#your artistic vision is impeccable.

[kieren-fucking-walker]

Me, looking at home decor knowing I have expensive taste in wallpaper: oh wow that's nice! It's.... Oh I have expensive expensive taste in wallpaper.

[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[yandere--stuck]

Is it possible to make a request headcanons for Yandere BTAS Oswald Cobblepot?(ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

🐧 Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot is, above all things, a man with impeccable taste. It's only natural that he'd set his sights on you. A vision of pure enchantment. Divinity in human form. A marble sculpture made flesh, allowing unworthy, mortal eyes to bask in your grace. As a collector of fine art, Oswald knew he had to have you. In a room full of art, he'd only desire to steal you.

☂️ Using the wealth, power, and connections he's accrued over his criminal career, Oswald is easily able to gain information on you. He sends out some of his underlings to keep watch over you, keep track of your routine, and relay any and all findings on you back to him. Such knowledge is key to the courtship process, after all. What kind of suitor would he be if he knew nothing of his lovebird?

🐧 Oswald will likely incorporate a mixture of both his and your interests into future thefts in an attempt to catch your eye. If you have a favorite artist, news coverage will suddenly report that The Penguin has also developed an interest in plundering their work. You may or may not find your favorite prices suddenly displayed in your home. When he finally reveals himself to you, he aims to spoil you even more. The finest of garments, quality cooking, luxury furnishings… In fact, why stay anywhere else but his manor? You deserve nothing but the best, the perfect home, and… Well, Oswald has so many, big empty rooms…

☂️ Oswald also makes sure to inform his fellow Rogues that you are completely off-limits with regards to any crimes they may commit, even if only incidentally. He wants you safe and sound, and will not allow you to fall victim to criminal activity because of the life he's chosen.

🐧 Oswald is able to convince himself that any of your refutations on the nature of your relationship can be waved away as shyness or insecurity on your part. As such, he wants nothing more than to reassure you that you deserve all the love he has to offer. And, with him being rather affectionate, he typically uses touch to prove this to you. Being a gentleman, Oswald loves bestowing kisses upon your hand or cheek when in public. He'll also whisper sweet nothings into your ear in hopes of making you flustered. In a more private environment, he's especially fond of cuddling, and may even try to preen you if he gets caught up in the moment.

☂️ He's semi-lucid in terms of his awareness that you may not return his feelings. It's a constant creeping feeling at the back of his mind left behind by Ms. Vreeland and her cohorts. However, Oswald is able to quell these concerns with the excuse that you only act so hesitant to be with him due to concerns with the law. It makes sense, doesn't it? You wouldn't want to appear complicit in any of Oswald's criminal activities lest you also be punished by Gotham's joke of a justice system. In fact, Oswald wouldn't have it any other way. The only thing that matters to him is your safety and happiness. But, he doesn't dare ask if it truly is the case. He doesn't want to ruin this for himself, just in case. He doesn't want to shatter the illusion. He just wants to be happy and to make you happy and for you to love him as much as he does you. Just let him have this, please.

[rubberizer92]

🌈✨ Welcome to the fourth and last group of round two in Latex Legends League Season 6! ⚡️🔥 With 24 remaining candidates, the competition is heating up! One third has already been eliminated, and six more will not make it to the next round on their journey to become the next Latex Legend. 🌟🔥

This round is all about creating stunning sculptures, and our next candidate from this group is ready to impress! 🎨✨

Next up is Sascha from Germany 🇩🇪, who felt that he himself is rather the rubberized sculpture. Hence, he decided to be dressed in the finest black rubber suit he found with stunningly shiny golden details. 😍🔥 Sascha’s incredible look and artistic vision make for a powerful combination, showcasing his impeccable style and creativity. 😎✨

Feel the artistry and allure as Sascha poses, his body a testament to the beauty of latex and art combined. 🎨🖤 Can you handle the intensity? Will you be swayed by his irresistible charm? 🖤👀

Vote for Sascha 🇩🇪 and join us in this celebration of love, pride, art, and the ultimate latex fantasy! Don't miss a single moment - head over to Instagram Stories and Feed, Threads, Tumblr, and X to cast your vote! 📲💥

[kyujism]

credit › @jihyoruri ! this is heavily inspired so please read theirs first :) they were the ones with the original idea!

synopsis › hanni and y/n are both gucci ambassadors and have amazing chemistry. Some of their fans even create clips of them.

warnings › none this just a drabble

pairing › hanni pham x gucci ambassador idol!reader

Clip 1: The Fashion Frenzy

Yn and Hanni were in the bustling backstage of a Gucci fashion show. Surrounded by models, designers, and a whirlwind of activity, they exchange excited glances. Yn, with her impeccable eye for detail, notices Hanni’s Gucci scarf.

Yn: "Hanni, your Gucci scarf is on wrong.. Let me help you adjust it just right wait."

Hanni: Y/nnn! You always have an eye for those perfect details. calm down a little."

They share a quick laugh, their energy contagious, as they prepare to take their seats front row.

Clip 2: The Glamorous Getaway

Yn and Hanni, dressed in head-turning Gucci outfits, step out of a sleek black limousine onto the red carpet of a star-studded event. Flashing cameras capture their every move as they strike confident poses, showcasing their unique styles. With an air of elegance, they link arms and gracefully make their way inside, ready to set the night on fire. They were always known for their graceful poses together their walks and photoshoots never miss!

Yn: "Hanni, can you believe we're walking this red carpet together? We're living the Gucci dream!"

Hanni: "Absolutely! We're the ultimate dynamic duo, ready to conquer the fashion world. Let's make a statement tonight!"

With an air of elegance, they link arms and gracefully make their way inside, ready to set the night on fire.

Clip 3: Going Live - Behind the Scenes

Yn and Hanni take their followers on a journey behind the scenes of a Gucci photoshoot. The camera follows them as they mingle with the crew, showcasing the intricate details that go into creating a stunning fashion campaign.

Yn: "Welcome to the set! Today, we're giving you an exclusive sneak peek into the world of fashion photography."

Hanni: "It's not just about posing and looking pretty. There's a whole team working together to bring the vision to life."

Yn and Hanni chat with the photographers, stylists, and makeup artists, offering glimpses into their creative process and the collaborative efforts that make a fashion shoot come alive. They giggled trying to act as professional as they could.

“To bring the vision to life!” Y/n teases Hanni mimicking her voice not realizing the camera was on her..

“Oh sh-” The clip cuts off suddenly but u can hear Hanni at the end trying to cover Y/n’s mouth

Clip 4: Fashion Haul

Yn and Hanni sit in a cozy corner of a luxurious Gucci boutique, surrounded by shopping bags and designer pieces. They excitedly go live to share their latest fashion haul with their fans.

Yn: "Hello, everyonee! We are here by gucci to promoted their latest bags and fashion clothing. Get ready to see some incredible pieces."

As they unveil each item, Hanni discusses her styling ideas, Y/n offers fashion tips, and they both engage with their audience, creating an interactive and exciting experience for their followers.

These additional scenes focus on Yn and Hanni's live appearances, allowing them to interact with their fans, share fashion insights, and give exclusive behind-the-scenes glimpses into the world of Gucci ambassadors.

[communistkenobi]

I’ve been reading some Bourdieu recently and one thing he talks about in his lectures (in principles of vision specifically) is the creation of the artist as a professional class in France - rich people wanted paintings in their homes, especially replicas of famous European works, and so French art universities overwhelmingly taught artists to copy the style of historic painters so that they could be hired by the bourgeois to replicate famous works - “The problem is not to invent but to perform well… the subject does not matter, what counts is the impeccable manner of treating it…” (p36, 2024) are these people not still artists? Are they merely copy-cats, thieves, and charlatans?

Bourdieu also talks about how this produces a dominant view of art where art must always be “for” something - “Telling people ‘That’s worth painting, that’s not worth painting’ means saying ‘that’s worth looking at and getting people to look at it’, and getting people to look at it is establishing it as being worth looking at, and more, being worthy of being represented. Now ‘being worthy of being represented’ is fundamental: this is the monopoly of defining legitimate symbolic reproduction. This is a typically sovereign power: the kind which says that in the last analysis the only thing worthy of being represented is the king.” (p 35, 2024)

and we are arriving at this same definition again with AI art - that it “means nothing” because it is not depicting the king, or rather, it is not painted in laborious service to the king. Sovereign in this definition is the labour of the artist, separate and superior to all other forms of labour involved in this artistic process. My dismissal of these arguments is not to obliterate the definition of artist or say no one is an individual, but if you want to take seriously the idea that art is a social process (and social processes can be bad, destructive, and horrifying, and so on, just as they can be just, beautiful, and equal), that art is a communal craft, your objection to AI cannot rest on this idea of labour and ‘intent’ - whose intent matters in this definition? To what ends?

[taeu7]

"When we were getting married"

one shot

The hall was a canvas painted with the most exquisite flowers from around the world. Roses, peonies, and hydrangeas cascaded down the walls like waterfalls of petals, their scent a sweet symphony to the senses. The fairy lights, now like a constellation of stars, twinkled above, casting a celestial glow on the guests who were whispering in awe.

Sheer curtains, the color of the softest dawn, billowed gently, dancing to the silent music of the evening breeze. They framed the panoramic windows which unveiled a scene so serene, it could only be the work of nature's finest artist. The rolling hills, cloaked in emerald, dipped gracefully into the tranquil lake, its surface a mirror reflecting the ballet of the skies.

The guests, adorned in their finery, took their seats on chairs entwined with ribbons of ivy and blooms, their eyes reflecting the golden hour that bathed the world in a warm, amber light. The air was alive with anticipation, every heart beating in harmony with the quiet rustle of the leaves outside.

Taehyung stands resolute at the altar, his hands clasped in front of him, betraying a hint of nervous energy. The tailored beige suit he wears is a testament to his impeccable style, fitting him like a second skin. The white shirt underneath is pristine, its top button secured, giving him an air of formal elegance.

The soft strains of a violin fill the room, wrapping the guests in a blanket of tender emotion. Taehyung's eyes, usually a gateway to his playful soul, now reflect a depth of feeling, a mixture of excitement and the weight of the moment. His gaze is unwavering, fixed on the entrance, where any second now, Y/N will appear.

As the members of BTS stand by his side, they can't help but notice the subtle shift in their friend's demeanor. Jin: "Who would've thought? Our Tae, all grown up and stealing hearts." Suga: "Just don't trip on your way to forever, okay?" J-Hope: "Remember to breathe, Tae. In and out, just like we practiced." RM: "He's only the second most nervous person here. The first? The guy who has to follow this act." Jimin: "If you get cold feet, I'm ready to step in. Just kidding, you got this!" Jungkook: "Hyung, your hands are shaking. Need me to hold them for you?"

Taehyung, amidst the laughter and light-hearted jabs, feels a warmth in his chest, a mix of gratitude and the slightest hint of anxiety.

Taehyung: (with a soft smile) "Keep it up, guys. Your turn will come soon enough."

As he waits, a gentle smile plays on his lips, and his eyes well up with love. Every passing moment seems to be an eternity, yet he embraces the anticipation with a sense of joy. Friends and family observe Taehyung, recognizing the depth of emotion etched on his face as he eagerly awaits the moment when Y/N will step into his life forever.

The moment the doors open, a collective breath is drawn, and time seems to stand still. Y/N steps into the threshold, and the room hushes in reverence. She is the embodiment of a dream, a vision that transcends the mere beauty of the physical world.

Her gown, a masterpiece of design, flows around her like a river of moonlight. The fabric, a symphony of lace and silk,is adorned with intricate patterns that tell a story of timeless elegance. Each step she takes sends ripples through the air, the waterfall of fabric cascading behind her in a trail of pure grace.

A delicate veil rests upon her hair, a gossamer web of finery that catches the light, creating a halo around her. It trails behind her, a whisper of tradition and the promise of the future, all woven into its ethereal threads.

The venue's lights, soft and warm, seem to find their purpose in accentuating the radiant smile that graces Y/N's face. It's a smile that speaks of love and hope, a beacon that shines brighter than any jewel. Her eyes, alight with happiness, scan the room until they find Taehyung's, and in that gaze, a silent vow is made, more powerful than any words could ever be.

As she glides down the aisle, every step is a note in the melody of the wedding march, her presence a chorus of beauty and joy. The guests are captivated, lost in the moment that will be etched in their memories forever, a tale of love that they will recount for years to come.

As Y/N makes her entrance, a hush falls over the crowd, but for Taehyung, the world narrows down to the vision of her walking towards him. His heart, a steady drumbeat in his chest, seems to sync with each step she takes. The emotions welling up inside him are a tempest, a whirlwind of love, awe, and a touch of vulnerability.

Taehyung's eyes, always a window to his soul, shimmer with unshed tears, the joy of the moment crystallizing in their depths. He watches her, this woman who has become his everything, and feels the gravity of their journey together, the paths they've walked to reach this singular point in time.

"Y/N," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the music, "you are the most beautiful dream I never want to wake up from."

The corners of his eyes glisten, the tears held back by sheer will, not out of fear of showing emotion, but from the overwhelming desire to keep his gaze clear, to not miss a single detail of her approach.

Jimin, standing beside him, leans in and murmurs, "She's breathtaking, isn't she?"

Taehyung nods, his throat tight with emotion. "She's the melody to every song I've ever wanted to sing," he replies, his voice thick.

And as Y/N draws closer, the space between them charged with the electricity of their love, Taehyung reaches out a hand, a silent invitation to join him in the dance of their lives.

"Come, let's write our forever," he says, the promise in his eyes more eloquent than any vow spoken aloud.

Y/N takes his hand, her smile a mirror of his own heart, and in that touch, they speak a language only they understand, a language of hearts entwined, of souls united under the banner of love.

In the midst of the enchanting setting, Taehyung and Y/N stood facing each other, surrounded by the soft glow of fairy lights and the sweet scent of flowers. The air was filled with anticipation as they prepared to exchange vows, expressing their deepest feelings for one another.

Taehyung's Vow:

"Y/N," Taehyung's voice resonated with a depth of emotion that the very walls of the hall seemed to absorb and echo back. "The day you entered my life, the universe shifted, painting my world in vibrant hues of love and joy. Now, as we stand here, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, I offer you my solemn vow."

He took a gentle breath, his eyes never leaving Y/N's. "I vow to cherish you, to hold your heart with the tenderest care, and to support you in every endeavor. You are my confidant, the keeper of my secrets, my partner in every burst of laughter that fills our days, and my comfort in the quiet moments of reflection."

His hand reached for hers, a physical manifestation of his words. "With you, life is an endless canvas, each day a stroke of color in the masterpiece we are creating together. I promise to walk beside you on this adventure, to build a tapestry of memories so beautiful, so vivid, that even time itself will pause to admire its splendor."

"As we embark on this journey, hand in hand, heart in heart, I look forward to the lifetime ahead of us, a lifetime of discovering new horizons and cherishing each precious moment. With you, Y/N, every day is a gift, and I am eternally grateful for the love we share." Y/N, her eyes shining with emotion, responded, Y/N's Vow:

"Taehyung," Y/N began, her voice a soft echo in the grandeur of the hall, her eyes glistening like stars in the twilight of their special day. "You are the melody that has given rhythm to the song of my heart. As we stand here, enveloped in the beauty of this moment, I pledge to be by your side through every season that life brings our way."

Her hands found his, a tangible promise in their gentle clasp. "I vow to be your steadfast companion in every burst of joy, your unwavering comfort in the face of challenges, and your devoted partner in the creation of a future rich with love."

A smile, radiant and full of hope, spread across her face. "With you, Taehyung, I have discovered the true essence of home. It is not a place, but a journey with you, a journey where we will grow together, learn together, and evolve as one."

"Today, as we stand on the threshold of forever, I look forward with eager anticipation to a lifetime of shared dreams, a lifetime where each day is a new chapter in our endless story of love." As they exchanged these heartfelt promises, the room seemed to hold its breath, embracing the profound connection between Taehyung and Y/N. The vows were not just words; they were a testament to the depth of their love, resonating with everyone present in the ethereal atmosphere. The soft music played like a gentle melody, underscoring the beauty of this moment where two souls pledged their love and commitment to each other amidst the cascading flowers, fairy lights, and the warmth of their shared dreams.

The world seemed to hold its breath as Taehyung leaned in, the distance between him and Y/N diminishing with each heartbeat. The room, wrapped in a gentle hush, was thick with anticipation, every eye fixed on the couple, every heart sharing in the silent crescendo of the moment.

Their eyes closed, and as they inched closer, drawn by the invisible force of their love, the air around them seemed to shimmer with the promise of their union. The guests leaned forward, captivated by the intimacy of the moment, the very essence of romance hanging delicately in the balance.

And then, just as their lips were a mere whisper apart, a jarring blare of alarms sliced through the serenity, a stark, discordant note that shattered the dreamlike veil. The room erupted into a chaos of sound, the spell of the ceremony broken as heads turned in confusion.

Taehyung's eyes snapped open, his expression a mix of concern and surprise. The tender moment lost, replaced by a rush of adrenaline as he instinctively reached out to protect Y/N, drawing her close.

"What's happening?" Y/N's voice trembled, her words barely audible over the cacophony of alarms.

"We'll find out, just stay close," Taehyung assured her, his voice steady despite the uncertainty that now clouded the once perfect day.

As the reality of the situation set in, the guests rose from their seats, a murmur of concern spreading through the crowd. The fairy tale scene had taken an unexpected turn, and now, all awaited the unfolding of events with bated breath.

In an instant, the serenity shattered, the sound of alarms slicing through the dream like a knife through silk. Taehyung and Y/N, their moment of unity interrupted, turned in shock as the idyllic world around them began to crumble.

The alarms grew louder, more insistent, a stark reminder that reality was calling. The guests, once statuesque in their admiration, now moved in a blur, their forms dissolving into the ether of Y/N's mind.

With a start, Y/N's eyes snapped open, the tranquility of her room a stark contrast to the chaos of her dream. The wedding, the vows, the kiss that almost was—all of it had been a figment of her vivid imagination. The alarms, now identified as the mundane beeping of her alarm clock, continued their relentless call.

For a moment, Y/N lay still, her heart still racing from the dream's intensity. The images, so clear and so beautiful, lingered in her mind's eye, a tapestry of what could be. A smile, small but genuine, curved her lips as she pondered the whimsical nature of her subconscious.

And there, in the quiet of her room, Y/N allowed herself one last fleeting thought of the dream. Taehyung, her heart's chosen companion in a world spun from the threads of dreams, remained a sweet echo in the silence of the morning.

As she silenced the alarm, the smile remained, a secret shared between her and the breaking dawn. The dream was over, but the day was new—a blank page on which to write her own story, perhaps one day as enchanting as the dream itself.

Author’s Note:

Hello Readers,

I wanted to share a little story with you, one that came to me in a dream. It was so vivid and beautiful that I felt the need to write it down and Keep as memory.

I apologize if at any point the story doesn’t quite capture the magic I experienced. Dreams have a way of being grander and more vivid than any reality we can construct. But if you find even a fraction of the joy in reading it that I found in dreaming it, then I consider my mission accomplished.

Thank you for taking the time to delve into this narrative, for walking with me through the landscapes of my mind, and for allowing me to share something so personal. Your engagement with my words is the greatest gift a writer could ask for.

Thank you!

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I loove the whole vibe of the 'Bucky is just trying to make some eggs' ask and it got me thinking what if Buck was trying to torture Steve even more and agreed to 'just the tip' only. Only to learn that he himself can't resist to chase that fullness, that thickness, shimmering and undulating his hips more and more, needing something to touch his sweet spot, fill him fully. Pulling at his nipples and suckling at Steve's fingers, moaning like the whore he is.

Steve of course being all smug about it, trying to hold back to see how desperate and slutty can Bucky get, but in the end failing miserably.

Btw I love your work so much S, your blog is certainly one of the best on the whole Tumblr! Sending hug.

related to this

Thank you so much, I'm honored that you think so!

Now, here we go 😏

Bucky was--emphasis on was--on his way out of the fucking door right when Steve came tumbling out of their office-turned-into-Steve's-art-studio. Of course. What else could Bucky expect other than his own impeccably bad timing? Because Steve had been in there for hours, doing God knows what, wrapped up in the sweeping arms of creation, making him forget everything but the act itself. His big, buff artist boyfriend should be coming out for food and water and a bathroom break. But Bucky knew just by the way Steve's eyes scanned the room that it was not one of those primal needs he was looking to sate. Steve's body doesn't turn languid and syrupy with the lust for water or the pressing urge to piss and his eyes don't fill with hunger like that for food. Nah.

And so, fine, maybe underneath the mental complaints Bucky's dick had twitched at the thought of being just as important to Steve as those needs to live, maybe more important even--the ever-present, nuclear, serum-powered need to stuff his dick into a nice, hot, tight hole--sue him.

Buuuut he has things to do. He's not like Steve. Definitely not. When his dick calls, he doesn't have to pick up the phone every time. He, sometimes, even has the strength to slam down the phone and hang up (somewhere in there there's a pun about leaving himself hanging and being hung). So, he huffed and rolled his eyes and pretended to not want Steve's hands on him. He was already dressed with his feet shoved into his boots. He doesn't have the time for dick right now, batting those insistent, dinner-plate palms away. S'what he deserves, a little lovey slapping 'cause he's an annoying, buzzing fly insisting on circling Bucky when there's literally so much space in the apartment for him to fly around.

Ugh.

Again. But. Because Steve knows just where to grab and press and tug at him, aligning their bodies from tip to tail, his thigh hot and big between Bucky's legs, Bucky's back pressed against the inside of their front door... he crumbled.

Not his proudest moment.

"Just the fuckin' tip," Bucky growls, already not meaning it. If Steve wants to be pushy, though, Bucky's allowed to hit back. Give and take. That's a relationship. This is what they do. They play games. They've been together their whole entire lives, they're allowed to invent new, snarky ways to fuck with each other.

Unpressured and unsurprised, Steve laughs at him.

And Bucky may have been joking before but, oh, oh no. He won't have that. Steve is gonna eat shit. He will. Steve might seem more competitive and stubborn from the outside, but that's because he's a donkey. Bucky is a horse by comparison. Similar but also nowhere near as widely known for being an ass.

"I fucking mean it," Bucky fists that dangerously blonde head of hair, pulling at it until his neck arches so they're eye-to-eye rather than offset with Bucky staring into space, vision blurry, eyelids heavy, as Steve's hot, wet, red lips attach to his collarbone, sucking and gnawing at him like a dog with a new bone. Toying with him. "Just the tip," he repeats himself, steeling his voice the best he can when he feels anything but. Well. His dick is steel, but the rest of him is about as resistant as a twist tie between someone's fingers. "Get off and lemme go," he goes on, "I got shit to do, Rogers. Be quick. Y'know, you're usual M.O."

Steve, surprisingly, doesn't complain too much or shove back at him, getting off on how they can talk shit. It's just, "you say the sweetest things, Buck." He can't be too offended, though, because he's using those mits to shove his pants and underwear down and spread his cheeks to check and--"still wet from this morning, hmm?" He's pleased with what he finds.

Bucky grunts, barely keeping himself from shuddering with one, oh, two of Steve's fingers probing his hole. Still slick and slack, just like he said. Fuck, Bucky hates it when he's right. it's not his fault, though! Steve just can't fucking keep it in his pants.

Never.

"You were planning on going out like this?" Steve rubs around his gaping rim with those damn thick, calloused artist fingers, asking him with just about the same inflection as if he's questioning why he's wearing a scarf for summer weather.

Bucky's entire gut ties itself into a knot, nearly pushing a too-obvious sound of enjoyment out of him. Groaning. Steve's big, dumb, caveman fingers feel good, touching him where he's about to split him open, again, so what? Big whoop. "Dhh--I d-don't have much of a choice with you on me all the time, now do I? You're worse than a barnacle," he tries to hit back. His shot misses by a mile, not hitting him where it counts but in the ego instead--

Blondes, Bucky swears.

"You saying you're loose 'cause 'a me?" Bucky doesn't need to see Steve's face to know he's grinning like a lunatic.

"Pfft," he blows out a breath of hot air, more annoyed sounding than he really can manage to be so long as Steve's hands are on him, touching him, teasing him, "as if anyone could be loose with the fucking canon between your legs."

Steve bites his throat, locking his jaws around him until he whimpers. Then, victorious, he growls, "guess you're lucky I'm just sticking the tip in then like you want, hmm?"

"Uh-hhhuuh," Bucky starts to agree, but the sound is turned guttural and embarrassingly strung out by the quick, hot shove of the fat tip of Steve's cock into him. No warning. Just sudden murderously good, hot pleasure.

Oh, fuck.

Steve isn't done, apparently--that's not the end of his plundering of Bucky's body and pride, why would it be? How could it be? Steve's a fucking donkey. Bucky doesn't even know why he likes him save for that drool-worthy cock, and speaking of...

Steve shifts his hips back and the tip pops out, sliding past his rim, making it stretch stretch stretch then go lax abruptly. Empty. Bucky whimpers, far too devastated when he knows he's getting the tip right back. He knows! But, guh, as Steve shoves his way back inside, just the first inch, maybe two if he's lucky, Bucky moans, startled by how nice it feels. Yes. And that's how it goes.

Whimper-moan, whimper-moan, whimper-moan.

Out-in, out-in, out-in.

Steve shoves in and fucks back out.

The bastard could easily keep the tip of it inside and grind smoothly, he's got the muscle control and stamina for it, but he doesn't. He's being rough on purpose. Intentionally driving Bucky wild by fucking him in a jerky, both unsatisfying and over-satisfying way.

And, of course, just as Bucky starts to moan more and try to uncoordinatedly bat at his shoulder, wanting to badger him into just keeping it inside, please, god, it'd be so much less maddening that way--as is, he's shuddering, his rim is all sensitive and raw and hot feeling and he can't deal with it--Steve uses the tip of his cock to draw around his rim like he's smearing lipstick over Bucky's mouth. It makes him feel dirty. Used. Depraved.

Ohmyfuckinggod.

"Told you to do just the tip," Bucky hisses, pissed, so fucking frustrated with all this tension under his skin, deep in his muscles, he wants, Steve just needs to stop being such a--fuuuck. The way it stretches and pulls at his rim is too good. "So keep it in or get off me."

"Sorry, Buck," Steve's starting to pant, the only evidence of his breaking apart. Good. He deserves it. "Honey," his breath hitches before he really gets into it, "I can't help it! You're just so wet, I keep slipping out!" He has the gall to say all that, full of faux-innocence.

Bastard.

Bucky groans, "uunnngh," letting his head drop back, not caring when his skull connects with the wooden door. It hurts but the shock of sensation is welcome when he's fighting tooth and nail for crumbs from Steve. Fine. He curls his fingers into fists, arms thrown around Steve's neck indulgently.

Fine.

He can deal with this. He was tortured for seventy fucking years. Of course, he can take this. He can deal with a little bit of sexual frustration. No sweat. He can--

A cracked, nearly-shattered noise slips out of his lips. High and needy. Maybe he can't. The shove-in and pull-out is too good, each stretch and release of his overused rim makes him want to fucking die. Mouth hanging open, drool about to slip off his puffy, buzzing bottom lip, chest heaving so hard he's lightheaded, hyperventilating, and, just, it all leaves him with no choice but to swivel his hips and force himself down onto that fucking cock with the latest unsatisfyingly shallow thrust in Steve gives him. He won't give? Fine, Bucky will just take more of it.

It's agonizing, though, because it's not enough.

With the next harder, deeper roll of his hips down, Steve's big, infuriatingly steady hands catch his hips, "woah, Buck," he murmurs, holding him as he coos at him like he's a spooked horse, soothing his big, hot, heavy hands down his sides, shushing him, "watch yourself, Buck, you're gonna get more then the tip if you do that."

Bucky groans and breaks enough to let himself nod. Just a quick, barely budging up and down. He can't spare more than that, it's too humiliating. His pride. He won't have his pride more loose and fucked out than his hole, he wouldn't be able to bear it.

"But you said-" Steve's voice should be waaay more strained and less innocent. This is criminal. Bucky knows what he said but he doesn't fucking care now. Ugh. Read the room, Rogers! Bucky likes him the most when he's whimpering, humping him, and finishing in two quick pumps like an inexperienced frat boy, big and muscular but with the spirit of a golden retriever puppy in his huge chest, red in the face but unspeakably satisfied from finally, finally getting his dick wet.

"Don't care," Bucky grits, using his supposed superstrength against Steve's. It's a shame his strength seems to be shot to shit when he's being fucked-but-not-fucked-enough, so he just ends up squirming there uselessly. Not even pinned by cock, just barely scraping his toes against the ground, otherwise completely dependent on his asshole boyfriend.

Steve.

Steve's a good boy. Yeah, right. He's awful, following what Bucky said knowing that he's cursing his own words with venom right now.

Squirming harder, Bucky bites, "c'mon, just gimmie it--"

He can show Steve stubborn. Fuck him. He can be relentless. He's, he's an assassin! Just, c'mon, c'mooon.

It takes just a little more squirming and shoving and breathless orders that make them sound more like weak suggestions--it takes more work than he would like--but he gets there. He gets Steve to listen. His dick is back out of him when he finally just... gives in.

Finally.

He moans with his whole damn, huge chest into the junction of Bucky's arched neck, hot and sweaty, his hands bruising his waist, holding him so his left leg is curled around his waist and his right leg is stretched out, his toes barely making contact with the ground anymore, the way he's being fucked.

Steve is using him like a fleshlight, fucking up into him hard.

YES!

It happens so fast, though, that Bucky does not have time to gloat. The best he can do, the whole fucking thing inside him so fast, is choke on a sob.

It's in his throat.

"Ahh, yeahh," Bucky breathlessly laughs, frantic and unspeakably pleased, full of perverse glee like waking up on Christmas but to a tree surrounded by presents that turn out to be only wrapped up sex toys, "that's it," he moans. His hands squeeze roughly at the nape of Steve's neck, holding on for the ride. And there it is.

There's his good boy, whimpering, his hips stuttering now that his dick really is shoved somewhere hot and wet and tight, up in his guts. Losing control because Bucky is sloppy and too much. Too good. "Fuck me," Bucky demands. Steve is already going hard, but, damn, Bucky will be dead the day he doesn't push for more. So what if he's a desperate bottom that always ends up fucked out and loose? Steve's just as bad with his huge, hung-like-a-horse cock and stupid high sex drive. They're made for each other.

And Steve does as he demands. He fucks, driving his soul out of his goddamn body with how hard he drives into him, making their front door rattle. The neighbors are gonna call the cops again but Bucky does not give a single shit. He has more important things going on like moaning "AH, AH, AH!" at the top of his lungs.

[justalittleficsideblog]

could i request satan protecting mc from a creep at a bar? i just read your mammon one w/ the casino and i just ahhhhh. you have great writing

Of course anon! I love writing these, and thank you for the request!! I hope you enjoy this <3

Scenario: Satan and you visit the newest art exhibit in devildom, what could possibly go wrong?

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.　

He tilted his head in admiration towards the image on the wall, one of many that lined the gallery within the exhibit. He turned towards you, following your eyes towards the sculptures that lined the middle of the gallery.

“They are quite exquisite, are they not?” his smooth voice rang out, echoing off of the walls.

Your lips ticked up in a smile, “Gorgeous! I’m glad you invited me out to see this. The art here is impeccable.”

He smirked to himself in pride, happy that you were so eager to accompany him to the gallery this evening. There were many demons masquerading around, and he almost thought he caught a glimpse of Barbatos strolling around in the upper levels of the galleries, probably scouting for art for the Demon Lord’s castle, no doubt.

“I’m going to get us some drinks, okay? I’m a bit thirsty after all this walking we’ve been doing.” He nodded in your direction, watching as you strolled up to the late-night bar that was open at the end of the gallery. An odd placement, he thought, but for the night life that was ever present in the devildom, he supposed it made sense.

Taking a careful inspection at one of the human world pieces, he wondered to himself if you had heard of the artist before. Van Gogh...? I wonder, although this art is dated centuries before they were born…

Meanwhile, as you awaited your order at the bar, you leaned onto the countertop, sighing happily as you admired the expensive looking rock that made up the bar’s countertop. A slight tap on your shoulder made you jump in surprise.

“Apologies,” the sultry voice spoke up behind you. “It seems you have quite the eye.” He gestured to the countertop that you were admiring.

Your eyes flicked up to the stranger. A tall demon, towering a good few inches over you, and wealthy, by the looks of his attire.

“Ah… uh, yes, it is pretty,” you murmured, anxiously tapping your fingers as you looked for the bartender.

The demon’s massive body invaded your vision, a bit too close for comfort as you leaned back. His eyes roamed across your face, licking his lips he added, “Not quite the prettiest thing here, though.”

His fingers rested on yours that were spread across the countertop, his other arm propped up as his hand held his chin in an aloof manner.

“Not interested,” you promptly removed your hand from his, sighing in relief as you saw the bartender head your way with the drinks.

“Come now,” he purred, his horns glinting from the overhead lights. “Am I not allowed to touch the art on display?"

You recoiled. Is this guy serious?

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the drinks and starting away from the bar. Instantly, you felt a cold hand grab your wrist, pulling you back into the demon. “I wasn’t quite finished, dear,” he seethed, his eyes glancing to where the drink had spilled onto your clothes. “Ah… we should get you cleaned up, now.”

“Hey!” you yelped, yanking your wrist from his grip, a shiver running up your spine.

“I do believe they said they were not interested,” a familiar, cool voice erupted from behind you. Whirling, you caught sight of Satan, looking rather… what was the word? Oh yes, very, very pissed.

Shocked at his sudden switch to his demon form, his tail was lashing behind him as he shoved the demon off of you into the back of the bar.

He was seeing red, the wrath he kept particularly leashed in was threatening to snap as he met face to face with the demon that had his hands on you a moment before. His nostrils flared, his voice clipped as he addressed the male, “I think it’s best you head out of here.” He jutted his chin towards the exit, eyes trailing the demon as he attempted to compose himself in front of Satan.

“I was unaware she was accompanied by such…” the demon snarled, not finishing his sentence as Satan tensed. Instead, he huffed and left the bar, leaving you, Satan, and a rather annoyed bartender the only individuals around.

 “Hey..” you gently reached out, holding his elbow as he whirled on you, his gaze softening at the sigh of you, unharmed, in his grasp, and away from the creep.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, inspecting the hand that the demon had touched. “You should wash this immediately, who knows what diseases that man carries…”

You blurt out a laugh at his seriousness. “I think I’ll be alright but thank you. That was quite an uncomfortable situation.”

You made to grab the drinks that sat undisturbed on the countertop, handing him his as you followed him out of the bar. He grabbed your other hand as you walked towards another part of the gallery.

“I had become quite concerned when I noticed it took a bit long for you to return,” he admitted, glancing down at you. “I get nervous when you are not close to me.”

Your eyes widened at his confession, blushing at his honesty. “Well, I don’t have much to worry about when I know your nearby.”

Warmth spread through his chest, heart palpitating in his sternum as red creeped up his neck. He liked the idea of you relying on him quite a bit. He would make sure to prevent any of those males approaching you in the future.

Seeing him lost in thought by the way you saw his jaw clench, you reached up and gave him a kiss on his jaw, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Come on, there’s more art to be looked at!”

He found his eyes wandering towards you the rest of the night, to hell with the art. You were the most exquisite thing he could have ever beheld.

[dearorpheus]

hello, your blog's vibes are absolutely impeccable! I was wondering if you could recommend me some nonfiction reading on eroticism, religion or fear? I'd love to read about any of these topics, but I never really know where to start looking for good theory books or essays, so I usually end up reading fiction instead. any nonfiction recs would be deeply appreciated (and on other topics too if you have particular favorites). have a nice day!

hello! thank you for the kind words♡

hm! some reading might be: - Erotism: Death and Sensuality + Visions of Excess, Bataille - Masochism: Coldness and Cruelty & Venus in Furs, Deleuze - The Sadeian Woman: And the Ideology of Pornography, Angela Carter - Hurts So Good: The Science and Culture of Pain on Purpose, Leigh Cowart - Eros the Bittersweet, Anne Carson - A Lover's Discourse, Roland Barthes - Uses of the Erotic, Audre Lorde - A Literate Passion: Letters of Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller, 1932-1953 - Foucault's Histor[ies] of Sexuality - Being and Nothingness, Sartre - The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson - Aesthetic Sexuality: A Literary History of Sadomasochism, Romana Byrne - Pleasure Principles: An Interview with Carmen Maria Machado - "The Aesthetics of Fear", Joyce Carol Oates - Recreational Terror: Women and the Pleasures of Horror Film Viewing, Isabel Cristina Pinedo - "On Fear", Mary Ruefle - "In Search of Fear", Philippe Petit - Female Masochism in Film: Sexuality, Ethics and Aesthetics, Ruth Mcphee - Powers of Horror, Julia Kristeva - Hélène Cixous' Stigmata (i am thinking esp of "Love of the Wolf") - Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis - anything from Caroline Walker Bynum.... Wonderful Blood, Fragmentation and Redemption, Holy Feast and Holy Fast - excerpts of Letter From a Region in my Mind, James Baldwin - Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Nietzsche (re: Christian morality, death of God) - Waiting for God, Simone Weil - The Myth of Sisyphus, Albert Camus - Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Carl Jung - "The Genesis of Blame", Anne Enright

do know as well that Lapham's Quarterly has issues dedicated entirely to these subjects you've mentioned: eros, religion, fear ! there's also this wonderful ask from @rotgospels on biblical horror theory

other non-fic i will always rec: - "On Self-Respect", Joan Didion - Illness as Metaphor + Regarding the Pain of Others, Susan Sontag - The Art of Cruelty: A Reckoning, Maggie Nelson - "The Laugh of the Medusa", Hélène Cixous - Ways of Seeing, John Berger - The Faraway Nearby, Rebecca Solnit - The Body in Pain, Elaine Scarry some non-fic things i've read lately: - "Mary Shelley's Obsession with the Cemetery", Bess Lovejoy - "Horror Lives in the Body", Megan Pillow - "The Cruel Myth of the Suffering Artist", Patrick Nathan - "The Rub of Rough Sex", Chelsea G. Summers - "The Lost Art of Memorizing Poetry", Nina Kang - "The problem with English", Mario Saraceni

[itsjaywalkers]

hii!! i am still somewhat new to this fandom but i’ve read all of your stuff and ADORE your writing, like you are SO talented, it’s insane. your blog is actually kind of what inspired me to make a tumblr account for this fandom in the first place. you seem so sweet and have so much talent, i hope your day has been wonderful 🫶 do you have any accounts/any mutuals of yours that you’d recommend to someone new(ish) to the fandom? i’m excited to see more fics and art & would love some recommendations !!

hey angel <3

oh this is such a lovely and wonderful message, i read it this morning at work and it warmed my heart (and it was one of the few things that managed to pull me through today's nightmare of a shift). i'm so so so happy that my silly blog encouraged u to join the tumblr side of the fandom?? like, don't get me wrong it's the Worst sometimes but it can also be soooo fun!! you're the SWEETEST and my day wasn't great but it's gonna end on a nice note so <3 i also hope your day was as great as you are!!

oh i have LOTS of accounts.. honestly i think you should follow every single one of my mutuals or any single person you've seen me interact with, but to name a few: @carniferous (one of my favourite writers ever.. no one gets jegulus like dil does they know them personally) @foursaints (one of my favourite artists in the whole world.. made me get properly invested in rosekiller + showed me the bartylily vision) @quillkiller (Amazing writing.. Impeccable takes.. got me into quillkiller and always manages to make me care about ships i don't even like) @static-radio-ao3 (my baby.. wonderful writing with some of the best and most natural dialogue i've ever read.. fucking love how she writes the black brothers every single time) @certifiedl0verboy (india is writing one of my current fav jegulus wips.. aka deep the water.. it has one of the only james ever!! to me!!) @likeprongstostars (THE jegulus fanartist.. to me.. vi is always dropping masterpiece after masterpiece and she's always keeping us all so incredibly well-fed) @sommerregenjuniluft (always and forever kissing lune's brain.. one of the most creative people i know, she blows my mind even with the briefest of drabbles)

that's just a handful but really, every single one of my mutuals is so incredibly talented and dear to me, following any (or all) of them is always a safe bet. mwah <333

[mallowmaenad]

me sitting on my dark and foreboding throne holding an obsidian goblet full of blood:It's not fucking fair. my goblin girl butler standing by my side with a pitcher of blood: What isn't fair, m'lady...? me, my eyes starting to glow with dark power: It should've been Rebecca. goblin girl butler: Rebecca...? me, grip tightening on my obsidian goblet: They should have added Rebecca to Guilty Gear Strive. Instead of Lucy. goblin girl butler: Of course, m'lady. Your artistic vision is impeccable. me: It's those fucking normies' faults!!! [I bare my teeth and shatter the obsidian goblet in my hand as my shadow aura increases]

[talonabraxas]

Toltec Dream Warriors Life is a masterpiece. You are the artist of your life. Don Miguel Ruiz. Mexican shaman.

.

A few thousand years ago, between the year 950 and 1300, the Toltecs lived around the city of Tula in Mexico. For the shamans of this people of warriors, there is only one living being in the universe that appears in all forms of life.

Set yourself free from one’s beliefs

The Toltec shamans invite us to question the meaning of the universe, the reason of our presence on earth offering us a new perspective on the world, far from the answers offered by society and far from conformism.

The Toltec Tradition is also based upon three masteries: awareness, transformation, and intent. The Toltecs teach us how to find happiness and be happy through a surprisingly simple code of conduct. The complete freedom to be your authentic self.

1. Be impeccable with your word.

2. Don’t take anything personally.

3. Don’t make assumptions.

4. Always do your best.

[zapreportsblog]

❝Not a people person❞- I love the mention of Garrett of having a furry fetish. I thought that was very funny.

Garrett x Teacher Reader

Where the reader is a Pre-k teacher. She stands at 5ft 6 in. She has long red hair that goes to her waist that she keeps in a braid most of the time. She has tan skin with hints of freckles. She wears circle frame glasses.

It's around Christmas time when Garrett goes to visit the reader in her classroom as she is decorating her room for the holiday party. He helps her decorate and she invites him the party. During the party she sees her students reacting with Garrett and having fun with the present he has brought for the students.

Feel free to add or change anything

❝christmas fun❞

✭ pairing : garrett x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : it’s around Christmas time when garrett decides to pay his mate a visit at her job, but behold she’s decorating her classroom to make it look more like the holiday that was coming up, Christmas!

✭ authors note : I like how you allow me to change things up or add things if necessary cause girl/boy/ nonbinary individual, it was hard asf finding someone who matches your description of the reader 😭 hell I’m listening to Christmas music as I write this

✭ twilight masterlist 2

(Y/N) was a dedicated pre-K teacher with a heart as warm as her long, fiery-red hair. Her braid swung gracefully as she moved about the empty classroom, setting the stage for a magical Christmas wonderland. Her rounded-framed glasses rested on her freckled nose as she meticulously arranged 3D statues of trees, turning her classroom into a winter forest.

At 5 feet 6 inches tall, she may have seemed petite, but her energy and creativity were boundless. The children had gone home hours ago, but (Y/N) remained, determined to create a holiday atmosphere that would captivate her young students when they returned.

As she sprinkled fake snow on the ground, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of their delighted faces when they saw the transformation. Every year, she went all out to make the holiday season extra special for her little ones.

Meanwhile, in a world beyond the realm of pre-K classrooms, a figure approached the school with an air of grace and mystery. Garrett, her boyfriend and a Norman vampire, had grown curious when (Y/N) hadn't come home at her usual time. His deep-set eyes held an eternal agelessness as he stood at the school's entrance, wondering where his mate could be.

With his impeccable timing, Garrett entered the classroom just as (Y/N) was wrestling with a particularly stubborn Christmas tree. He smiled as he watched her, the glow of her dedication making her all the more enchanting.

"Need some help there?" Garrett's voice was smooth and soothing, a contrast to the chaos of the half-assembled tree.

(Y/N) jumped, her heart leaping in surprise as she turned to see her vampire boyfriend. "Garrett!" she exclaimed, a mix of relief and delight washing over her. "You scared me!"

He chuckled, moving closer to her. "I couldn't help but wonder why you hadn't come home yet. And now, I see you're creating a winter wonderland here."

She blushed, a slight tinge of pink dancing on her freckled cheeks. "I wanted to surprise the kids when they come back. Make it feel like a magical forest. But this tree seems to have a mind of its own."

With a flourish of elegance that only a vampire could possess, Garrett effortlessly maneuvered the tree into place. "Well then, let's make this forest even more magical, shall we?"

Together, they decorated the Christmas tree, hung 3D snowflakes from the ceiling, and wove strands of twinkling lights around the room. Garrett's supernatural speed and precision were the perfect complement to (Y/N)'s artistic vision.

As they worked side by side, the classroom transformed before their eyes into a dazzling winter wonderland. And in that moment, amid the laughter, love, and holiday magic, (Y/N) knew that this Christmas would be truly special, thanks to the unexpected help of her vampire mate, Garrett.

With the classroom now transformed into a winter wonderland, (Y/N) and Garrett stepped out into the empty school corridor. The soft glow of the Christmas lights they had hung still twinkled behind them.

As they walked, Garrett seemed lost in thought for a moment before he turned to (Y/N) with a suggestion. "You know, (Y/N), since you've put so much effort into making this classroom look amazing for the kids, why don't we drop by for their holiday party tomorrow? I'd love to see their faces light up when they see this magical wonderland."

(Y/N) looked at Garrett, her heart touched by his thoughtfulness. "Garrett, you don't have to do that. I know how uncomfortable you can be around large groups of people."

He nodded, acknowledging her concern. "I do have my moments, but for you, I'm willing to make an exception. Besides, I want to be there for you. I want to see the joy you bring to these kids' lives."

Tears of gratitude welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes as she realized just how much Garrett cared for her. "You truly are something special, you know that?"

He smiled warmly, his centuries-old eyes filled with affection. "And you, my dear, are the most special person in my life. So, will you let me accompany you to the party tomorrow?"

(Y/N) couldn't resist the genuine warmth and sincerity in his request. "Of course, Garrett. I'd be honored to have you by my side. Tomorrow, we'll share this magic with the kids together."

They continued down the corridor, hand in hand, their hearts intertwined in the spirit of the season. Garrett's willingness to step out of his comfort zone for her was the most precious gift she could have asked for this Christmas, and (Y/N) couldn't wait to share the joy of the holiday party with him and her young students.

In the wee hours of the morning, as (Y/N) slept peacefully, her classroom ready to welcome her young students to their Christmas wonderland, Garrett sat in the dimly lit living room of their home.

With his thoughts running wild with creativity, Garrett reached for his phone and dialed a number he hadn't used in a long time. It rang several times before a familiar voice answered, "Hello?"

"Benjamin," Garrett began, his voice low, "it's been too long. I need to ask a favor of you."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a sigh. "Garrett? Is that you? "

"Yes and I do apologize for calling so late," Garrett replied, his tone earnest. "But I need to see you, Benjamin. It's important. Can you make time to meet me tomorrow? I'll explain everything then."

Benjamin hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering why his lifetime friend wanted to see him, but then he seemed to realize that Garrett would never ask a request of him if he knew that request would be harmful. “Alright, Garrett. I trust you. Tomorrow it is. Just let me know when and where."

A sense of relief washed over Garrett as he replied, "Thank you, Benjamin. I'll be in touch with the details soon. It's good to know I can count on you."

With that, they ended the call, and Garrett sat in the quiet of the early morning, his mind racing with thoughts.”

The next day dawned crisp and clear, with excitement in the air as (Y/N) stood in her transformed classroom. Her young students had finished their limited morning lessons, and now, in the afternoon, the classroom had come alive with the sound of music, laughter, and the joyful chatter of children.

Party hats adorned tiny heads, and colorful decorations added a festive touch to the room. Parents had come to help supervise the holiday celebration, and they couldn't help but admire the magical winter wonderland that (Y/N) had created.

As the children danced to the music and devoured their snacks, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile, her heart warmed by their happiness. She was busy handing out small gifts to her little ones when she noticed two figures standing at the doorway, their presence shrouded in an air of mystery.

Her eyes widened with surprise and delight as she recognized Garrett and his friend Benjamin. But something was different about them today. They both wore contacts that hid their distinctive red eyes, a necessary precaution to blend in with the human crowd.

"Garrett! Benjamin!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine joy. She approached them, a bit puzzled by their unexpected visit. "What brings you here today?"

Garrett wore a mischievous grin as he held a large sack in his hand. "We thought we'd drop by a bit early and join in the festivities," he said, his tone light. "But before I explain further, allow me to properly introduce my friend, Benjamin."

Benjamin extended a hand with a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Garrett has told me so much about you."

(Y/N) shook Benjamin's hand, feeling a sense of ease in his presence. "Likewise, Benjamin. It's wonderful to finally meet one of Garrett's friends."

Garrett, unable to contain his excitement, motioned to the sack he was carrying. "Now love, I can see your eyes on the sack here but don’t worry bout this sack, we just brought a little surprise for the children. Now why don’t we join the fun?"

Curiosity piqued, (Y/N) nodded, intrigued by the mysterious surprise. "Of course, you're more than welcome. The children will be thrilled to have you join in."

As Garrett and Benjamin stepped further into the classroom, the children's eyes widened with wonder at their unexpected guests. (Y/N) couldn't help but wonder what lay inside that sack and why Garrett had gone to such lengths to create this surprise.

“Alrighty children, gather round we have some special visitors.” (Y/n) says instantly attracting the children’s attention onto her.

“Hello there boys and girls, and parents alike. My name is elf garrett and this here is elf Benjamin. Would you ladies and gents be ever so kind to follow us to your classroom rug?” Garrett bows playful at the end.

The children gathered eagerly on the classroom rug, their eyes wide with anticipation, as Garrett and Benjamin prepared to share their special surprise. The room was filled with a chorus of excited whispers as they settled into a circle.

Garrett cleared his throat and smiled down at the eager faces before him. "Alright, everyone, settle down," he called out in his most jovial tone. "My friend elf Benjamin and I have a little something to share with you today."

The children's attention was fully captured, and they sat with rapt attention, waiting for the surprise to unfold.

Garrett began, "You see, Benjamin and I are Santa's special helpers."

A small hand shot up. "But why aren't you tiny little elves like in the stories?"

Benjamin chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Ah, that's a great question! You see, we used a bit of Christmas magic to grow big so we could blend in with all of you."

Another child couldn't contain their excitement. "Did Santa send you on a super cool mission?"

Garrett beamed at the question. "Yes, he did! In fact, he saw how good all of you have been, so he asked me and Elf Benjamin here to bring you all some special gifts."

The children's eyes widened in delight, and the room buzzed with excitement as Garrett reached into the sack and began handing out gifts to each child. Their grins grew wider as they tore open their presents, discovering small treasures inside.

Once everyone had received their gifts, Benjamin leaned in, his eyes filled with mischief. "Now, it's time to guess what my job for Santa is."

The children's imaginations ran wild, and they began shouting out their guesses.

"You make toys!"

"You wrap presents!"

"You feed the reindeer!"

Benjamin laughed, shaking his head. "Those are all great guesses, but I'm actually the snow elf."

The children exchanged puzzled glances. "The snow elf? What does a snow elf do?"

With a twinkle in his eye, Benjamin explained, "I make it snow for everyone around the world. That's how we get all the beautiful snow on Christmas Day."

Excitement filled the room as the children's faces lit up. "Can you make it snow? Please, we want to see!"

Benjamin looked at Garrett, who nodded in approval. With a sly smile, Benjamin raised his hand, and suddenly, flakes of snow began to drift down from the ceiling. Gasps of astonishment filled the room as the children reached out to catch the magical snowflakes.

Garrett and (Y/N) shared a knowing look. They had seen Benjamin's elemental powers before, but the wonder and joy in the children's faces made it feel like Christmas morning itself.

As the snow continued to fall, laughter filled the classroom, and the children danced and played in the enchanting snowstorm created by the snow elf. It was a moment of pure magic, a memory they would carry with them for years to come, and a testament to the power of the holiday spirit.

[solovivopaz]

Karen's Biography🐚

 Karen's Biography🐚

Nombre: Karen

Species: Nautilus

Gender: Women

Instrument: Piano

Appearance:

Karen is a Nautilus with an elegant and distinguished appearance. Its shell is white with red stripes, giving it a striking and unique appearance. She wears a black dress with a tie that gives her a sophisticated and formal touch. Its tentacles, which protrude from the shell, are pearl-colored with light blue tips, adding a soft contrast to its overall appearance.

Personality and Traits:

Karen is known for her cool atmosphere and confident appearance. Despite her confident exterior, deep down she worries that she is not loved enough by fans. He is a deeply empathetic person and offers strong emotional support to the other band members, helping them stay united and motivated. Her artistic nature and perfectionism lead her to constantly strive to improve, although this can sometimes lead her to doubt her own abilities.

History and Background:

Karen graduated at the top of her class from a prestigious music university, where her talent and dedication made her stand out. She has participated in numerous international competitions, winning multiple awards that have cemented her reputation as a world-class pianist. Her passion for music began at an early age and was inspired by the work of Taka from Hightide Era, a senior at the same school as her. Taka's music impacted her deeply, leading her to form Ink Theory with the vision of creating something equally powerful and emotional.

Relations:

Bibi: Karen and Bibi are friends and bandmates. Karen values ​​Bibi's energy and enthusiasm, and together they create a dynamic atmosphere in the band. Bibi appreciates the emotional support Karen provides, especially during difficult times.

Maya: Karen and Maya share a special connection due to their similar experiences in the musical field. They both support each other and enjoy working together in the band. Karen's seriousness complements Maya's lighter, more emotional nature.

Yoko: Karen admires Yoko as the leader of the band and recognizes her talent and dedication. Although Yoko may feel insecure at times, Karen always encourages her and provides her with emotional support. Mutual admiration and respect strengthen your relationship.

Oonie: Karen and Oonie share a love of classical music and a background in music education. Oonie appreciates Karen's confidence and experience, and Karen finds in Oonie a friend with whom she can discuss and explore new musical perspectives.

Kitamura: Karen takes great care of Kitamura, seeing her as a younger sister in the band. Kitamura's adorable and energetic nature is a source of joy for Karen, who makes sure Kitamura feels appreciated and cared for.

Skills and Talents:

Karen is a virtuoso pianist, known for her impeccable technique and her ability to convey deep emotions through her music. In addition to her musical talent, Karen has a remarkable ability to provide emotional support, helping to maintain the cohesion and well-being of the band. His experience in international competitions and performances has given him a global vision of music and a deep understanding of its cultural impact.

Impact on Ink Theory:

Karen is the emotional heart of Ink Theory, providing not only her musical talent but also the stability and support needed for the band to thrive. His influence and dedication have been fundamental to the group's success, and his constant pursuit of perfection has elevated the band's artistic level. His story of inspiration and formation of Ink Theory demonstrates his ability to turn his passions into tangible realities, inspiring others to follow their dreams with the same determination.

(That is the detailed biography related to her friends in the band, that is the only drawing I have hehe)

[vibratingskull]

The artist

"Can you do Thrawn with a male reader who is an artist and makes a painting of him to show their love?" -anon

This ask was so cute ! NSFW implied at the end ;)

Thrawn x m!reader

You paint a last stroke. And take a step back.

You smile to yourself.

This is a masterpiece.

Your masterpiece.

This piece would put to shame all the masters of the Academy. You pass your hand on the canvas, caressing the chiseled abs with the tip of your fingers, following the well formed biceps and strong legs. You imagined Thrawn slouching like a lascivious and tired king on a throne with only a drapery hugging his form, not even hiding his full glory.

But what works you up the most is the glowing red eyes, this intense gaze looking straight at the observer with complicity and shamelessness, his usually cold disposition cracked by a small sly smile framed by blue black strands of hair, disheveled as after an intense love session. 

That’s how you imagined him in a dream, and this vision haunted you for a year before you expurgated it out of your system and on your canva. You’re a man of fertile imagination, after all. And now you can see it straight in the eyes.

You know it’s stupid, but right now you only want to get on your knees and hug the frame, feeling his arms wrap around your shoulder and stroking your hair, your head on his chest listening to his beating heart. You look at it with the satisfaction and tiredness of a man who worked hard on an intense and demanding task. 

And intense and demanding it was! 

Despite Thrawn coming to your studio for another painting, you had to paint his face by memory alone and his whole body by imagination. But you’re an experienced painter by now, anatomy and more precisely male anatomy hold no secret for you for you experienced it so much time, imagining him behind closed eyes. 

You look at it. You’ll frame it in front of your bed, as such the first thing you’ll see in the morning is this gift of Aphrodite, and your unreachable secret love will look upon you lovingly when you sleep. 

You sigh with contentment. So are things, you’re a nobody painter and he is a Great Admiral of the Empire. Things are in order that way and you’ll satisfy yourself with that. The only reason you came in contact in the first place is because he came to you for a formal painting of him in his imperial white uniform.

A knock at the door brings you back to the present.

“Coming!”

You hide it hastily behind a fabric and swipe your hand on your apron. You open your door and your heart jolts at the sight in front of you.

“Greetings, (y/l/n). I am here for the painting.” His voice sings to your ears.

“Of course! This way…”

You guide him inside, even if he already knows the place counting on the numerous hours he posed for you. You walk to the back of your studio and rummage through your canvas until you find the one. You put it on an easel and take a step back, letting him observe. You did a superb work on this one, you especially nailed the light and the shadows, the balance with the vibrant colors is impeccable, and well… It’s far easier to paint a figure with a model. You look at him over his shoulder, awaiting for his reactions. But he remains silent and expressionless.

“So… ?” You ask, tension eating you alive.

“A remarkable work.” You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But I was not referring to this painting.”

You frown.

“Sir, this is the painting you commissioned me to do-”

He raises his hand, shutting you down and shakes his head slightly.

“Now, now. I studied your work thoroughly, and we both know there is a second painting.” 

You’re taken aback. How could he know?

“Sir?”

He looks at you with sparkling eyes, like a predator who knows is prey cornered.

“Did you really think you were the only one observing the other during those long sessions?” The tone doesn’t call for a response.

You gulp. His gaze is so… You feel like you're circled by fire. Against your own conscience you walk to the fabric, guided by another will. Who are you to contradict a Grand Admiral after all? You take a fistfull of the fabric and your conscious screams at you one last time to not do it, and you tug.

The painting unravel before his eyes. 

You feel your heart racing as he takes a step closer, leaning over to observe the finer details. You hold the fabric for dear life as he takes his sweet time to look at what’s basically an erotic fantasy of yours. 

“So…”

You feel an icy cold sweat running down your back as his voice finally raises. 

This is it.

This is your end.

“... This is how you truly see me.”

He straightens his back with a chuckle, holding his chin between his fingers. 

He’s not… mad?  

You look at him with wide eyes, incredulous. He’s not furious? He turns his head to you and locks eyes with a sly grin.

“Do not look at me like that, I do not eat people.”

“Oh, huh…” You instantly feel your cheeks burning.

“Or maybe… This is what you truly want?”

You froze in place, not believing what you heard. He starts unbuttoning his jacket.

“This body you painted is mighty, but maybe we should compare it thoroughly to the original…”

@Bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93

@al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess