Xuebing Du
art blog(derogatory)
romaâ
Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
Sweet Seals For You, Always
untitled
Misplaced Lens Cap
h
gracie abrams
d e v o n
Discoholic đŞŠ
Mike Driver
Love Begins
almost home
YOU ARE THE REASON
bliss lane
shark vs the universe
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@sycadoodles
Augustine emerges from the storeroom covered in dust, grey streaks coating her formerly pure white lab coat and forming a fine layer on her disheveled hair.
âNote to self...âorganized chaosâ is still chaos...from now on, Iâll listen to Sophie, I swear! A new system starts today!â
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//Man Iâve been out of touch with the RP world for so long, how do I even get back in. Do I need fancy icons? Do I need icons at all?? Text formatting? Has the etiquette changed??Â
Iâd also need to like...revamp Augustine here to be more in line with what my actual headcanons were like and not just âuwuâ all day every day
//*dusts off blog*
Your very Personal and Intense Disney Ask:
Aurora: Story of your first kiss
Rapunzel: 5 things from your bucket list
Dory: Something someone has told you that you can't forget (two good things and one bad)
Pocahontas: Something new you taught someone.
Mulan: Do you trust your gut feeling? What happened.
Jasmine: The story of when you had to really trust someone. Was it easy?
Belle: Is there someone you are close to who no one else likes? What's the story?
Ariel: Where do you think you belong, and why?
Flounder: Something that surprised you and frightened you.
Eric: Have you ever helped a stranger? What happened.
Aladdin: A sacrifice you made for someone.
Tiana: A time you tried the hardest for something.
Boo: A childhood hero.
Cruella: Something you really want but you aren't allowed to have.
Seven Dwarfs: 7 things you like in the people around you.
Kronk: What you are best at in the kitchen?
Simba: Something a parent has taught you.
Cinderella: "A dream is a wish your heart makes" What's that for you?
Nemo: Your bravest moment.
Terk: Are you a big brother/sister figure to anyone?
Buzz: Your favourite fantasy world (aka Harry Potter, Star Wars), if any.
Alice: Done drugs?
Peter Pan: Something from your childhood that you still love.
Merida: What are you most passionate about?
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
  He picks up on the things that make her smile with far more ease than he picks up on the laws of close nations, the things that are important versus what should be important. Itâs a useless skill to know the exact measurements of bean-to-water-to-cream that she likes, the exact type of bean she preferred; and yet here he is, with the recipe etched onto his brain, just like her smile and the scent of her during the summer.Â
  âItâs good to see you too.â he admits, and itâs a weight off his chest. Yes, yes heâs missed her; seeing her again, outside of his dreams and subthoughts, just reminds him of how beautiful she is, like Venus surfacing on the waves and lifting a hand from the seafoam to greet the sun. âIâm sorry I havenât been by recently. My Motherâs senility is starting to become more noticeable, and the Council has requested me for longer hours.â
  His own coffee is going cold. Despite his usual insistence upon drinking it immediately, to savour the warmth and taste, he completely forgot about it. Instead he holds out the flowers, smiling at her over them; theyâre white and red and speckled pink, one of each type he grew, with a singular red-and-black that seems terribly out of place. His smile falls for a moment, turning the bouquet upside-down to shake his troublesome Floette out of the bushel, no matter her startled squeaking.Â
  (He catches her, of course, and sets her back into his collar. She smacks him with her flower, clearly irritated, but snuggles into the fur anyway.)
  âMay I come in? These flowers would benefit from a glass of water, I think.â He wonders if he should have brought a vase. Does she have any? He doesnât know; every time heâd come over, heâd been too busy staring at her or her paintings to take note of much anything else.Â
   That one small admission is enough to chase away the shadows lingering in her mind (for the moment, anyway), and even as she smiles up at him (for real this time, because he deserves it, because itâs never really an effort to smile for him) she wonders at herself, that something so simple could distract her so easily from everything weighing down on her.Â
   âDonât worry about it,â she says, shaking her head. Her curls fall over her eyes, and she reaches a careless hand upwards to sweep them away again. This may be the Prince sheâs standing in front of, but this is also someone whoâs seen her at her best and worst, and still, somehow, sought out her company all the same. Sometimes she flatters herself and thinks that it is because he enjoys her company. âIt sounds like youâve had a lot of work to do as well. Iâm surprised you were even able to make time to see me today, to be honest.â
   Her breath catches at the sight of the flowers, delicate and beautiful, and then huffs out in a whoosh of laughter as she watches the small PokĂŠmon tumble out of the bouquet. âOf course,â she says promptly, holding the door open wide and gesturing them both inside. Does she have any vases? Pots? Errant mugs not occupied with coffee dregs? She can barely remember her manners at this point, let alone if she has anything suitable for putting the beautiful flowers in. âWould you like to sit down?â
  The first thing his neurotic mind takes note are the bruises under her eyes.Â
She looks exhausted. He shouldnât be surprised; she is a Professor, after all, and the sort who excel at her job are not the sort who cannot survive days without sleep. And this is hardly the first time heâs seen her nearly on the edge of passing out, bleary and sleepy and worked beyond the bone.Â
  He just⌠hasnât seen her in so long. Itâs as if he forgets that she is human, simple as all others, setting her on a golden podium and showering her in laurels like a ancient Grecian worshiper.Â
  (Sheâs still beautiful, even at her worst. Itâs⌠fascinating.)
  He offers her the coffee first, with a mildly uncomfortable smile. Itâs a gentle one, he hopes, no matter if it bears his fangs. â⌠Bonjour, Professor. I hope I wasnât interrupting anything?â
   The smile on her face becomes a touch more genuine at the sight (and the smell--oh, the rich, sweet, sweet smell) of the coffee heâs holding out to her, at the fact that heâs brought her something, at the fact that heâs even made time to visit her at all. Selfish of her, perhaps, to be so pleased at monopolizing the Princeâs time, but itâs not as if sheâd asked him to come, and itâs not as if she begs him to stay.Â
   Not in so many words, anyway. She would never say such things aloud.
   She accepts the cup, resisting the urge to down it in one long gulp (sheâd start trembling, if she did that, and she doesnât want to seem as desperate as all that anyway). Instead, she sips as slowly as she can manage from it, nearly sighing in delight as the taste of it hits her tongue, just the way she likes it. She can feel the caffeine beginning to work its magic already, and wonders, vaguely, when Lysandre learned the way she likes to drink it.
   âThank you,â she says, when she thinks she can manage to speak without sounding like gravel has been dragged across her tongue. Her smile is much warmer now, head tilted up and up to look him in the eye. âAnd no, you werenât interrupting anything, really.â Nothing useful, anyway. âI just wasnât expecting visitors, I suppose. Itâs good to see you.â
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dauphindekalos
 Heâs not certain how he musters the courage to take those steps out of his Chateau and into the city but, ah, here he is. He carries a small bouquet of his first-blooms, fresh lilies from his private garden; theyâre lovely, as all flowers at the beginning of spring are, romantic intentions masked as a friendly hope at sharing some of his pride.
  He hopes sheâs not allergic to them. Has he ever asked? Has he brought her flowers before, or brought her to his garden? His memory feels poor, sleeping muddled with nightmares of black feathers and soot, but he thinks heâd remember sharing his pride and joys with her.
 (He remembers her brushing against him well enough, and the scent of her hair seems to be imprinted onto his brain.)
 He has two coffee cups balanced in his other hand, just in case the flowers were too flirty. He used to bring her coffee, after all, taking time from PR and Council Meetings to brighten her day with offerings of chemical joy. He uses his flower-filled hand to knock on the door, chewing on his lip and trying to keep his trembling to a minimum.
 New coat, after all. It wouldnât do to spill burning coffee on himself, especially since itâs white and pale orange, something gentler than his usual blacks-and-reds.
The first knock on the door sends a jolt through the fuzzy, cotton-filled depths of her brain, and she stirs feebly, hands scrabbling along the floor to heave herself up onto her knees. The world sways a little, and so does she, blinking in the harsh sunlight streaming in through the windows.
She canât be seen like this.
Grabbing onto the edge of the sofa, she hauls herself to her feet, nearly tripping over the blanket in the process before pulling it off and draping it over the back. Scurrying over to her desk, she whips a comb out of her pocket and drags it through her hair, holding up a mirror with the other hand. Her face looks pale and drawn, bags just barely visible under her bleary eyes, but thereâs no time for her to pull the makeup out of her drawer and fix herself up now. Not without making the person on the other side of the door wait an unacceptably long time.
âComing!â she cries as she smoothes out her shirt and slacks as best she can and shakes out her lab coat. Itâs probably just a wayward student, right? She doesnât have any meetings sheâs somehow managed to forget about in her incompetence, right? Shaking her head to clear it, she pastes a warm smile on her face and bustles over to the door. âWelcome! How can Iâoh.â
Not a student after all.
âą
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I know Kita can probably take care of herself, but I worry about her sometimes! I mean, I still donât even know what she actually does! Not that I try to think too hard about it, but... still. I wonder how old she is?
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Augustin lies slumped on the floor, blanket tangled around her, arms caught in her lab coat. This isnât the first time sheâs fallen off the sofa bed either, but somehow she just feels far too tired to even make an attempt to get up, even after her long nap. So many things to do, people to talk to, papers to write, and all she can do is lie here on the floor and wish she could just shut herself in the lab gardens with the PokĂŠmon all day and not come out.
Pathetic.
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cat loaf, skitty version
test scribble
I
have to get up in 3.5hrs
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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How to care: Treat her as an equal instead of making fun of her. Doing nice things for her is probably a good way to make her happy.
Send me instructions you would give someone on âHow to Care Forâ my muse.
âWell, I canât deny that! It just seems like common sense to me--why would I be happy around people who see me as lesser than them somehow? And doing nice things for anyone is a great way to let anyone know you care!â
