#pink hipster glasses

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital drawing of a younger Samama Khalid and Alice Dyer from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. Sam is a fat Arab man with brown skin and short curly dark hair and scruffy facial hair. He is wearing small black earrings, a cream colored beanie, undershirt, and socks, a red hoodie that says "uni" on it, brown sweatpants, and brown sandals. Alice is a taller lanky white woman with freckles and short brown hair with faded pink tips in a pixie cut and black painted nails. She is wearing stud earrings, pink hipster glasses, a tattoo choker, a dusty pink shirt, a berry colored flannel, a black hoodie tied around her waist, gray jeans with ripped knees, and berry converse. Sam is smiling up at her as though speaking with his hands in his hoodie pocket, and Alice is smiling back down at him with her arms crossed, slightly hunched. end ID]

~~~~

lil uni thems cuz i keep thinkin about em. sam gives me comfy guy vibes and i feel like alice simply hasn't updated her fashion sense much in the last ten years.

also yes i have decided to give sam permanent :3 mouth, it's not just the stache now.

#fg's art #the magnus protocol #tmagp #samama khalid #alice dyer #alice steals his hoodie regularly because it is so so warm and soft

[moralesmilesanhour]

piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission: 

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did. 

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face. 

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation. 

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’. 

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register. 

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration. 

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap. 

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully. 

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?” 

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness? 

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow. 

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register. 

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?” 

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet. 

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

-

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap. 

-

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it. 

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown. 

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

You tap your nails on the table, thinking. 

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too. 

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face. 

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother. 

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler!miles #moralesanhour

[nonnieapple]

⛈☂ Siren Song☂⛈

 • (Marshall Lee x reader)  • r a t i n g: t e e n & u p • 1 2 7 1  w o r d s  • p o s t e d 17.09.2023      🌧 navigation  • s u m m a r y: you hear a voice singing while out exploring the woods. you go to investigate and find someone unexpected.

You huffed as you jumped down from a concrete block covered with vines, your hands meeting the dirt. It looked like it was about to rain, and the sun was on its way to set, its rays muffled by thick storm clouds. 

  You straightened out of your crouch nimbly. You fixed your comfortable adventure clothes. 

  You inhaled and relished as your lungs filled with oxygen-rich forest air. Birds chirped, crickets rehearsed their symphonies, a small orchestra hid by foliage, and the breeze caressed your skin gently. 

  It was a beautiful evening, and you walked through the clearing calmly. 

  A sound caught your attention. No, it wasn't a bird. It wasn't a bug. Neither was it a party or an animal. The sound was more like a voice. You quirked your brow as you squinted. 

  You tried to follow the sound, wandering through the forest. 

  Your hands met with the bark of ancient trees as you sighed. No dice. But you were curious, you wanted to know who it was that was singing so pleasantly. For a few moments, you continued to wander, and after what seemed like too long, the voice came closer. It felt like you just needed one more turn and you'd meet the singer.

  If that was a forest siren singing, they had you in their grasp, and you'd be siren food. 

  The breeze rustled your hair as you stopped at a small clearing with warm, dim fairy lights hanging on trees. Your breath hitched and your eyes sparkled with wonder. It didn't seem like the lair of a vicious beast. More like the lair of a hipster or something. 

  You walked out from the trees. 

  "Hello?" You asked an empty clearing. 

  "Hey," A smooth baritone said as a person with a guitar appeared, floating mid-air ahead of you. You stepped back. 

  "Woah!" You gasped as you took in his form. He had midnight black hair, strange, unnatural eyes, desaturated light teal skin, and... long, sharp fangs sticking out from his smirking lips. A vampire. With a sick guitar that looked like an axe. It was a bright crimson. He strummed it leisurely. 

  "What do you want?" He asked with an exasperated sigh, tilting his head, his eyes half-lidded. He addressed you as though you were an annoying door-to-door salesman. You crossed your arms awkwardly and studied his guitar, and his long, clawed fingers. The sleeves of his wine flannel were hitched up over long inhuman forearms. 

  "I heard you singing and decided to check it out. Thought you were a siren," You laughed lightly as you shrugged. He raised a brow. 

  "Your voice is nice," You complimented quietly. His gaze softened and he floated lower. His black bangs fell over his face. 

  "Thanks," He said humbly, a slight pink tinge to his face. "Have I seen you before?" He pointed at you, his other hand holding the neck of his instrument. 

  You hummed. 

  "Could be. I've seen you around, though. Marshall, right?" You pursed your lips. The breeze blew gently, carrying the scent of the vampire's vague cologne. 

  "Yeah, Marshall Lee," He floated so that it looked like he was laying down, his pointed ears poking out, and he played a few chords. "I think I've seen you at Fionna's parties." 

  You nodded, kicking the glass under your feet. 

  "Yeah, I just go to stand around all awkward. But it's fun seeing people have fun, I guess?" You raised your hands. 

  "You're human, right?" He studied your ears. His tone had a mocking aftertaste. More clouds rolled in as the sun set nearly fully, shrouding the cool forest in shadow, but the fairy lights lit the clearing up pretty nicely. 

  "Yeah, and I take it you're a vampire." You sat down on a piece of an abandoned fridge, hands on your knees. 

  "Vampire King," He smirked as he floated near your face and then swerved back and up, crossing his legs leisurely. You leaned forward, your face heating up a bit. The guy was mad charming. A mad charming “bad boy”, which spelled trouble for you and your friends whose ears you'd talk off about him later. If what you had heard about him was true, he was one. The most egregious "incident" was the time he dyed everything Gumball owned green. Even Gumball himself. Famously, Gumball hates green.

  Marshall was then banned from the Candy Kingdom. He was banned from many places. Even Cracker Barrel. You'd also heard he was a classic rockstar, and you know what that means. Drink, smoke, snort ring a bell? 

  "Fancy title for such a punk." You raised your brow with a challenge. 

  "I'm a multifaceted individual. Maybe you'd know that if you were one too." His expression feigned solemnity. The upturned corners of his black lips and tone gave away his teasing. His ears lowered. 

  "Psh, you've just met me, essentially, and you're in the globdamn woods, who cares what you've got to say?" You smiled, putting your hands on your hips. 

  His nose crinkled, and black-sclera eyes with vertical pupils bored into you. He held a serious silence. Now this act was believably pissed. So believable you were getting worried, and your expression turned to badly concealed fear. 

  He burst out in a mischievous giggle,  throwing his head back. 

  "Good one." He smiled with a slight darkness. Man, was he one confusing sexuality-defying vamp. 

  Droplets of rain dropped on the trees above you. His ears tilted up to the sound, and for a split second, he looked like a confused cat. 

  "It's gonna rain soon. And by soon I mean two minutes ago." You frowned as cool air hit your skin, freezing you to your core. 

  Marshall huffed through pointy teeth.  His pierced ears drooped in annoyance. 

 "I'd love to see you soaked and all, but I can't get my guitar wet. Wanna go somewhere else, cream puff?" 

  "That's the first good idea you've had as of recently," You muttered. You blinked. "W- cream puff? Soaked?" You stuttered, your voice losing every shred of confidence. 

  "That is what I said. Well done!" He gave you a thumbs up. Your mouth opened a little, your expression as if you were about to sneeze. 

  "You gonna keep calling me that?" 

  The grass rustled, taps echoing off the foliage. 

  "What do you think?" 

  You sighed. 

  A drop of rain hit your arm. 

  "I think we should hurry."

  Marshall adjusted his guitar, floating to you and poking your back. You flinched. Son of a witch...

  "I like what you're saying. Rare occurrence, isn't it?" He bit his lip and gave you a side eye as you walked- floated- through the forest, leaves shielding you from rain. 

  "I wish I could punch you." You shook your head. 

  "Why don't you?" He coaxed, dodging raindrops. 

  "Your face is the only good thing about you." You shrugged. 

  "Aww, what about my sick guitar skills?" He played a chunk of a solo full of hammer-ons and gob knows what. You sure as hell weren't looking at his guitar at that moment. 

  "Hm. They're good, I'm just kidding."

  You stepped over a turtle. The rain was beating down substantially. It hit the leaves loudly. Taps could be heard all over. It felt peaceful. 

  "I don't know if I'm kidding. But I'm not kidding when I say you're the hottest person I've ever met in a forest," He purred, raising his brows suggestively. Awful. Criminal. Jail.

  And after that, you felt a little less peaceful. You crossed your arms as you shot him a sharp look. 

  "Are you always like this?"

  He smiled, flashing his sharp teeth. 

  "You bet."

#w r i t i n g #☂ #marshall lee #marshall lee x reader #adventure time #a d v e n t u r e t i m e

[atlafan]

This is the “quirky” hipster in your gen ed philosophy class. You’re the only two seniors stupid enough to have waited to fulfill your gen ed requirements, so when the professor tells the class to get into pairs for a project, you each look at each other immediately.

In any other situation, you wouldn’t partner with him. He’s the kind of person who wears black, thick-rimmed glasses just to look cool and interesting. He cuffs his khakis at the ankle, showing off an oddly patterned pair of socks. Normally you’re not this judgemental, but this guy is just not making this easy for you.

You move to sit next to him and notice his nails are painted the exact same color as yours. This gives you something to bond over. Instead of discussing your project, you debate on what polish brands are better. You exchange phone numbers and soon start texting almost every day, and not just about your project. He comes over late one night to work on things with you, and you notice his nails are free of polish. In the last two weeks you haven’t seen him without polish, so you ask him about.

“No polish today?”

He looks up at you, a slight pink tinting his cheeks.

“Uh, no...I took it off this morning.”

“How come? Did you end up buying that color I showed you?”

“No.” He looks down, then back up at you. “I wanted to trim and file my nails, and it’s easier to do that after the polish is off.”

“Understandable.” You nod. “I need to do my nails soon, but I have acrylics on so I’m waiting to go to the salon for that.” You furrow your brows as you look at him. “How come you didn’t put a new color on after you were finished?“

“Didn’t want them to get messed up.” He sets his laptop aside and looks at you with a little more confidence. “It’s also rude to finger fuck someone with untrimmed nails.”

Your eyes widen at that. “Oh, are you meeting someone after this, or...?”

“No.” He smirks. “You’re my only plans tonight. I was sort of hoping we’d do more than just work on our project. You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

“Um, no.”

He grins at you, and now it’s your cheeks that are growing pink. You set your laptop aside and cross your arms over your chest. Here the two of you are, sitting on your bed together, and Harry just propositioned you for sex.

“If I’ve made you uncomfortable, please don’t hesitate to kick me out.”

“You don’t want to just get your dick wet?”

“What’s the fun in that?” He asks seriously. “Gotta get you wet first, right?”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #blurb #harry styles x y/n #harry styles au #harry styles smut

[t4tails]

your sister giving you a weed gummy for the first time

imagine a pink haired girl with hipster wire glasses and a crooked nose piercing and yeah basically

#og post #ask #hidingoutbackstage

[astridellejo]

My Voice Is Broken So I Don't Use It Anymore What is the Search Term for That?

I began losing functionality of my voice about three years ago. It would happen for a few days at a time, usually when the seasons started to change so I just assumed it was some kind of perfectly normal seasonal hoarseness. It happened to me again in September 2023, but this time it stayed way longer than a few days. It has now been five months since my voice stopped working and I don't think it's coming back. It got on a plane to Peru and said, "See ya!" I've written about my voice loss in previous posts which you can read here and here.

Now that can no longer use my voice like I used to, I've been trying to find some level of community online. Because it turns out, just creating OCs that can't speak, or have difficulty speaking, isn't as fulfilling as I hoped it would be. Curse my needs for occasional social connection! The trick to finding community online is to figure out the correct search terminology that will help get me connected to others.

I started with "spasmodic dysphonia" because that's what the ENT specialist told me I have. Found some information but very few people. I expanded to "laryngeal dystonia", which didn't really take me much further. It did inform me, however, that a panel of experts decided it is the preferred term over "spasmodic dysphonia". Then I thought since I don't talk anymore, I could try using "nonverbal" as a search term. It got me a whole bunch of information on autism, but I am not autistic so that's not going to be the right search term for me. (I am ADHD though.)

So then I thought, "Okay, what is the most generalized concept I could use that is still reasonably accurate to my issue here?" The term "mute" is an option I suppose, but it might be a little too general. Plus it has some negative connotations. Even the dictionary says it's "dated or offensive" in terms of describing someone who cannot speak. Eventually it dawned on me I could simply use "speech disorder" as a search term. I didn't use it at first because I didn't think it was accurate, but I gave it a try. Hey! Look! There's my people!

I'm Astrid. I'm almost 50 (whoa). I have laryngeal dystonia and lost use of my voice only five months ago. Yes, communication now is more challenging, but I'm finding workarounds. And ya know, I actually quite enjoy not talking. I'm learning ASL (American Sign Language) and I absolutely love it! I use my phone to write messages if needed, or good old fashioned pencil and paper whenever I feel thumb typing might take too long.

So if your ability to speak is impeded in some way and/or you use alternative forms of communication for whatever reason, from a pencil and paper, to an AAC device, to sign language, I see you! I finally found the right search term and I see you! You rock!

[image description] Hipster Ariel wears thick-framed black glasses, a green scarf around her neck, a lavender shirt, and a matching lavender starfish in her side-braided red hair. From her right ear hangs a bespoke dinglehopper earring. Ariel sweeps her hair over her left shoulder revealing on her right shoulder a stylized tattoo of a seahorse. In her left hand she holds up a pink mobile phone with text on it in large letters reading, "voices are overrated". [/image description]

#speech disorder #laryngeal dystonia #spasmodic dysphonia #speech loss #neurodivergent #sign language #hipster ariel

[gender0bender]

Descriptions of current and former steelworker lesbians interviewed for the book Steel closets : voices of gay, lesbian, and transgender steelworker by Anne Belay, available on the Internet Archive

Transcript:

Erin, interviewed in January 2010. A bit sloping in the shoulders and tentative in her demeanor. She wore an embroidered V-neck sweater. Probably in her early fifties.

Fern, interviewed on January 29, 2010. She was a slim Asian woman with short, spiked hair and a ready, flirtatious smile. Though tiny, she had a butch swag- ger to her walk and told stories revealing an intense pride in her work. I would guess she was in her mid-thirties.

Gail, interviewed on January 25, 2010. She is a short, stocky woman with neat gray hair. She wore blue jeans and a denim shirt advertising ISG (International Steel Group, the former owner of her mill). She had a warm smile and laughing eyes, and loved to tell stories. She was about sixty.

Harriet, interviewed on April 10, 2010. She is mixed Indian and Mexican, and very butch. She had black, feathered hair, and seemed to be in her late forties. Her boots and leather jacket had many zippers.

Isabel, interviewed in June 2010. Younger (mid-twenties) than most of the nar- rators, with a presentation somewhere between hipster and goth. She was skinny, with hair partly black and partly hot pink. Clearly not comfortable in Northwest Indiana, she fantasized about moving elsewhere.

23. Wanda, interviewed on January 26, 2011. She wore a scrupulously butch tie, sweater, and hat, along with a Bluetooth. She was a dark-complected black woman with no visible hair. Her handshake and manner of sitting established butch domi- nance immediately, as did her sideways, knowing smile. I would guess she was in her mid to late thirties.

Xena, interviewed January 31, 2011, at her home. She wore a Steelers jersey over a thermal shirt and smoked constantly. She had a dry sense of humor and a butch presentation. She had iron gray hair. Probably in her mid-forties.

Carmen, interviewed in March 2011. In her fifties, she is a black woman with dreadlocks, who has some scarring from a burn accident at the mill. She was very reserved and held her lower jaw tensely.

Danielle, interviewed on April 25, 2011. She is a big woman, with long, straight, almost stringy hair. She wore glasses and dressed casually but with lots of makeup.

Janis, interviewed July 20, 2011, at a restaurant. She wore the jacket of union electrical workers and identified as a strong union supporter. Blonde and fit, in her fifties, she had a lively demeanor, but she refused to be recorded.

Kate, interviewed in August 2011, at a bar. Relaxed and funny, she loved to talk and was full of stories about the area, the mill, family, and life. She carried herself with confidence and had a physical presence. She had medium-length gray-blonde hair.

Lupe, interviewed September 18, 2011, at a bar. She was fairly boxy in build, with short black hair and butch mannerisms. Though she was in her mid-forties, there was something very boyish and innocent about her.

Marie, interviewed October 19, 2011, at a coffee shop in Pittsburgh. She was an older woman, many years beyond the steel mill, which showed in her body and demeanor. She had medium length hair, wore jewelry and a blazer, and was prob- ably in her sixties. When she discussed her life as a steelworker, memories began to flood back, and a butch attitude accompanied them.

#lgbt #steelworkers #lgbt writing #lesbian writing #lesbians #working class lesbians #steel closets #my uploads

[hahaalaine]

My 2 best friends at work and i are the most tatted, pierced, and funky hair folks so its always fun to see us altogether.

My one friend has purple blue gradient hair, gages & septum, and big glasses. My other friend changes her hair once a month (its currently mint green), septum, and funky vintage coke bottle glasses. Then theres me with the shaved head, nose rings, and bright pink oversized glasses.

Were the hipster trio 🤪✌️

[eternasci]

◈  TAG NINE PEOPLE YOU’D LIKE TO KNOW BETTER!

favourite colour(s): pink, blue, white !

favourite flavour(s): savory, spicy !

favourite genre(s): fantasy, horror !

favourite music: i typically just listen to video game music and music that is similar to it ! every year spotify calls me a filthy hipster, but i just kinda don’t pay attentions to genres and just listen to whatever is thrown at me from similar shit. that being said... techno, gabber, basically fucking Noise.

favourite movie: into the spider verse, knives out, psych ! 

favourite series: ...uhhh... shit. psych, white collar, scrubs, arrested development, tiger & bunny !

last song: all about you - yuni wa ! this always sucks cause i am listening to shit while writing wtf do y’all put

last series: tiger & bunny lmao

last movie: FUCK ummmm... the bad guys...? i think i don’t watch many things GLASS ONION I’M STUPID

currently reading: winterkeep by kristin cashore and y’alls replies to everyone !

currently watching: nothing. t-poses. 

currently working on: getting some help for my fuckin newly diagnosed ocd dsfgjhufn and trying to get back into writing because i miss yall.... i need to start slow !!!

tagged: cradling the precious @bloodxhound​... wait whats ur puppys name i need to know

tagging: @jukkumi​ @deathleads​ @dinoxia​ @lovcrsmoon​​ @magioffire​​ @witchofwarmth​ @waterwrit​ @hylianremnants​ @robotnikium​ @somnium-led​​ !

#🙦✿ ⦙ ᴄᴜᴛᴇsʏ ᴡᴏᴏᴛsʏ ᴘɪɴᴋ ᴍᴇʀᴍᴀɪᴅ! — ❪ & mun. ❫ #🙦✿ ⦙ ɪ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜɪɢʜ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʟᴏsᴇ. — ❪ & dash games. ❫ #i gotta watch more shit but also i cannot handle it

[bedbugbiting]

When I was working with the kids this past spring, there was one 9-year-old girl who had at some time heard that famous piece of advice (I'm paraphrasing) that before you speak, you should consider if your words are true, necessary, and kind. If any of her friends would act up or say something rude, she would respond with "IS IT TRUE? IS IT NECESSARY? IS IT KIND?" but she would also do this with non-verbal things. Once a girl started jumping up and down on a bench while two other girls were trying to write while seated on the same bench. This one 9-year-old approached the jumping girl and yelled" IS THIS NECESSARY? IS IT KIND?"

Anyway, I was thinking about this girl while the guy was screaming last night. "IS THIS NECESSARY? IS IT KIND?"

That girl was nine and cooler than I will ever be. Imagine getting reprimanded like that by a 9-year-old with hipster glasses and pink hair.

[chaosnightmare]

so these are going to be split up by location because different dimensions have different cultures that affect some of these answers

Characters from Initial (our dimension)

What is the characters go-to drink order?

Yka: milk. give Yka glass of milk

c_sharp: xe will not order xerself you have to do it for xer

Samie: pink lemonade at restaraunts that have it, soda of some kind otherwise

Rem: iced tea

808: white claw. hipster

What is their grooming routine?

Yka: she doesn't have much of one. its kind of redundant because of the. bleeding

c_sharp: shower, wash hair 3 times in 10 minutes, get out of shower and slather self in hand sanitizer, repeat several times a day

Samie: nothing fancy but does use face cleanser and lotion

Rem: rem takes no care of herself whatsoever

808: 808 also takes no care of themself whatsoever

Where does their disposable income go?

Yka: you could put yka in a sensory deprivation tank and she'd literally be fine. she spends nothing on anything

c_sharp: xe likes to buy rare beyblades but doesn't like the sound they make so never uses them. xe likes to buy lots of quality of life items but then hates the change and never uses them. xe buys new clothes and hates the texture so xe gives them away. do you see my vision

Samie: berrys room is filled with plush toy projects where berry buys a cheap plush toy from a drugstore or something and then frankensteins monster style transforms it using other toy parts like sid from that one movie. the biggest one has so far cost 100+ dollars and is a teddy bear with the most arms and legs physically possible, berry has to keep expanding the bear to fit more legs on it

Rem: she makes too little money to be able to blow income often. maybe a book or two sometimes

808: what does 808 even do besides play on the computer and be strange. no hobbies kind of guy

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

Yka: well theres the uh. blood

c_sharp: no

Samie: no

Rem: rem has a tattoo of a sun with a face on her right ankle actually. was inspired by a tattoo my mom had idk what it means

808: they do have a tattoo sleeve but i've yet to fully design it. scar on their lip and nose though from a skateboarding accident

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Yka: she just doesn't cry

c_sharp: oh yesterday. now. currently. any reason

Samie: berry had to leave home a while back and leave berrys friends in the process. lots of tears but berry never told anyone why or where berry was going. there's a whole story to this but its less related to the crying thing

Rem: so a big part of rem's story is being socially outcasted and how that history helps her communicate with nonhuman entities far better than humans can, obviously that outcasting comes with a lot of grief and heartache. i have a vivid scene in my head where its revealed that the guy she liked was playing an elaborate prank on her as a dare and he breaks up with her in the rain and she weeps and its very disney channel original movie but you get me

808: saw a video about a dog rescue yesterday and cried about it for 3 hours

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

Yka: we don't even know if she has parents. she's never mentioned them

c_sharp: only :( fail!

Samie: younger sibling, berry has an older sister

Rem: only also

808: middle child of 6 kids

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Yka: sneakers. ratty. look broken and sad and yet vibrant in color

c_sharp: barefoot

Samie: cute little pink creepers with flowery patterns on the front and glittery laces

Rem: braid style sandals like she's a costume of jesus

808: deeply scene lace up canvas boots with my little pony stickers on the sides

Describe the place where they sleep.

Yka: yka does have a bedroom but its minimalistic and takes up her entire house. up to the wall there's a small bed with no blanket that she sleeps on posed like a dead person

c_sharp: huge bed in tiny bedroom, lots of comforters and feather pillows, all of it pure white. on the ceiling above there are glowing star stickers

Samie: since berry is usually travelling and can't come to the room often, berry uses a sleeping bag and sleeps under the seats on trains. it's a simple sleeping bag, light blue and pink, nothing too special

Rem: her corner of the dorm room she stays in is pretty empty with the exception of some books, clothes laying around, and a computer. her bed is shitty, no sheets on metal bedframe with a weighted blanket and like 5 pillows

808: in the back trunk area of a van covered in band posters and alien sighting newspaper clippings on two dog beds

What is their favorite holiday?

Yka: don't have one

c_sharp: christmas but xe only likes it for the spirit

Samie: valentines day

Rem: barrier transition lockdown day, which is an emergency nationwide lockdown day marking the biannual time that the space between dimensions shifts and they all have direct communication with eachother, that she treats like a holiday

808: halloween

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Yka: nothing. literally nothing

c_sharp: pocket knife for self defense hope that goes normal for xer and nothing bad happens

Samie: backback seemingly filled with everything berry could possibly need, gimmick of berry's design to have cute pink versions of literally any item at berrys disposal

Rem: modified walkie-talkie. she talks to several other dimensional characters this way, particularly the nonhuman ones

808: ipod

Characters from Heaven

What is the characters go-to drink order?

LibreVeil: no thing☺

Honoa: cloud froth (fictional)

What is their grooming routine?

characters in heaven do not sleep or wake and do not get clean or dirty

that said if Honoa was human she'd have the patrick bateman skincare routine

Where does their disposable income go?

heaven has no currency

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

no ♡

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

LibreVeil: so. libre is hiding something very serious about herself and its taking a major toll on her emotional health so she cries regularly. she's being contacted, and in fact is the only citizen of heaven capable of being contacted by spirits in hell. this would be taboo in heaven since the two are at war and she'd be accused of being a spy. very sad for her

Honoa: ewww tears gross ewwwwww

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

everyone in heaven is siblings

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

LibreVeil: white metallic sandal-like shoes shaped like vines that snake up around the legs

Honoa: rarely wears shoes in the first place unless traveling

Describe the place where they sleep.

so everyone in heaven sleeps on a floor of the gated part of heaven dedicated entirely to being a bed. its made out of clouds so they all look like those cute little drawings of animals sleeping on clouds

What is their favorite holiday?

heaven has no holidays they think time is a ridiculous invention by people who die, which nobody in heaven is capable of to their knowledge

What objects do they always carry around with them?

LibreVeil: gauntlet that allows her to cast protective shielding magic with like 80 other people. she's frontline during dimensional shifts in case hell invades (they never do) or humans from initial get in (they always do)

Characters from Hell

What is the characters go-to drink order?

no drinks in hell unless you want to start seeing the scary evil skulls

What is their grooming routine?

same rules as heaven

Where does their disposable income go?

same rules as heaven

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

Hasamin: no but he has these permanent orange blush marks on his cheeks. nothing important about them however as he's always had those

Deltrax Vvezranikha: he does have markings sort of like tattoos up his arms legs and neck yeah. again though he's always had those

Cathode: no

PANOPTICO: no

@ KINZ: no they are slime

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Hasamin: he fake cries all the time in order to get his way but i don't think he has ever legitimately cried before

Deltrax Vvezranikha: he's old enough to recall the separation between heaven and hell, which brought him to tears for a multitude of reasons, mostly guilt for having any responsibility in it (he was close to the person who was accused of starting the whole mess with the spread of their ideology) but also a sense of relief

Cathode: too young to experience true sadness, cried the first time she cut herself on accident

PANOPTICO: was also there during the separation, vividly remembers having to tell someone she loved deeply goodbye as the dimensions walled themselves away from eachother and the memory makes her emotional when the war is brought up

@ KINZ: they were once human and died in a way that sent them across dimensions and landed them in hell. sometimes that happens. they cried in their last living moments because their cause of death was, like, excruciatingly painful

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

same rules as heaven

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Hasamin: no shoes idiot

Deltrax Vvezranikha: huge plate armor boots that come up to his waist, colored white and blue as is the rest of his outfit. they are heavy as Fuck

Cathode: cute widdle black loafers with little bat wings on the ends

PANOPTICO: she has no shoes her legs fray off into fleshlike spaghetti before the feet would start

@ KINZ: no shoes they are slime

Describe the place where they sleep.

same rules as heaven except everyone sleeps on the floor and they are allowed to have their own corners provided they can make their own walls or curtains and no fights break about about whos spot is where. they do

What is their favorite holiday?

everyones favorite is halloween any time it lands on a dimensional shift because they can come into initial without immediately being recognized as Creatures. very touristy

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Hasamin: his spirit of goodwill :D

Deltrax Vvezranikha: enormous gun. he drags it around with him. he says its for protection but the truth is clear- he thinks it looks cool

Cathode: satchel for collecting items and trinkets aplenty to trade with other item and trinket enthusiasts

PANOPTICO: nothing

@ KINZ: can't even if they wanted to... slime

Characters from Point 4

What is the characters go-to drink order?

Eihazard: robots cannot drink

M!m!a: robots can't drink

Seiris-maximal: ghost robots can't drink either

Lunade: she'd get like a water but then put one of those disgusting flavor packets in there cause she can't drink the water on its own but she's concerned about staying hydrated

//y: girls made out of sentient mercury cannot drink anything but more mercury i guess

Median: dog boys can't drink anything but water anyways

infectious: weird germ girls cannot drink

What is their grooming routine?

Eihazard, M!m!a, Seiris-maximal, //y, infectious: N/A

Lunade: warm bath with bath salts then full body scrub then skincare then nail care then

Median: roll in dirt

Where does their disposable income go?

the economy in most parts of point 4 is in shambles but Lunade's part of town is still intact because they get benefits for their work so she sometimes pays for her friends living expenses

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

no to all except seiris who has a full face "tattoo" she got from touching a meteor and it exploding on her

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Eihazard, M!m!a, Seiris-maximal: N/A

Lunade: so lunade and her general neighborhood all work in the sky during night time keeping the stars and moons working. one time she got into a play fight and threw a star at someone and it shattered and she felt so bad about it she cried so hard she frew up

//y: not emotional but sometimes it has to cry to get rid of excess mercury buildup

Median: got hit by a car and cried once. he got better

infectious: don't know if she can cry??

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

Eihazard: youngest

M!m!a: oldest

Seiris-maximal: middle

^ all 3 are siblings

Lunade: only

//y: N/A

Median: only

infectious: she has thousands of siblings and will have thousands more she knows none of them and its fine

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Eihazard: no shoes technically but her feet are colored diffrently in a way that makes it look like shoes

M!m!a: no shoes again but she does have boosters on her feet

Seiris-maximal: long shiny blue boots that come to a point near the knee and at the feet, crosses on the back

Lunade: none

//y: none

Median: sketchers style light up sneakers that glow purple when he stomps

infectious: neon orange mary janes with biohazard symbols on the front, covered slightly by black legwarmers

Describe the place where they sleep.

the robots: so robots don't sleep they just recharge. there are charging stations everywhere in point 4

Lunade: her bed is a hammock sort of thing that hangs from a corner in her room, its made with golden rope and has star decorations hanging from the bottom

//y: doesn't sleep

Median: sometimes sleeps on lunades roof like snoopy

infectious: has never slept a day in her life she doesn't plan to start now

What is their favorite holiday?

they don't have holidays in point 4! time is only measured in years and they're all given unique names. this one is Timbre

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Eihazard: combat is culturally important in point 4 so everyone has to have some way to fight on hand. Eihazard has a spinning blade modified into the pole of an iv bag

M!m!a: double lazer powered gun connected by an energy cable to transfer from gun to gun in case one malfunctions

Seiris-maximal: cross shaped thing that extends into blue light beams (sort of like a lightsaber) that is used sort of like if you tried to use a pickaxe as a weapon

Lunade: star shaped tambourine that is designed to emit a frequency so painful to the ear that it stuns opponents. more for self defense than anything else. robots are immune to this

//y: can't carry anything for similar reasons to @ kinz

Median: his phone. normal

infectious: large solar powered canon set that extends out from her hairclips and latches itsself onto her back. it has a tally count scratched into its side of all of the people she's beaten with it because she's an egomaniac

#shadowposting #ocs #new tag for if i ever mention these fuckers again outside of this post and that poll

[halcyonramblings]

Letters I Can Never Send, No. 5

Dear D,

After our New Years Eve date, I heard from you just about every day. Some days it was a meme, sometimes it was a song, and sometimes it was a deep philosophical question meant to initiate heated banter. Those were always my favorite.

Valentines Day came and went with little fanfare, but it didn’t matter because you spent your evening with me. Granted, it was through texting as opposed to in-person, but still you dubbed me your Valentine and we talked all night, so I went to bed with a contented smile on my lips and - dare I say it? - love swelling in my heart. I had three months until graduation, I had recently been awarded a full scholarship, and I was falling hard for you. I swore to myself that my first night at college, I was going to sleep in your arms.

Two days later, February 16th started as just another mundane day of high school until it all fell apart during 2nd period, AP U.S. history. Mr. Brown’s classroom felt as chilly as the biting air outside, and the fluorescent lights felt too bright as I shivered against the fuzzy fleece of my North Face jacket. Classmates chattered idly all around me while Mr. Brown swore under his breath at the Smart Board, which was refusing to display the Power Point that would guide his lecture.

Covertly, I slipped my iPod Touch out of my pocket, the pink and white giraffe print case cool and smooth in my palm. It had recently become common knowledge that the school’s wi-fi was unsecured, so we could freely use apps just so long as we didn’t get caught. I clicked onto Facebook and began to absently look through my newsfeed, when the sight of your name made me pause my scrolling. You had “liked” a photo.

I had never seen the girl before. Never had I seen a trace of her in the comments of your posts, never a tagged photo, never a wall post, never a mention of her as part of your regular rotation of friends. Already feeling panicked, I clicked through to her profile. Right there, under her recently added, there you were. Brand new Facebook friends. I clicked back to the picture, began to scrutinize her.

As much as I hated to admit it, she was kind of pretty, in a hipster sort of way. She had shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair in flat-ironed layers, thick bangs covering a large portion of her face. A purple bandanna was tied in her hair like a headband and she wore a gray t-shirt bearing the emblem of your university. Her eyes were partially obscured by thick, rectangular glasses and she smirked at herself in the mirror she was using to take her picture.

At this point, my heart had completely fallen out of my chest and landed in stomach acid, where it threatened to come up my throat and splatter like a tomato on the grimy tile floor. I clicked back to her profile, tears bubbling up in my eyes. She was pretty. In one picture, she didn’t wear her glasses and instead flashed huge, ice-blue eyes, black mascara piled on long lashes. In another, she played a guitar in the middle of a convenience store, right in front of the icee machine. There was one where she sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, trippy posters on the turquoise wall behind her and a Spam can on the bookshelf being used as a pen holder. She had a professional grade camera; photo after photo featured her holding up random objects in front of a fisheye lens.

I couldn’t deny it; she was everything I wanted to be. She was perfect. And she was your type. As the day wore on, I obsessively stalked both your Facebook profiles. You “liked” another of her photos, an older one taken with a webcam; she had obviously recently showered, hair in damp, wild curls framing her face.

That night, though, you texted me as if everything were normal. You made no mention of this mystery girl, instead sending me a song to listen to: “Warning Sign” by Coldplay. In return, I sent you “Bedroom Eyes” by the Dum Dum Girls. We continued like this, back and forth musical tag with some conversation sprinkled in, until you said goodnight around midnight. You promised you would talk to me tomorrow, punctuating your text with a ;-) face. Perhaps I had overreacted, I told myself as I burrowed under the covers.

You didn’t text me the next day, though. In fact, that was the last I heard from you. Days or weeks passed, I’m not sure. It felt like forever.

You certainly had time for your new friend, though. Over the next several days, I endured constant “likes” and even wall posts between the two of you - feigned sarcasm, playful arguing, exchanging songs, just like we did. It almost felt as though you were rubbing it in my face. But the thing that hurt me the most, the twisting of the knife - remember one of the songs you sent her?

Fucking “Warning Sign” by Coldplay, D.

#creative writing #letters i can never send #personal narrative #I’ll probably edit this later

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

i associate u with shihtzus first of all, and early 2000s anime art, the color pink, and hipster but not the mustache and cats kind i mean like the cool kind. and tumblr tbh bc ur always here lol wen i get on tumblr i literally check ur blog after scrolling the feed. ur the only person i check on bc i just like u and pochita lmao

ok genuienly ilu so much for being my age/growing up in the same corners of the internet as me cus like in 2011 i would CRY if someone called me a hipster id be like NOOO I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE MOUSTACHE zoey deschanel sundress bangs galaxy print 3D glasses w the lenses popped out hipsters i am so mucb more advanced than that and yet...everyone would call me a hipster... and you know all about this specific struggle like u get it. ilu lol love checking your blog too we post like oldheads i love to see it. plus our shihtzu to shihtzu communication.

[flutterfae-rp]

Starter for @perpetualshade

The fortuneteller's shop was well off the beaten path, on a side road nearly 30 minutes away from the nearest town. It had a weathered look to it. The building was painted dark blue with images of stars, swirls, and eyes in a chipped, silvery shade. A small neon letter sign was bolted to the front near the door. It read 'Psychic'.

All in all? Not an especially promising sight to anyone of a supernatural persuasion or with a connection to true magic... which was exactly the point.

The inside was not much better... For all intents and purposes? It was a dimly lit metaphysical shop that someone had spent the barest effort to look like they gave a damn, when they had no such inclination. Everything was covered in a layer of dust and WREAKED of patchouli. And there behind a glass case full of tarot decks and dyed quartz crystals and pendulums was Nicomedes.

He had a scruffy look to him. His hair was worn in a messy bun with an undercut. The longest part was a faded pink color that, by the length of the mouse brown roots, had not been refreshed in some time. Nicomedes wore cheap, gaudy jewlery and looked to all the world like a college hipster that was making a show of their entry into new age paganism.

He looked up from a... somewhat questionable looking magazine with a bored look on his face as the bell above the door rang. It belied the white knuckle grip he held on the pages at the sensation of his protective wards shattering into pieces.

"Looking for a way back to the main road?" Nicomedes asked with a Lazy drawl. "You're a ways off."

#Starter #perpetualshade #Modern Magic verse #Nicomedes

[mean-hare]

i want to tell a story about my teen expirience with pedo gal. theres no advices or conclusions, i just tell what happened to me once. its not really ed related, and also its not really that bad and serious expirience but i tend to take many things too lighthearted and you really may be triggered by this, so tw, cw, idk how to tag, read at your own risk.

so i was 14 or 15 year old kid, fat, ugly, weird, bullied, and very lonely. i listened to black metal a lot (i still listen to it but not that much). i was in internet black metal groups and sometimes posted good shit in one of them. admin of it dm me and we talked a lot. her nickname was crow. she was a 26y.o. girl who didnt look like a metal fan at all. she was very normal looking girl, pretty, with good make up and short pink skirt. we started to meet occasionally and my mom liked her. later crow said that she specially looked for kids who doesnt have too controlling parents, even slightly neglected ones.

we talked online a lot and she kind of wanted relationships. i didnt really wanted ones but i thought it would be fun. we had a chat: me, her and one guy, he was maybe 16-17 y.o. me and him felt that like some funny unserious shit like lol ok. crow told about her other relationships with boys even younger than me, at least one boy was like 13 y.o. there were at least 2 of them, both blackers-hipsters in glasses. also she kind of tried to make out with elder women, idk about detail. ah and there was at least 1 grown up guy she got money from.

she convinced that boys to send her dickpics i guess. and she showed me that pics. she thought its funny, i thought "ew jeez okaay". i didnt send her my nudes even tho she wanted. actually we never did anything illegal, the biggest thing was shy childish kiss on the lips. maybe she wanted more but she never pushed. her smutty texts and pics made me kind of uncomfortable but i was really lonely and bored so i decided to just observe what will be next.

we walked sometimes together idk if can call it a date. she treated me like a child and i liked it. she ride with me on a children train ride, she bought me my favorite pastries and sodas and talked about how fat she is and how she dieting and tries to lose weight (she was much thinner than me of course). she gave me a cool bracelet with spikes, i still wear it. she had no morals and made fun out of everything. once in her fake account with profile pic of the youngest boy she "date" she posted an image of a dog head(decapitated) and made fun out of people who were disgusted. she had a lot of face accounts and often tried to trick me with it and make fun of me later(she succed only once). she made fun of my obsession over hungary, love for black metal and hairy legs. she could make out and tell smut out of blue, and sometimes it was the funniest shit possible. and she could make you more guilty, uneasy and disgusted bu yourself in the subtliest ways possible. she loved to rot and ruin kids' minds and it shows. she studied psychology before and she could be psychologist but idk if she practiced. i never met a good psychologist in my life anyway lol.

the last time we met was winter 2015. she saw that i cant be good for something she want and i was getting older anyway so she focused on that 13y.o. boy. she told me how he loves her, sends her cds and merch and how his parents hate her and send her death threats. shortly after we stop communicate and her last profile pic was a photo where she and that boy are kissing.

then one day i woke up from a call from strange number. male voice asked me if i know [female name and last name]. it was a cop. he said that she (crow) was found dead. killed. with head and one hand cutten off. he asked me f i know something and what are names of her accounts if she has ones. i dont think i told him much. i even thought that it may be another trick of crow. but that cop also called that 17y.o. dude from chat. we was like holy shit wtf okaaaay lol. i still dont know how to feel about it. and my parents still know nothing. that good girl just dissapeared one day from my life. "what a pity, my mom said, she was so sweed. she probably found a boyfriend and devoted to him, it often happens to girls". yeah. probably. at least i have a wild story to tell. and a cool black metal spiked bracelet. lmao

#disorder #ed blr #ed talk #boy ed #story #major tw

[amazing-spiderling]

So for the two ask games: 3,12, 17, 21, 36, 49 for murderdock and 4, 9, 13, 23, 27, 31, 35, 44 for Gwen, then 🧭, ♻️, 🤔, ❤️!

I think I already answered all of those WIP asks (and honestly, I don't have that many going at a time) so I'll answer the character asks!

MURDERDOCK:

3. Obscure headcanon

The Hand tried to diversify their portfolio by breaking into the entertainment industry, starting in Japan with musical groups. Matt had a short-lived stint as a solo artist but the project was eventually scrapped. He still misses it sometimes. Nobody knows about this until Foggy finds a beat up CD case in used music store one day and spends a full minute gawking at the familiar brooding face on the cover.

12. Crack headcanon

I just think it would be funny if he was a vegetarian. I don't even know that I consider this a headcanon, it would just be funny if the guy going around murdering people with his sword cane ate a lot of tofu.

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

I've made a few playlists over the years, but a song I haven't had a chance to put on one yet is "Promiseland" by Mika

21. Drink of choice (not just alcoholic)

Robbi Rodriguez has art of him with a martini glass on his IG and I decided it was an appletini not because he likes the flavor but because he's committed to the bit. In the privacy of his own home, I see him as an unsweetened hot green tea kind of guy

36. Their favorite season

Winter. There's less people around, the snow helps muffle the sound and things smell less when they're cold.

49. Favorite toy as a child

Gwen Stacy (65 I presume)

4. Favorite line

"But if the only way I can help is with my fists -- then I've already lost. I have to try a different way. I have to know I tried."

9. Scene that first made me love (or hate) the character

I read Spider-Verse before it was cool (JKJK I mean before the first movie because I was deep in my Spider-Man era) and there's a part in the story where a lot of the main Spider-People split up into pairs to go and visit other universes to recruit more heroes/ ward off the Inheritors etc. Gwen ends up in a world where Peter Parker has become the Goblin, going down a path not too dissimilar from her own Peter's. This Peter also ends up dying in her arms, but she shows a great deal of compassion and understanding towards him and I think that was the moment that really made me want to check out her series. (Which had been written at the time I read that comic, but didn't exist when it had been written, which I think speaks to how good of a job that one scene did at developing a character who had literally just been invented.)

13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done

Not dumbest in that it was a conscious decision she made, but her complete misreading of the emotions of her friends (Peter's obvious crush on her, MJ's annoyance at Gwen's missing Peter's crush on her, MJ's jealousy and motivation for creating the band in general) sort of stretches the limit of general obliviousness, especially since she CAN read people when she's trying to.

23. If they were a scented candle, what would they smell like?

Backstage sweat and like... raspberry body spray from the drugstore

27. Their guilty pleasure

I'm low-key obsessed with Dollar Dog and I love that for Gwen. I wouldn't say she felt guilty about it before it became a hipster nightclub but she sure does now. I hope it fell out of fashion and Mr. Alby got to run it again.

31. If the had a tumblr what would it look like?

She stayed up late one night picking out some cool colors, hot pink, purple, something very chillwave, and like a very heavily filtered landscape photo of the city to go at the top- she posted semi-regularly for a month and a half and then forgot about it.

35. Their idea of a perfect day

She gets to sleep through most of it, but wakes up and finds out that her dad has invited her over for brunch and she's got time to make it and pick up juice on the way.

44. Their happiest memory

Probably something like a middle school holiday spent with her parents and the Parker family. Before things got complicated. She understands now that the roots of her larger problems were always there, but she can appreciate the comfort her innocence afforded her back then.

#thanks for the ask!