wait... A sparkle?

- "Hm, yeah, it's me," you answered, not sure what was happening.

- "I love your work. Your last book was really amazing. I have followed you since your debut."

- Your mouth was open, because :

1. one, your mom had lied to you when she told you she had bought three copies of your book.

2. And second, you had your first fan in front of you.

- "Thanks," you almost said, tears of joy welling up. "Sorry if I sound harsh. I thought you were that hater."

- "Oh yeah, I saw those reviews on your page. He's always there, but don't worry, I'll leave positive reviews to balance it. I'm Rudy, by the way."

- "Nice to meet you, and thanks for loving my work."

- "No need to thank me. I just appreciate good books."

- "What's your favorite, if I may ask?"

- Rudy smiled, and you both started chatting about books that afternoon. Maybe your reviews would improve after this, not just because of your writing, but also because he found you stunning.

G H O S T :

- Ghost scared people on the battlefield.

- However, the people who were most scared of him were the mechanics on the base.

- Ghost was a horrible driver, and everyone knew that.

- So, each time he went to the mechanics, they knew it was because he had done horrible damage to the cars.

- A game was organized whenever Ghost approached – you played rock, paper, scissors, and the loser had to fix his car.

- However, you were new to the base.

- When you saw this guy standing and waiting, you went to him without realizing all this.

- But when you saw his car, you understood why no one else was coming.

- He had a bowling ball in the trunk, the roof was broken, all the windows were shattered, and one tire was burnt.

- "...did you take this on the battlefield?" you asked.

- "No." He said shortly.

- You blinked. "Then why is it in this condition?"

- "There was a grandma on the road."

- "...so, because of a grandma, you have a bowling ball in your trunk?"

- "Because I swerved to avoid her and ended up hitting a bowling alley."

- "How did you even get a driver's license?"

- "The examiner was too sick to see me again for the ninth time, so he just gave it to me."

- "I guess I'll fix your car, but please don't drive if you don't need to, sir."

- "Sure."

- The next day, he was there again with a hole in the car because of a bird. How ? You didn't know.

-But it seemed you had become his official mechanic without even knowing it.

G A Z :

- When he hears your voice in a café, he recognizes you.

- The problem is, he can't come to you.

- Because if he knows your voice, it's because of your streams.

- Your ASMR streams.

- Being a soldier means your sleep schedule isn't really regular, and to help himself sleep, Gaz discovered ASMR.

- He found out about your streams, then your Patreon, and... let's just say your ASMR is spicy.

- So yes, if he says he's a fan of yours, it implies he has to reveal he listens to that in front of his teammates.

- And he's not ashamed of it.

- But he doesn't want Price to know he likes spicy ASMR, just like he wouldn't want to know what Price's fantasies are, or what Ghost likes in bed.

- (He wants to forget Soap's idea about Ghost in pink lingerie and a thong, and the day Price wore latex pants.)

- It's a line he doesn't want to cross.

- But he's also your biggest fan.

- So he tries to walk near you.

- But you're with a friend.

- And he doesn't know if your friend knows about this.

- So he ends up just glancing at you.

- Shit, how does he approach someone who does +18 things, without saying he knows they do this?

- Maybe if he waves... or just says hello? Or maybe if he asks for a selfie or…

- "Are you trying to imitate Ghost?" Soap asks.

- "What? No. Why do you say that?!" Gaz says, looking away.

- "Because you're staring at this person like they killed your dad and ate your mom, then burned your house and kidnapped your dog."

- "...it was really detailed for a scenario," Gaz says, confused.

- "So?"

- "I just know them, but I don't want to disturb them." Gaz says, trying to lie and tell the truth at the same time.

- If Soap finds out the truth, he'll never hear the end of it.

- "Do you want me to call them?"

- "NO. Absolutely not, don't do this, mate."

- "Why not?"

- Because they'll think you listen to their spicy ASMR audios, he wants to say, but he remains quiet.

- God, he feels like a teenager.

- But suddenly, he sees you walking towards them.

- You sit next to them, and... you wink at him, pointing to his key ring on his bag.

- It's your merch.

- Meaning... you know he's a fan.

- "Thanks for supporting me," you whisper before returning to your friend.

- Gaz doesn't speak until he gets back to base, too embarrassed but also too happy.

K E E G A N :

- You were tired.

- The rush had finally ended. It was now 11 PM, and there was this one client who had just ordered 10 Happy Meals.

- You wanted to slap him. He had ordered at 22:57, and the fast food closed at 23:00.

- So you didn't have a choice but to serve him.

- You looked at your colleague, who was sighing, and you nodded.

- You were preparing the trays, ready to see 10 kids running around and getting everything dirty, but…

- It was only one man with a mask.

- When you saw him, you were ready to raise your hands and give him money. Why the heck would a man with a gun and a mask be at a McDonald's at 23:00 buying 10 Happy Meals?

- But he just took them and ate.

- One after another.

- In silence.

- In five minutes.

- And then he left.

- You looked at your colleague.

- "Guess it's as weird as people who order a burger without buns," your colleague said.

- You nodded and thought it was just the one weird client of the day.

- But every Wednesday, he was there, in silence.

- Maybe he hated Ronald McDonald, so he planned to run out of your stock of Happy Meals?

- Or maybe he collected the toys?

- You didn't know, but he was there.

- And you saw him eating those nuggets and fries without sauce.

- He didn't touch his drinks. My, how dry it must be.

- But one Wednesday you took a day off. So when you came back the next day, you joked with your colleague about the Happy Meal guy.

- But they didn't laugh.

- "Who?" they asked.

- And just like that, you realized that when you weren't there, the Happy Meal guy wasn't there either.

- You were scared.

- Maybe he thought buying Happy Meals seduced you, or it was his way of warning you before he would kill you, like a threat, "You'll end up like those nuggets."

- So, when you saw him enter, you sent your colleague.

- However, your manager decided to give you your break at that moment, meaning it would be only you and him in the place.

- You tried to act normally, but you noticed how he seemed not to like his food yet still ate it.

- You sighed and sat next to him, offering him some sauces.

- "It's better with these. You know, you can have them for free in the menu next time."

- He looked at you and nodded.

- He then tried it and smiled.

- That's when you noticed his dog tags.

- "We have a discount for military personnel, so you could take a real meal instead of a Happy Meal if you want to."

- He looked surprised and nodded.

- Next time, he ordered 2 Happy Meals and two regular menus.

- So you smiled.

- Until his other masked colleagues ordered 20 Happy Meals because they liked the skull toys in them.

- Maybe it was just military men who had a problem with Happy Meals.

If you want more : my COD masterlist

And my masterlist

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

ROTTEN. | astarion

pairing: astarion x gn!reader

warnings: healthy dose of angst and self-loathing, mild sexual descriptions and references, wrote this in less than 2 hrs so give me a break, mainly astarion's pov idk it just happened that way

word count: 2.6k

For a moment, his voice tries to betray the weight of this confession, but he knows there is no softening the blow of this—of both a confession of love, and an admission of guilt, and he is unsure if one is enough to outweigh the other. He knows this is the end; he knows you will finally see him for the wretched thing he is, and he will once again find himself alone and lonely.

He's using you.

He knows he’s using you; since the moment he laid his eyes upon the weathered lines of your face, you were his newest target—the first one of his own choosing. He initially planned to kill you; you couldn't turn on him or drive a stake through his ribs if you were already dead, and he already had enough to worry about without adding additional fuel to the already burning fear he had for his life. Not to mention, he was hungry and getting worse by the minute. He planned to call for help—play the damsel like he did countless times before, catch your attention for only a moment, just long enough to get close enough, and slit your pretty little throat.

Every step played out perfectly. You approached him just like he knew you would—his pretty face has always granted him the illusion of being a safe person; you answered his calls for help, just like he knew you would. All you had to do was get close enough, and he would take care of the rest.

Though he was completely thrown off kilter when you offered to help him, rather than leaving him to the ‘things’ in the bush. In a split second, his plan changed. If you were willing to help a stranger in the mess that the pair of you found yourselves swept up in, what would you do for someone you thought was a friend? A lover? Perhaps the wizard of—at the time—unknown power, quite frankly threatening incineration, were his knife to continue its trajectory, did encourage a modicum of restraint and de-escalation on his part, though he will never give him such credit.

However, the most unexpected change in plans was the direct, albeit slightly painful, mental link shared between him and you. You were infected—same as him—by a Mind Flayer parasite, ready to take over your body and destroy your mind in an alarmingly short timeframe.

You were an ally—a useful one and tentatively worth sparing—so long as you could continue to benefit him.

So, he started with a simple introduction: “My name's Astarion.” Spoken with a dramatic flair and a sickeningly sweet undertone that could only be found after two hundred years of charming pretty faces and innocent minds. In the moments between his introduction and the offering of your name, while the words still clung to the empty air between, Astarion formulated a new plan. It was brilliantly simple and borderline foolproof. All he had to do was convince you to fall for it, and his safety was nearly guaranteed.

(He now knows that hindsight always paints a clearer portrait than the present, and he is a fool in more ways than any would dare to calculate.)

He started small, coated his words in honey, and never oversold the part—playing into the role of the mysterious charmer that he had perfected all those years ago. He was honest, reliable, and always came to your aid during battle; he made you believe he was someone that could be trusted, no matter what your instincts may have convinced you otherwise. He was charismatic. A stolen glance here, an accidental touch there, a subtle look in his eyes that betrayed far more debaucherous intentions than what a gentleman such as himself would ever dare voice in the presence of someone as pure as you.

Perhaps, though, he erred too close to the side of caution and played his part too carefully. Vampirism is no easy condition to conceal, and the lesser creatures he managed to feast on during the night were horribly unsuitable to sustain him in the midst of such a perilous—and quite frankly, exhausting—journey. He was in a rapidly deteriorating state and worsening by the minute; he needed an intelligent, thinking creature to sink his teeth into if he wished to be of any use. He could not imagine a universe in which he would be allowed to remain in the company if he could not pull his own weight in battle or the camp.

He obscenely and undeniably fucked up when he chose to attempt to sink his fangs into the supple skin of the pretty little neck he nearly mared just a few weeks prior. He could not identify exactly why he believed he could get away with such an act undetected; his extreme hunger could be to blame, though he could not deny that the sweetness of your blood caused an insatiable stirring in his gut—he could smell it from six feet away. It permeated the air around him, nearly making him dizzy with the want—no, the need—to taste you. If hunger had driven him mad once again, then you were to blame, and therefore you were responsible for paying.

All thoughts of your reparations, however, were thrown from his mind the moment your eyes opened and he remembered that you possessed the ability to end his unnaturally long “life.”

“Shit.” His mind was completely blank. “It- It’s not what it looks like. I swear.” He could only hope that his performance would award him a standing ovation and the momentary benefit of the doubt: “I wasn't going to hurt you. I just needed... well, blood.”

It was not the confession he hoped to perform for you. He was meant to come to you, fully conscious, and present the idea as his own—he would choose to come to and confide in you. (I feel as though you and I have a… strong bond. I believe I can trust you. I cannot bear to keep this from you a moment longer.) with pretty words and round eyes. Instead, he was on his back foot and practically begging you not to ram a stake through his ribs.

And that is where his brilliantly simple plan began to pay off…

For a time.

You offered your body to him in more ways than one, and he intended to take full advantage of them all.

The sex was easy; it came to him perhaps more naturally than his flirtatious demeanor. He gave you the performance of a lifetime—he fed you borderline godly pleasures on a silver spoon while you dug your nails into grassy forest beds and moaned his name into the treetops. He knew exactly what to do to your body; he hit every single pleasure point with beautiful precision, used his mouth in all of the right places, sprinkled in the perfect praises, and made you beg just enough to make you believe you had to work for the pleasure of being underneath him and you deserved to be rewarded for it. He made sure every little word from his mouth was almost as perfect as what his mouth could do to you.

(Gods, you're beautiful.)

(Tell me how you want it. Use your words.)

(It’s as if the Gods made you to ruin me.)

He did not mean a single moment of it…

He knows he didn't. He knows, without an unparalleled doubt, that he did not mean a single sugar-coated word when he spoke in those intimate moments. He knows how vile he felt before, during, and after; he knows the suffocating self-loathing that consumed him for days after your first late-night tryst and every single night after that. He knows that, deep down, he wants you to see him as more than a sexual being, though he is not sure what else he could possibly be if not this. He knows that his manipulation was calculated and intentional; you were meant to be nothing more than a means to an end. You would help him remove this cursed tadpole embedded in his brain; you would help him kill his former master; and you would help him grasp a power that has never before been held by another vampire. You would hand him the entire world because he convinced you that he deserved it, and then he would dispose of you, as he did with the rest of his victims.

It was a brilliantly simple plan, and yet it all managed to fall apart. He is sure he played out every step perfectly, and somehow, you managed to change his plans once more.

It was never more apparent to him than right now.

Right now, as he watches you saunter around the camp, offering various greetings and the most beautiful smile he believes he has ever seen in his two hundred years of life, he realizes that you are the most incredible being he has ever gazed upon. And never has it been more apparent to him that he is a rotten thing—nothing more than a bloodthirsty monster that pretends he can believably wear the mask of a man. He thinks this is the closest thing to love he has ever felt, and even now, he will never be able to show it to you in a way that means something.

How could he have been so stupid?

How could he not have anticipated this outcome?

How could he have been so ignorant of the pining in his heart and wound up in such a situation?

His inner turmoil must have been more obvious than he would have preferred, because when you approached him, your face screamed with worry. “Astarion?” You questioned, “You look... stressed.” He was unable to find the words to respond. Something about the light shining on the hard lines of your face, leaving a shadow that danced across your cheekbones, captivated him, and he lacked the strength to look away—he doesn't think he wants to. Perhaps he could spend one hundred years gazing on the wonderful imperfections and blemishes on your skin until he has memorized every detail through the end of time, so that when you are no longer breathing, he may breathe your life once again himself, so that when another one hundred years have passed and you are nothing more than ash in the ground, he will be able to recall every minute detail of your face.

“Are you okay?”

He is on another plane of existence until the sweetness of your voice walks him back into the present.

“I… I think we need to talk.” His voice betrays him, just as his face did moments before.

You respond as you always have—with care and concern and a compassion running so deeply through your veins, it would be impossible to fabricate: “Are you alright?”

And he realizes the answer is no. He realizes that no matter the intensity of his devotion (or perhaps, is this what love is supposed to feel like?), he can never undo the damage he has caused. He can never change the sweet little lies he whispered into your ear late at night as you exposed your body to him; he can never change the intentional manipulation behind his words as he told you of your beauty; and he can never remedy the fact that he took advantage of you. You—who is made of honeysuckle and mandarins, who he has grown to so deeply care for, who he will ruin in a heartbeat if he were to ever truly love you. And perhaps he will never be able to love you. Perhaps if you are not a target, then you will never truly be anything to him; he is far too damaged to ever love you in a way that is pure and without the promise of personal gain. Perhaps he has always been and always will be a monster and deserves such treatment. He will never be able to share your bed without feeling disgust and hatred for himself. He will never be your lover, no matter how desperately he now knows he wishes to be.

“No—Yes, I just… feel awful.” Your face tells him he owes more of an explanation. He knows you are owed it. “Look, I had a plan. A nice, simple plan—seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so that you would never turn on me. It was easy... instinctive.” For a moment, his voice tries to betray the weight of this confession, but he knows there is no softening the blow of this—of both a confession of love (is this what love is supposed to feel like? I think I would rather choose the stake.) and an admission of guilt, and he is unsure if one is enough to outweigh the other. He knows this is the end; he knows you will finally see him for the wretched thing he is, and he will once again find himself alone and lonely.

(He now realizes these are two very different states of being.)

“All you had to do was fall for it.” Your face is twisted into something resembling grief. “And all I had to do was not fall for you… which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” Your eyebrows are furrowed together, and your face has morphed into something entirely unreadable, but you almost seem relieved.

“I…” Another sigh: “You deserve something real.” He cannot bring himself to look into your eyes.

A heavy sigh escapes your mouth as your eyebrows relax. “I only want you.”

“Why?”

“I don't believe you to be the monster you think you are.” If he had a heartbeat, he is confident that would have stopped it. He cannot fathom a universe where he is more than what his master made him to be.

“You don't know me.”

“Then show me who you are, Astarion.” He isn't sure when you managed to get so close to him. “Let me be here for you.”

“You don't know what you're asking for.” He can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He will never be able to give you what you’re asking for, yet you still seem to want him all the same. He knows that he is no good, that he will never be more than the image Cazador sculpted him in; he is capable of tenderness no more than the Gods are capable of answering his cries for help. And yet, here you stand—headstrong as ever, practically begging him to give this a chance, and he desperately wants it. “It’s rotten work.”

“Not to me.” Your hand reaches into the space between you to gently cup his face.

“I can't give you what you want. Being close to someone—any kind of intimacy—was something I… performed to lure people back for him. I know this is different; we’re different, but it still feels… tainted.”

“I already told you what I want.” His eyes met yours for the first time since you approached his tent. “You. Whatever it is you have to offer, I want it. It's not a dirty job; it's just you.”

For a brief moment, Astarion is able to lose himself in such a fantasy; your eyes shine as though galaxies were constructed in your irises, and he can spot no inkling of deception. Your hand is soft against his cheek as he leans into the warmth of your touch, and it does not go unnoticed that you choose to keep your hand placement modest—as though you were a gentleman dancing with a lady in a fancy ballroom while all the guests silently stared.

“I don't know what to do from here.” He places his hand over yours and leans into your touch even harder—he almost resembles a wounded dog, searching for any ounce of tenderness he can find in this midst of such an ugly world—”But I know that this... this is nice."

As you wrap your arms around his waist and nestle your head into the crook of his shoulder, Astarion believes that this is something he may be able to get used to. 

Thank u for reading !!! Prob making a part 2 that is more .... idk angsty and more "I'll take care of you" if yall want it

[epiicaricacy-arts]

oh we’re still so young, desperate for attention

this was super experimental so i will talk about my process (+ clearer version) under the cut

i’ve been looking at a lot of “messier” or more textured painting styles recently and an artist that stuck out to me is clariondeluna ! they posted a self-portrait recently that i really liked and i was super interested in the brushwork seen in their work. i love all the textures and how the shapes feel so loose yet everything is so detailed.

that’s not a method for me at all!!!! i cannot paint like that at all and the stuff i like to paint is very different to theirs. which is okay!!!! i had no intention to copy this artists style so closely like with what i tried to do in my raiden painting, i just wanted to try this style out :^)

it’s been a goal of mine to avoid over-rendering like i tend to do a lot, and i think i’ve been doing good with that recently! the mindset i’ve got going on right now is that if i find myself staring at it too hard for too long, i have to leave it and move on. if there’s still something wrong with it, i can fix it later once ive got a fresh view!

i’ve been trying a lot of things with my art this year. i always try to challenge myself with each piece, and to end the year off i wanted to be as uncomfortable as i possibly could be with this painting. i let myself draw whatever i wanted because i still wanted to enjoy it, but everything i did in this process was new, including parts of the subject matter.

i’ve never drawn a head at an angle like this, and i struggle with drawing mouths open. i don’t do bold lighting like this, and if i do, it’s not fire. i’ve never drawn fire! i also rarely work with warm colours and i hate using green, so i combined those to be my colour palette. i like working cleanly so instead of having a dozen different layers for one section, each section only had 1-2 layers for rendering. instead of clipping masks i would simply paint over things loosely and clean it up later. i never like having limbs cut off in a drawing so i had his other arm go GOD knows where. i don’t like weird patterned backgrounds so i made myself figure out how to like it!

IS THIS MY FAVOURITE PIECE OF ALL TIME. no. absolutely not. but i’m very proud of how this came out with all the challenges i put on myself. i WANTED to get better at these things and be more broad with my art, both in terms of the styles and subjects i portray.

okay let’s talk about wtf this drawing is

for those who don’t know, the design in this painting is my fatui/“Father” lyney fan design (read the design post here). the concept isnt super complicated and i don’t really have much explanation for it, but i wanted to combine the story of how lyney wanted a delusion before getting his vision, fire eating circus acts and how olympic medalists will bite their medal to prove it’s real??? don’t quote me on that i’m like 75% sure that’s a thing that happens. i don’t watch sports though so im just believing someone i heard on the internet ages ago.

anyways. i think fire eating acts are cool. and i think the fact that lyney wanted a delusion is very interesting to me. scratches my brain in the right places. and yk as a magician lyneys character revolves a lot around fooling people and creating illusions so i guess what im saying here is that lyney is trying to prove to himself that this power he’s been bestowed is real. bc his whole life his only constant has been lynette so he is trying to see if he can trust this new power. cause i guess this is an alternate universe where lyney does eventually become “Father” but he never got his vision ??? idk im not making lore for this i just wanted to dress up this funny little guy.

ok i’m done

thanks for reading

here’s my dog

[levithestripper]

Misc. Peeta Mellark Headcanons

warnings: fluff, gender-neutral reader.

length: 1k || read on ao3 || join my taglist

notes: just a lil something to help me get back into the swing of things after not writing for a while! hope you enjoy ’em, even though it’s a bit short.

Never hesitates to give you his jacket or sweater if he sees you’re cold. He pretends not to notice that the clothes he gives you never return to his closet.

When he kisses you, he always cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

You had no idea just how much one person could bake before you met him. It seems like you get a new baked good every other day. Cupcakes, themed cakes, loaves of sourdough bread, muffins, pasta, you name it, and it’s probably on his list to bake for you.

Peeta loves teaching you how to draw/paint!! He’ll sit outside with you on a nice day and walk you through how to draw a frog or something else simple. By sunset, both papers are filled edge to edge with stick frogs, flowers, hearts, and sad-looking deer. Peeta dates both sheets and leaves cute little notes next to some of your drawings for you to find later.

Most of his own paintings are of you. Some are posed, and some are candid. The candid ones are Peeta’s favorite. You get his favorite portrait framed as a birthday present, and he nearly cries when he opens it. Before you could ask if he liked it, he kissed you, then kissed all over your face, where you both erupted with giggles.

This boy is so stupidly adorable it has to be some form of disease. You’ll catch him sitting across from you with a lovesick smile, his blond hair illuminated by the setting sun he loves so much. You tease him about it, making him blush, which only makes him all the cuter.

At the start of your relationship, Peeta had little self-worth/confidence in himself. He didn’t have much to offer you in terms of money or pretty clothes, but he soon realized you didn’t care about any of that. You like him for him, not for what you could gain from him.

If he’s forced to pick just one thing, Peeta’s favorite part about your body is your hands. Why’re they his favorite? Because that’s one of the main ways you show your love for him. Holding his hands, cupping his face, cooking meals, smoothing them across his chest, that kinda stuff.

He would hug you all day, every day, if he could. This man is a hugger to beat all huggers.

Peeta wants to start a family with you, whatever that family ends up looking like. Just you, him, and a few pets? A-okay with him. A child or two? Count him in! As long as Peeta gets to spend the rest of his life with you, he’s happy, no matter what it looks like.

Definitely uses pet names like “honey,” “sweetheart,” and “my love.”

This man never not has a smile on his face. You’ll catch him staring at you from his seat in the living room with the stupidest, lovesick grin spread across his features as he watches you do whatever it is you’re doing.

When Peeta plans on proposing, he organizes an entire day of fun activities for both of you. He knows exactly how he wants to propose: in a gazebo, hidden by the blanket of night, illuminated only by the mood lighting he set up the day before. But it never ends up happening. The two of you were dancing in the living room to your record player, nose to nose, pressed so close to one another he couldn’t tell where he ended and where you began. As he swayed, Peeta whispered, “will you marry me?” It wasn’t what he had planned, but the outcome was exactly what he had hoped.

He’s not the biggest partaker of PDA, but he’s not averse to it. He’ll hold your hand, kiss your cheek, that kinda stuff, but he won’t make it obvious or rub it in other people’s faces.

Peeta’s very hard to anger, so he’s great to vent to. He’ll always be up for listening to your problems and helping you fix them if that’s what you want. If you just need someone to listen and not try to resolve whatever you’re upset about, he’s perfect for that too.

Peeta starts a garden full of your favorite flowers. Once they grow tall and bloom, he picks them to make a bouquet for you.

At night, he has to be touching you in some way or form to be able to fall asleep. Holding hands, you sleeping on his chest, spooning, you name it. He needs to know you’re still there so he can allow himself to relax enough.

Peeta gets up before you, so he loves to wake you up with kisses. Rapid fire against your cheeks, forehead, nose, the palm of your hand, up your arm, basically anywhere he can reach.

When it comes to Valentine’s Day (objectively his favorite day, minus your anniversary), he surprises you with breakfast in bed and fresh homemade muffins. There are fresh-cut roses in a new vase on the dining room table, and the entire house is deep-cleaned from top to bottom. Lunch is a picnic under an old weeping willow tree, followed by cloud gazing. He cooked you your favorite meal, making enough for leftovers. Later, he gifts you a portrait he painted of you in secret. It showed you, facing away from the viewer, sitting on the porch swing, watching the sun set below the rolling hills of District 12. When it’s time for dinner, Peeta cooks a classic romantic meal: spaghetti with meatballs by candlelight. The day was the definition of perfect; everything he surprised you with made you fall in love with him all over again.

Throughout Valentine’s Day, Peeta kisses you almost every chance he can get. You look too damn beautiful not to kiss. You don’t look any different than yesterday, and you won’t look any different in the days to come, but none of that matters to him. Your beauty never fails to floor him, and today was no exception.