#Megan marble | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rikilouvre · 2 years

Text

Game on.

"ethan lee, incase you feel cheated on, i'm going to remind you firsthand that you started this."

"who said i'm going to be?"

story includes : toxic relationship, cheating, dark aesthetic, lee heeseung x reader, angst, profanity

a/n : this is just a short fic to let everyone know this account is still alive lol midterms just ended 3 days ago and i'm enjoying my long-weekend. happy halloween, everybody.

theme song : feeling good by michael bublé, earned it by the weeknd

a fight happened the night before the party, "ethan, are you really going to blame everything on me? you're always too focused on work like nothing's ever gonna be enough." his arms helping his body lean on the cold marble countertop, too bottled-up to talk and too mad to make a decision. he glued his gaze onto the wall, eye-level ; contemplating whether he should lash out or end things. neither happened, instead, he spoke. "nothing's really gonna be enough if you keep failing at what you're supposed to do at work." you stood still, dumbfounded – you thought you were doing a good job finishing all your tasks as the ceo's secretary, but, you weren't?

"what are you talking about?" you questioned him, daringly. "what am i talking about? i'm talking about how you're always near guys who aren't even a match for me instead of actually doing your damn job!" he's had it. though you weren't done with your interrogation and the ultimate downfall that was only about to start, "and who are you to tell me that i'm not doing my job properly? you're just some lousy marketing officer who can't even manipulate me into thinking you're doing a great-ass job hiding all your petite little girls in your goddamn messages! yes ethan, i saw it all!" no sympathy is present in the atmosphere – just pure anger, betrayal, and negligence. "those overtimes you're taking, turns out you're just making work an excuse to meet pretty little megan. or if you're feeling a bit bored with her, you book a date with pretty miss harper. harper, ethan, my college bestfriend and our officemate. i really can't believe you." you threw your hands up in the air as a sign of defeat.

he was exposed enough to be alarmed and so, he rushed towards you, "are you snooping through my phone?" he gripped you by your shoulders tight, each word coming out his mouth was covered with fear — trembling with anger. "i would never tell, now let the fuck go!" you shook out of his hold to walk out, but before going to your separate room, you reminded : "you better enjoy your night with your sidechicks tomorrow 'cause hell i'm not coming to the anniversary party with you." and there, you slammed the door shut. you could hear from the other side of the room, ethan, who's now cursing the air and screaming like an insane person.

————

and there he goes, giving you his shit-eating grin while cheap girls cling on him – megan and your now ex-bestfriend harper – his sidechicks. ethan pointed your way for harper to see and she waved at you, in which you flipped her off hard with no humour present in your facade, she was confused. ethan probably didn't let her know too, huh?

even you yourself have no idea why you're letting your relationship with him turn into something like this, but it's too late to fix it since you've already bitten into ethan's tricks. you just gave him a cold gaze and a simple unenthusiastic grin in a distance, gently cradling the red wine glass on your palm. you look at the liquor, examining its viscosity – so rich and thick – just like your hatred for how your loving and perfect boyfriend turned to be. but at the same time you just love drinking everything in, dismissing the aftermath of it but instead enjoying the moment.

you cross your legs and raise your brows, resting your free arm on the frame of the couch's backrest. just in cue, park jongseong, better known as jay in your work, approached you and sat beside you. "hey, rascal." he leaned on the backrest of the couch and crossed his arms to give your boyfriend a good glare before asking, "tension's pretty heavy. had a fight?"

"pretty much. and you're going to help me piss him off even more." before jay could even talk back, which you were pretty sure that he wouldn't since he knew what's up, you pulled him out of his seat to go somewhere out of ethan's sight. you gave your lovely boyfriend a signal that you were gonna do something worse than what he's doing to you — which caught him off-guard and showed apparent soreness from the fact that you're beating him in his own game. looking back, you can see bim excusing himself from his sidechicks and coming to you.

make your own ending <3

[ @lalalalawon ]

66 notes · View notes

charles-and-camilla-fanfictions · 7 months

Text

All the Time in the World - Chapter 7

Birkhall, January 2020

By the end of her life, his Grandmother would have nothing to do with me. She adamantly refused to ever see me again and was vocal in her disapproval of me and her insistence that we would never marry. All of which we conveniently decided not to remember when I attended her funeral and took ownership of her property. She will have known what would eventually happen. She never lost her marbles. The fact that she bequeathed much of her jewellery to Charles, knowing that I would need it tells us she accepted me far more than she ever publicly admitted. Some items we found were ones she had only recently purchased and certainly were not for her own use. They included clip-on earrings, which she did not need, and the most beautiful ballerina brooch, which I fell in love with at first sight. We believe she bought them for me and took them as her own form of a blessing for our eventual nuptials. I wear every piece with nostalgia untainted by those last few years and Charles delights in my wearing of his beloved Grandmother’s jewellery.

Charles returns to me in a state of shock. He tells me about the family’s decision to cut out Harry with a startling coldness and anger before breaking down and I can’t console him. He clings to me and weeps and I’m infected with a familiar hatred towards his family and this institution that seeps through me. The unfairness and favouritism of his mother, willing to do almost anything to protect her precious second son, and ruthless with everyone else. The entitlement of Harry and Megan, who do they think they are to make such demands? And my poor Darling, who can and will make such dreadful decisions but they eat him up on the inside. All I can do is hold him, on the sofa where we once played with both my children and now my grandchildren, the same spot where he was dragged away from me abruptly when I contracted glandular fever back in 1979, against the same cushions where I nursed him when he broke yet another bone in 2001.

I force him to drink some tea and eat a biscuit or two, sitting on the floor this time, cuddling the dogs, throwing their soft ball again and again. Then we get another summons, this time the both of us and I have to leave him to dress correctly to see his mother, to quickly apply makeup and attempt to tame my hair. He smartens up too, his previous suit crushed from lounging on the floor, but as usual he’s ready before me and waits for me impatiently in the hallway, rather than getting in the car. He smiles when he sees me and kisses me as I take his hands, squeezing them. We delay further because we need a moment, just the two of us, to look in each other’s eyes and feel the comfort and reassurance necessary to spend the rest of the evening in false jollity, pretending to his family that his world hasn’t just imploded, masking the severity of the pain and the shock, concealing the hurt so his feelings are merely trifles.

2010, London

We sit together in the car, silently, watching the world pass by in the orange glow of the streetlights. He’s anxious. I can tell by the way he’s fiddling with his gloves. My heart beating in sympathy, I reach over to take his hand. His encases mine but it soothes him to touch me and he smiles at me before staring out of the window again, hands clasped together. Mine are no longer as steady as they once were but it doesn’t bother him. He holds onto them tenderly, regardless, for the duration of our short time together in private. “You look beautiful.” That surprises me. “Not too shabby for an old bag.” That makes him smile. “No. Beautiful. More today than any day before.” And his eyes meet mine and he means it and my heart floods with so much love for him, it almost makes me cry. He kisses the backs of my hands before turning to look out of the window.

There are a lot of people on the streets. All young, some carrying makeshift protest signs about student top up fees. I’m struck with a mixture of jealousy for their freedom and a sadness for the futility of their actions. I don’t know what they’re hoping to achieve. The last time protests worked to change public policy was before Margaret Thatcher. I remember burning to take to the streets and march for my beliefs when hunting was outlawed. I remember screaming at my now husband for not letting me go. But I realise that protests do nothing except make the protestors feel better about having done something. You want to change policy? Go into government. Or do what my husband does, write to them, persuade them, use the power you have. I suppose the people protesting do not have the power they need, hence the need to protest.

The children around us have spotted our car and recognised us. They seem friendly enough, waving at us, phones out, taking pictures. My husband is dreading this performance tonight. He feels like he has to put on a show and be more jolly than he has the capacity to display. I feel it’s good for him. He’s got a very good sense of humour, he just gets tied down with business too much. The crowd around us gets thicker and then the car stops. I can see Charles sitting up straighter. He looks uneasy. And then the mood of the crowd changes. It sounds angry. People are no longer smiling and waving at us. The car gets shoved and then I can feel it shake as it’s hit. An almighty crash smashes the window on my side and I leap and reach for my husband. I want to scream as the car jolts from side to side and the jeers from the crowd are frenzied, like men on a hunt with their prey encircled. The window cracks with the force of another impact and this time I gasp loudly, holding onto Charles’s hand so tightly, feeling the death grip he has on mine in return. He’s trying to instruct me to do something but the words aren’t making sense in my brain. I can just see his eyes looking at me, scared. There’s another thud against the car and there’s a man in a tuxedo shoving protesters away. I watch him grab onto a man and hurl him to the floor, away from the car. He’s one of my officers. And then the car speeds off and we are slammed back against the seats with the force from the acceleration.

If I thought my hand was shaky before, it’s impossible to calm it now. I’ve also never seen him so worried. This is a man who looked on with scant interest as a gunman aimed shots at him. He didn’t even flinch. Now, he’s beside himself with worry. “Swap sides with me.” “What?” “Swap sides. That window will not take a bullet. I need you on the safe side.” But the second I undo my seatbelt, the alarm goes off and it causes such consternation from the PPO, I click it back. I stretch it to move closer to Charles and he wraps his arms around me. “Well, we’ve not done that one before.” It makes him chuckle at me and I know that’s my line for when we get asked about it. For now, I rest my head on his shoulder, glad that I’m with him, whatever the circumstances.

15 notes · View notes

ariel-seagull-wings · 8 months

Text

THE CARTER KIDS

@professorlehnsherr-almashy @inevitablemoment @theselfshippingwitch @slimerspengler @bixiebeet @spengnitzed @amalthea9

Megan and Kenny Carter were two of many children that were terrorized by the Boogieman.

Megan and Kenny Carter went to the GHOSTBUSTERS for help in getting rid of the Boogieman, but the GHOSTBUSTERS learned that the Boogieman was a corporeal entity and not a ghost, so they had to come up with a new way to stop him. Egon eventually came up with the idea to use the Ghost Bomb to imprison the Boogieman within his own realm.

When the GHOSTBUSTERS fought the Boogieman in his realm, Megan and Kenny overcame their fear of the Boogieman and helped the GHOSTBUSTERS defeat the Boogieman by insulting him and tripping him up with their toy marbles. After the Boogieman was (temporarily) imprisoned in his own realm, the Carter children were finally able to sleep well.

#ghostbusters #the real ghostbusters #western animation #ghostbusters the supernatural spectacular

13 notes · View notes

sminiac · 4 months

Note

p1harmony comeback tomorrow im twitching and shaking i feel nicki on her recent live stream abt megan rn

THIS IS SO TRUE BFF I’M SO EXCITED. I was literally thinking about staying up for it, I also preordered the albums !!!! Literally losing my marbles !!!!!

#theyluvsosa <3 #★ sai yaps ᵎᵎ

4 notes · View notes

horsegirlalexkralie · 1 year

Note

You got an ask a while ago re getting annoyed with movies where the gore is too unrealistic and complaining about how obvious it is and it reminded me. Have you ever seen the flowers of flesh and blood guinea pig movie? Because people always talk about how it was so realistic someone reported it to the police thinking it was a real snuff film etc etc and then i watched it and it was like. Borderline comical. At one point there is an entirely severed hand that grasps at someone's arm. There are numerous severed limbs and all of them visibly have silicone prop stuff inside instead of any actual anatomy like say, bones or tendons or fat or muscle. I am still deeply confused as to how anyone with a passing understanding of the concept of human anatomy would think it was real. I'm sorry I realise this isn't directly marble hornets related lmao it just made me think about it

oh my god yeah i think i laughed through like most of guinea pig . different shit same flavor i watched poughkeepsie tapes and megan is missing back when i first got into horror bc i fell for the "omg is this real snuff?!1!!1?!?!" hype and i was so fucking pissed off lmao

#g.txt #btw if anyone heres looking to get into gore/exploitation/censorship protest films i reccomend checking out-#-unboxed watched and reviewed on youtube he does great reviews of fucked up shit thats hard to get ahold of

12 notes · View notes

fangirleaconmigo · 1 year

Text

Thanks for the tag @darklyhandsome

-Name a song-

A song that makes you happy: Never Too Much, Luther Vandross

A song that makes you cry: Marbles, The Amazing Devil

A song that makes you angry: Killing in the Name, Rage Against the Machine (but like, a righteous protest anger)

A song that you could listen to on endless repeat: Tempo, Lizzo ft Missy Elliott

A song that makes you feel confident: Body, Megan Thee Stallion

A song that makes you feel peaceful: In a Sentimental Mood, Duke Ellington and John Coltrane

A song that makes you feel romantic: Untitled (How Does It Feel) D'Angelo

A song that you even love the covers of: Smooth Criminal, Michael Jackson

A song that you didn't expect to love but do: The entire discography of The Amazing Devil (an actor band? a folk band?--from someone who listens almost exclusively to r&b/soul--and yet? here we are.)

A song that gives you goosebumps: The Old Witch Sleep and the Good Man Grace, The Amazing Devil

A song featuring your favourite vocalist: Feelin Good, Nina Simone

A song that stirs your soul: Strange Fruit, Billie Holiday

A song from your childhood: None of Your Business, Salt n Pepa

A song that got you through a tough time: Jesus to a Child, George Michael

Anyone who wants to answer, just do it, babes, go for it.

#tag game #songs #music

12 notes · View notes

watermelinoe · 1 year

Text

ok but actually name 59 women challenge

chimamanda ngozi adichie. jk rowling. laetitia ky. lupita nyong'o. caroline criado perez. grace hopper. ada lovelace. amelia earhart. jeanne d'arc. élisabeth vigeé le brun. georgia o'keeffe. marie kondo. cleopatra. hatshepsut. cordelia fine. lady gaga. michelle obama. beyonce. jenna marbles. andrea dworkin. mary daly. azealia banks. margaret thatcher. winona ryder. whoopie goldberg. lucy liu. sandra oh. artemisia gentileschi. ursula le guin. hillary clinton. aileen wuornos. rumiko takahashi. megan thee stallion. lizzo. casey anthony. greta gerwig. adèle haenel. simone de beauvoir. kim kardashian. billie holiday. nina simone. eartha kitt. emma thompson. jodie comer. beatrice potter. mary shelley. mary wollstonecraft. marie antoinette. madame de pompadour. murasaki shikibu. sylvia plath. frida kahlo. madonna. greta thunberg. angela yvonne davis. dua lipa. queen latifah. alison bechdel. whitney houston.

#how many women can we come up with gyns #name some women

16 notes · View notes

violetlumin · 6 months

Text

Poem 21

Nov. 21, 2023

I can’t scrape this awful taste

Out of my mouth

You saw light

I saw fire

Marble is cold, fragile,

And stains easy anyways

Gold can be tarnished

And only hardens with impurities

Glass is prone to shattering

Trumpets are too loud

I'm not interested

#poetry #poets on tumblr #poet #writing #poem #Spotify

6 notes · View notes

whumping-in-the-wings · 2 years

Text

A couple days ago I asked if the whump community was good with book-inspired whump, and the answer was a resounding yes, so I gave into the demands of my plot bunny and I’m proud to present the result! This story is very heavily inspired by Megan Shepherd’s novel Grim Lovelies, and I’ve borrowed a lot of the magical elements from the book, though you definitely don’t need to read it to understand the story; I’m just playing around with a similar concept. I’ve also kept the book’s Paris setting, though I’ve scooted it back a few centuries to Vaguely Victorian Paris, since I like writing that time period better than modern era. As a disclaimer, I know very little about France, so if you do and you notice I’ve screwed up somewhere, please let me know. (And for my Traces readers, fret not, I’ll have an update for you at some point this week!)

CW: emotional whump, physical abuse, manipulative whumper, magic-based slavery (not sure how else to tag that last one, since the situation is quite specific to this story; if there’s a better description for it, feel free to clue me in!) As usual, each installment will have its own warnings.

Taglist: None as of yet, but if this turns out to be your cup of tea, let me know if you’d like to be added!

Perfect Sorrows: Part One

Masterlist | Next

It was only an hour or two past noon, but already the gas-lamps at either end of Rue de Diamant had been lit, flickering feebly against the dreary, dismal day. A biting wind chased a few brittle brown leaves between the gaps in the iron stair-rails, and the clouds over the city, thick and sullen, had dyed the sky to match the cobblestones. No empty threat, those clouds; they’d been pouring down buckets of rain since early that morning, soaking the street and filling the gutters. On the marble facade of Monsieur Camille Serreau’s grand townhouse, the water ran over and through the intricate carvings until the three grotesques above the door were weeping cold little rivers onto the front steps.

Sacha didn’t bother trying to duck through them. He was already as wet as it was possible to be. He’d been sent out into the rain three times already, and his long gray coat, a shabby castoff of Monsieur Camille’s that hung far too loosely on his own spindly frame, had been soaked through in minutes. A peculiar autumn for Paris, he’d heard some of the old men in the cafés saying to each other, much wetter and colder and grayer than usual.

He’d taken their word for it. He could hardly do anything else. Though he looked somewhere around nineteen or twenty, the truth was that he had only been human for a little longer than a month. He had no idea what a usual autumn looked like, in Paris or anywhere else.

Of course, he had to have lived through several of them, before he’d been human. But Monsieur Camille and the magic hadn’t left him any memories of those days. Sacha didn’t even know exactly what he had been before, what animal Monsieur Camille had made him from, which of the three furs locked in the sorcier’s trunk had once belonged to him.

In the back of his mind, he had always wished he knew. But now was not the time to stand there and wonder. He was late enough, and wet enough, as it was.

The kitchen was a close, cramped room in the basement level of the house, tucked away behind a heavy door and a steep flight of stairs. Even before Sacha reached the bottom of them, he could hear the angry crash and clatter of pots and pans that meant Ondine was still hard at work preparing for tomorrow’s dinner party, and more than likely in a vicious mood because of it.

Sure enough, the cook was standing over the stove, attacking a pan full of roasting aubergines with much more force than strictly necessary. She glanced up as Sacha came in, her usually elegant features soured with a scowl. “Why didn’t you just stay out all night?” she snapped.

“I tried to be quick,” Sacha answered, though he’d learned by now that nothing he said made a difference when Ondine was in this kind of a mood. “You know I don’t know the city well yet.”

He turned away from her, busying himself with clearing a space for his heavy basket, but another voice interrupted him.

“Leave that.”

Hugo, the butler, had been sitting at the battered wooden table, going over the accounts with his usual lofty detachment from the other servants’ work. He spared Sacha only a brief glance. “Monsieur Camille has asked to see you in his study.”

“Me? But…what for? You’re the only one he’s ever asked up there!”

“I suggest you get upstairs and find that answer out for yourself. Take that wet coat off first, so you’re not dripping with rain all the way there. We have enough to do before tomorrow night without having to dry the carpets too.” And with that, Hugo turned his attention back to the long lists of numbers in front of him, leaving Sacha with little to do but obey.

More than once, he’d found himself wishing that Monsieur Camille could have chosen a sprawling country manor instead of a townhouse. There was no room in a house like this for a set of back stairs, and going up the front ones always felt like breaking some sort of unwritten law, setting foot in a world to which he didn’t belong.

Though at least the stairs were a familiar trek, one he made every morning with the coal scuttle to stir up the fires. He’d never been called to the sorcier’s study before, and he made his way down the long corridor hardly knowing where to put his feet, hardly daring to breathe.

He had to pause a moment before he could bring himself to knock, just twice, and more timidly than he would like. Almost immediately, the calm, cultured voice of his master rang out from inside the room. “Entrez.”

Well, it would do no good to keep him waiting. Sacha set his shoulders and stepped into the room, letting the thick wooden door sigh shut as softly as possible behind him. His eyes went wide.

The room was big enough to hold the kitchen twice over, richly carpeted and paneled with dark, shining wood. The left wall was taken up entirely by a bookshelf, filled from top to bottom with fine leather-bound volumes, strange Latin titles etched in gold along their spines- spellbooks, Sacha realized, the ones from which the sorcier had learned his tricks. Another shelf held more tools of the magic trade, glistening bottles and vials and chests of who-knew-what. The back wall was occupied mostly by a large glazed window, looking out over the rooftops of Paris. Even the rain seemed to fall more gently up here, tracing delicate patterns over the glass instead of driving down like tiny nails the way it had in the streets.

Sacha realized, suddenly, that his mouth had fallen open, and he snapped it shut, focusing his gaze on his reason for being here. “You sent for me, Monsieur Camille?”

The sorcier, a pale, delicate-looking man with piercing blue eyes who sat behind his desk like a king on his throne, glanced up from the tiny glass vial he was rolling back and forth between his fingers. An equally tiny smile raised the corner of his mouth. “Sacha. Yes. Sit down.”

He gestured to the richly carved chair in front of the desk. It was one of the finest things Sacha had ever seen, much less sat in, and he eyed the chair as though it might realize how unworthy he was of it and shatter into splinters beneath him. But Monsieur Camille was waiting, one eyebrow rising slightly, and Sacha hurriedly did as he had been told.

The back of the sorcier’s hand caught him sharply across the cheek, snapping his head back against the chair’s carved back, knocking the breath out of him in a sharp, shocked little gasp. It was a moment before he even understood what had happened, and even then he couldn’t understand why.

But Monsieur Camille spoke as calmly and steadily as though nothing had happened at all. He held up the glass vial he’d been toying with, shaking it a little, swirling the translucent yellow dust inside. “I trust you know what this is?”

He knew, of course he knew, they all did. Camille’s lips had still been coated in it the night he’d made Sacha human. It was the powder that heightened the sorcier’s magic, made him capable of the incredible things that had turned him into one of the most powerful men in France. They all knew how to make it, took turns with the task; Sacha had done it for the first time only a day or two before…

Oh. Oh. Understanding dawned, matching the sting as the shock wore off and his cheek began to throb. He must have made a mistake. Done it wrong. Done something wrong, somehow…

Still with the same chilling calmness, Camille turned and hurled the vial into the roaring fireplace. The glass shattered; the flames leaped up and turned an eerie black for a split second before dying back down to normal. “Useless,” Camille pronounced. “Utterly useless. Unless it was intended to make me look like a fool in front of the Comtesse de Montmorency, in which case it served its purpose perfectly. And what that means, Sacha, is that you did not.”

“I…I’m trying!” Sacha winced at the desperate crack in his voice, but plunged on. “It’s only been a month. I…I’m doing my best.”

“Yet you already know that that’s not good enough. And why not?”

He knew this, too. They all did. It was the first thing Monsieur Camille taught to the creatures he changed. He could have said it in his sleep, but somehow his voice still broke over the words. “Because I…I was made for this work. And only for this work.”

“C’est vrai. And so you have no excuse to be anything less than perfect, and I will accept nothing else.” Camille stood gracefully from his chair and crossed to the window, lacing his long fingers together behind his back, staring out over the city in silence for a moment just as long. Sacha stared after him in breathless terror, his cheek throbbing in time to the panicked beat of his heart.

“There are thousands of creatures in this city,” Camille said finally. “Sparrows. Rabbits. Stray cats, even. I would be very curious to find out what kinds of servants they make. I hope, Sacha, that you never give me a reason to satisfy that curiosity. I made and disposed of more than a few before I chose Hugo and Ondine. I chose them because they proved I could trust them. They don’t make mistakes. If you cannot meet the same standard, I will unmake you as quickly as I made you human to begin with. Is that what you want?”

“Non, Monsieur Camille.” It came out in a whisper.

“Nor do I. I’m quite fond of all my creatures, even the ones I decide not to keep.” The sorcier resumed his seat, his face still impossibly calm, but those blue eyes impossibly cold. “And you don’t want to be an animal again, either. I promise you that. I took your memories of those days out of kindness.” He cast a meaningful glance toward the locked chest in the corner- the one that held their furs, their pasts, their last bits of whatever they had once been- and Sacha did his best not to follow his gaze.

“I know that,” he whispered.

“Good. Then I’ll choose to trust you won’t forget it again.” Without warning, Camille reached forward, seizing the boy’s jaw, tilting his face from one side to the other. It was all Sacha could do not to cower away from the touch.

“Good,” Camille said again. “I haven’t spoiled your looks. I think Laurent has done quite enough of that, hmm?”

He ran his thumb over the thin white scar that slashed beneath Sacha’s right eye. Then he repeated the motion, bearing down harder, hard enough to hurt, almost hard enough to bruise, staring into Sacha’s terrified gaze as though daring him to pull away…

And then, satisfied, he relaxed his grip. “That will be all,” he said. “Go back downstairs and make yourself useful. I expect there’s still much to be done before tomorrow night. It’s the last social event of the season, and I will expect it to be perfect.” He picked up a stack of papers on the desk and started thumbing through it, a clear and cold dismissal.

Sacha didn’t wait to be told twice. He bolted from the room, back through the corridor, back down the stairs. “Perfect,” he repeated softly, breathlessly, trying to convince himself that the cold, the rainwater still on his skin, was the only reason why he was shaking.

#whump #whump writing #victorian whump #nonhuman whump #ish

13 notes · View notes

stnexus · 11 months

Text

nexus or mercury; she/her; black; twenty

likes — posting then disappearing for days, making others laugh, iced coffee, randomly journaling, naps on rainy days, picking up new hobbies, deep conversations, marble statues, music

dislikes — talking in the morning, rude people, feeling confused

favs — solange, beyoncé, andrew garfield, hobie brown, daniel kaluuya, ayo edebiri, jason todd, spider noir, bruno mars, jeremih, dean, flo, will poulter, alfred enoch, oscar isaac, rory culkin, asante blackk, könig, geto suguru, megan thee stallion, letitia wright, lashana lynch

fav shows + movies — atsv, coraline, courage the cowardly dog, you, the invite (2022), the circle (reality tv), the bear

4 notes · View notes

nymphdiariesdotcom · 1 year

Note

facts about jewel !!

let's gooo !!

jewel facts \('-' \ )☆.。

she has a slight fascination with morea. she can't pinpoint her exact feelings toward morea, weather they are romantic or purely out of curiosity to learn more about her mysterious roommate.

she blushes a lot, and most of the time she doesn't even mean to. her reddish undertone is to blame, and often slaps herself to make it go away.. obviously that does not work.

her favorite animal is the marbled duck.

she's one of those people who talk with her lower teeth, like megan fox.

she's never dyed her hair before. not even highlights.

she wishes from time to time, she had dimples.

she's also never smoked, or drank. if champagne at a cocktail party she was invited to [against her own will might i add], counts.

#ask #maxis-max #crsent.sims #oc #jewel blakely #ty for sending an ask !!!! PLS SEND MORE !!#<3

5 notes · View notes

spxcemuses · 1 year

Text

gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss? or manipulate, mansplain, malewife?

gaslight

are you boiling a pot on the stove? oh no that's just your best friend that you told you never had a cat before even though they vividly remember your cat. they probably just are remembering someone else or they have brain damage because you for sure never had a cat. you probably day dream a lot, maybe so much that your fantasies have really happened in the eyes of others. your lies are out of this world :) some examples of gaslighters are gabbie hannah, lila (miraculuos ladybug), megan (drake and josh), dean (supernatural), willy wonka (gene wilder charlie and the chocolate factory), and your mom

manipulate

you're an empath, or maybe you just a sociopath :) either way you get people to do what you want. whether it's through mind control or good old fashion crocodile tears, others just seem to always want to bend to your will. that's incredibly cool of you to do slay or you just suck really bad there is no in between :) some examples of manipulaters include james charles, mr. gold (once upon a time), chuck (supernatural), sue (glee), kuvira (lok), and dean (gilmore girls)

mansplain

you probably waste a lot of time thinking you are better than everyone else. you like to explain things in great detail that everyone else already knows. WE GET IT shut up you are stupid and no one likes you. okay well that makes it sound like you are all bad. that's not true. maybe you are just too stupid to know otherwise :) some examples of mansplainers include mako (lok), trump, owen hunt (grey's anatomy), ben shapiro, jake gyllenhaal, markiplier

girlboss

you are in CONTROL you take charge of your OWN life. you KNOW your worth and you wont accept anything less and that's queen behavior slay :) you probably are in a lot of clubs but actually do stuff. you'd rather be anywhere but home and do best in public surrounded by friends. some examples of girlbosses include rihanna, kamala harris, suki (atla), jenna marbles, kim (kim possible), and cher (clueless)

#. dash games #god these are so ACCURATE WTH #they're all awful :)#also thrax got 'manipulate' like 3 times but this works too

1 note · View note

blootcom · 5 months

Text

#pinterest

0 notes

somediyprojects · 8 months

Text

DIY Decoupage Marble Fabric Chairs

When you think of decoupage it might bring to mind messy magazine cutouts and dripping glue, but the technique actually has a long and beautiful history in the decorative arts. I set out to find just the right mix of materials to give this old-school technique a sophisticated and modern update.

Rather than paper, I settled on fabric as my medium of choice and found myself drawn to a bit of yardage that had a marble pattern digitally printed on it. I loved the trompe l’oeil effect and knew the texture would help camouflage any imperfections in the surface of the item I would cover. Next up was finding the right piece of furniture. When I spotted this three-seater bench made up of Eames-style, cast-plastic seats I knew I had found the one. The idea of cladding such a minimal, utilitarian shape in marble fabric felt totally unexpected. Ready to dive into decoupage? –Megan Pflug

Click through for the full how-to after the jump!

Here’s what you’ll need:

– 1-3 yards of fabric

– Mod Podge glue

– A 1.5-inch soft paintbrush

– Clear water-based polyurethane

– Latex outdoor paint for plastic surfaces (I used Krylon in blue)

– Scissors

– X-Acto knife

Getting Started

Begin by cutting a square of fabric a few inches larger than the surface you’re planning to cover. Next, coat the surface with a thin layer of Mod Podge using your brush;,then, while the glue is still wet, neatly lay and press the fabric into place. If you’re covering a surface with curved edges like mine, don’t worry about wrapping it around the sides yet. Just focus on smoothing out any air bubbles and getting the fabric in place before the glue starts to set.

Tip: To accommodate curved surfaces, you may need to cut a slit in the fabric to get it to lie flat. Just look for where the fabric seems to naturally fold to accommodate the curve, and cut there. To hide the slits, neatly overlap the edges and glue the fabric into place, smoothing it to hide the seam.

Finish the Edges

Once your surface is covered, start tackling the edges. Working slowly and neatly, glue the fabric around the sides, leaving the excess fabric hanging over the edge. When the Mod Podge is completely dry, usually after 30 minutes to an hour, use your X-Acto knife to neatly trim away the extra fabric.

Final Touches

To finish, apply three coats of water-based polyurethane to the fabric surface using your paintbrush. Wait until the surface is dry to the touch before adding your next coat. For an added pop of color, I chose to paint the back of the chairs a bright blue, but if the backs won’t be seen you can skip this step.

Although I used a bench, these same steps would work equally well with a single chair. Just keep in mind that pieces with flat surface areas work best for this type of project!

Resources: I used Stonehenge quilting fabric. That brand makes lots of really cool stone prints, so be sure to look at all the options.

#diy #crafts #home decor #x

1 note · View note