#( but every time I log in feels like a chore )

[s4memistake]

official hiatus notice. happy new year if I don’t see you soon!

[0fps]

well

[midnighvtm4ss]

omg I feel like if anyone could write this right it’s going to be you. we need arthur FLUFF with a reader on her period!!!

RISES THE MOON

cw: fluff, toothaching fluff, period cramps, arthur is a sweetheart, please arthur marry me :( wrote this on my notes app, grammar errors

wc: 1,8k

a/n: this piece was so comforting to write aaa thank you anon for the request <33 i hope this will soothe anyone who’s having period pain rn, i suggest you listen to this song and this one, i had them on loop while writing this. This piece is shorter than the others but I think it suits the mood in a way,, idk ! enjoy!!

The last few notes of the sweet melody coming from Javier’s guitar floated quietly in the air.

The night had fallen gently over the camp, wrapping everything in a quiet, soothing stillness. The campfire flickered softly, casting a golden light on the nearby trees, creating a cozy circle of warmth for those near it. Most of the gang had long since retired for the night, leaving only the faintest murmur of voices in the distant watching post and the occasional pops and cracks of burning wood.

You stood near the fire, trying to find some relief from the chill in the air, but more than that, you were trying to ease the dull ache that spread through your body. The cramps had been like little devils on your lower belly throughout your day, starting as a minor constant discomfort but now growing into something more relentless, making you wince with every movement and your back aching with every step.

Your day was filled with chores left and right as some of the girls left camp and went into town under the request of various groceries items for Pearson’s wagon. You wanted to join them but unfortunately your body had other plans. You came up with a simple excuse and promised to go with them another time. You hadn’t mentioned the true cause to anyone—it was just your period, no need to alarm anyone after all—but now, at the end of the day, you were desperately ready to crawl into the comfort of your bed and hope the night might lend you some kind of relief.

Arthur had been finishing up his usual nightly chores, checking on the horses and bringing them fresh hay. He always had a fondness for horses, no matter if they were his or someone else’s. His love for them often found sketched freely in the various pages of his journal. As he made his way back from the hitching post his eyes scanned the surroundings, making sure the camp was in order for the night. His eyes, like magnets drifted to your figure near the campfire.

You could feel his eyes on you, catching the small signs of discomfort you tried so hard to hide behind your calm demeanor. But he noticed something was off, he always noticed. The way your hand kept drifting to hold your stomach, the subtle wince that crossed your face when you thought no one was looking—it didn’t slip past him.

The crunching sound of boots on dirt floated in the air making its way towards you. You knew who it was and you took a moment to regain yourself and put on a calm façade.

“Y’alright, darlin’?” The gentle rumble of his voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he came to sit down on the log beside you, his gaze full of quiet concern as he searched your face for any hint of discomfort.

“Sure,” You tried to smile through the ache, not wanting to make a fuss. “just a little sore from the day. It’s nothing.”

But Arthur wasn’t one to brush things off, especially when it came to you. He studied your face for a moment, his brow furrowing making a small expression line form between his brows in that familiar way that told you he wasn’t about to let it go. Without saying anything, he slipped a warm, steady hand to the small of your back, moving it in small comforting circles.

“Come on,” he sighted, his voice still soft but insistent. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He guided you away from the fire and toward the tent. You didn’t argue. The idea of lying down, of finally resting, sounded too good to resist.

The two of you slipped into the quiet of the tent, Arthur hand left yours to go and close the front flap of the tent and light up the creaky old lantern on the makeshift bedside table, the lantern casting a soft glow over the familiar space.

The moment you sank down onto the bed, you let out a long sigh, curling up slightly to your side in an attempt to relieve some of the tension in your belly. But even then, the cramps persisted, growing stronger by the minute.

Arthur knelt beside the cot, his arms folded on the soft mattress watching with that careful, gentle intensity of his. He reached for the blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness so far different from his usual hard front he put up with everyone. Then, without a word, he got up, kicking his boots away and settled down beside you, his large frame stretching out on the bedroll as he gently pulled you into his arms resting your head on his firm chest.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whispered. His breath warm against your temple as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you higher against his chest.

You melted into him, resting your head against his chest, your body relaxing instantly in the comfort of his embrace. Arthur’s warmth surrounded you, his steady presence already making you feel better, more at ease. His hands, rough from all the manual work, moved with a soft, gentle care. One hand drifting under your nightgown towards your lower belly, the action far from sexual while the other moved to untangle your hair from the simple hairstyle you had for the day.

“That time of the month?”

You let out a muffled grumble against the fabric of his red union suit as an answer, making Arthur let out a small laugh.

“I can tell it’s hurtin’ you,” he said quietly, his voice low and soothing as his thumb began to rub slow, comforting circles over your stomach. “Let me help.”

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft breath as the warmth of his hand started to ease some of the ache. His touch was gentle, massaging your lower belly putting just enough pressure to soothe the tension without causing more discomfort. The pain didn’t go away completely, but the care in his movements, the way he held you, made your heart sing with joy making it easier to bear the pain.

“That’s better,” you whispered, your voice soft with relief. “Thank you.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a faint smile, though you could feel the ghost of worry still lingering in the way his hand moved over your belly, never stopping, never hesitating. “You don’t gotta thank me for takin’ care of you, darlin’,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’d do it every day if I had to.”

“Be careful of what you wish for, Mister. I might start to demand more if you spoil me”

“Oh I can’t wait,” he teased. “Forever at your service mylady.”

His words made your heart swell with warmth. Arthur wasn’t the type to shower you with flowery words or grand gestures, but it was in moments like these that his love showed itself at its truest form—in the quiet, steady way he was always there, making you smile, always looking out for you, even when you didn’t ask for it.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth. The moon rose higher in the sky and the outside world faded away. Arthur’s hand continued its slow, soothing movements, his touch tender and full of care, and little by little, the pain in your belly began to ease ever so slightly. You felt the tension melting away under the work of his hands, the cramps becoming a dull background ache rather than the sharp, insistent pain it had been just an hour ago.

“Y’know,” Arthur said after a long moment of comfortable silence, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet, “I remember Miss Grimshaw used to make me and John chamomile tea when we had stomach cramps.” his hands never stopped their movement.

“Marston used to drink a lot of it—that poor bastard always seemed to eat the nastiest shit he could find around,” he laughed lightly, reminiscing of the early days of the gang when a camp cook seemed such a privilege.

“Anyway, I can make you some if you want,”

You smiled against his chest, the simple thoughtfulness of his offer making your heart ache with affection. “That sounds nice,” you whispered, though truthfully, you were already feeling better just being in his arms.

“I don’t know how much it can be of help but it’s better than nothin’”

Arthur shifted slightly. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Before you could protest for the lack of his warmth against you, he slipped out of the tent, moving with that same quiet efficiency he always had.

A few minutes passed, you were almost asleep when Arthur came back and with him the chill night breeze entered the tent waking you up.

“There,” he said softly, his deep voice full of quiet satisfaction as he sat the mug down the bedside table. He sat down beside you, pulling you up into a seated position before handing you the tin mug filled with the golden brown liquid. “This should hopefully help.”

You nestled into him, feeling the warmth of the mug and the steady, grounding presence of Arthur beside you. It was amazing how he could make everything feel better, just by being there—by holding you and letting you know, without words, that he was there for you.

A comforting silence fell on both of you as you drank your tea slowly, feeling your whole body relaxing with each warm sip you took.

After a while, the pain in your belly faded into the background, and you found yourself growing drowsy in the soft cocoon of warmth and care that Arthur had created around you. You laid down again and Arthur followed your action putting your head on his chest. His hand moved to your back, tracing lazy, soothing patterns there, his fingers brushing gently over your spine.

“Y’know there’s no need to hide when you’re hurtin’. You’re always helping everyone around, sometimes you gotta stop and look after y’rself.”

“Arthur,” you whispered, your voice full of sleep and gratitude. “I love you so much, I don’t deserve you.”

He huffed a soft laugh, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed another kiss to your temple. “Ain’t no such thing,” he murmured, “you deserve more than me.”

His words, so downgrading for himself yet full of love for you, made your heart ache in the best way.

“You’re everything I need,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as your eyelids grew heavy. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped safely in Arthur’s arms, the pain and discomfort of the day faded away completely, replaced by the quiet, steady warmth of his love.

[ronearoundblindly]

okey dokey, I've had *a day* and will use this glorious...🥴 idek which body part to reference 😮‍💨...and merge it with your previous ask about cooking or baking for Steve and giving him a nice, comforting, home cooked meal. And his response to that act of service and caring. Because this is me, I will obviously be starting with ::gasp:: an argument. Don't you love how predictable I am?!?!

To Tire Is Human

No warnings, uhhh, canon language (sh*t)? Written in drafts so no exact word count. It's not long (2k maybe, very much unedited)!

"The hustle? What does that even mean?" Steve gripes as he finishes up various chores around the property.

"It means I do the work."

Your boyfriend rips apart the wood log he was about to start chopping. "Do the work? Do the work? For nine hours? After leaving home early enough to be at work for an hour before the actual work starts? Then staying at least a half hour to clean?"

"Unless I also have to restock," you add quickly just to really turn the knife.

"You have got to be shitting me," he nearly snarls, eyes down toward the pile.

You don't blame him for not understanding. He's from an era where people worked to live, the point was the living. This...is not longer that era, and you are not of that generation.

Of course, it frustrates him, too, because your work makes living almost impossible. With all that he just mentioned, the commute, and attempting to offer yourself the basic self-care of eating and washing, you don't have the energy to do chores, and you've certainly struggled to find energy enough to show Steve love.

"That's the gig nowadays. That's how us super-average humans do it."

The thing is that you are also so tired of having this conversation. You are tired of the guilt for not magically considering yourself the center of your universe because, despite jokes about every kid receiving participation trophies, it is deeply engrained in you that you are replaceable.

If you don't perform above and beyond, fired. If you ask for too much and offer too little, gone. If you don't constantly learn how to outpace others, useless. It never ends.

And, finally, Steve Rogers might not get this but you age. You aren't powerful to begin with, but day after day, you get weaker and older, while someone else on Earth gets smarter and stronger.

You don't want to hear the spiel. You can see from his pinched face that Steve wants to give the spiel.

You sigh in exhaustion and prepare to hear the whole Cap speech before you two go pick up dinner in town.

One day later that week, your work schedule falls apart and lands you back at home hours before Steve is due to return. Antsy to accomplish something--and looking for a snack,--you notice the perfect combination of ingredients, something saucy and salty, hearty, just like Steve melts for, and a fruity baked good.

It's a lot of steps, there's a lot of mess to clean up as you go, and then there's still a lot left behind. You're hastily rushing around to set the oven timer and yank a skillet off the burner. Perhaps the whole endeavor has gotten you in over your head.

Steve appears out of nowhere.

Well. Not nowhere, but all the chaos in the kitchen is making enough noise, you didn't hear the door.

"I have everything under control," you automatically say.

His expression morphs from one of surprise and concern to utterly overwhelmed. His eyes look glassy as he approaches and scoops you into a quick hug, hands tucking themselves beneath the hem of your shirt so he can feel your skin as he breathes you in.

He quickly releases you at the sounds of oil popping and sniffs, reverting to Cap mode.

"What do you need? What can I do?"

All you can think is that the table hasn't been set.

Steve eats his whole meal--entree and dessert--with his non-dominant hand just so he can hold yours.

He had one of your days.

He spent the drive home listing all the things he needed to do in his head, more energy for each tick, more time for sitting still, more of him to give...

...and then he got to enjoy a lovely dinner with you.

You spent your energy on him, on you both. You spent energy specifically to spend time with him, and Steve could cry but he won't. He keeps smiling, making happy, pleased noises with each delicious bite.

An hour ago, he wasn't sure he could feed himself or wash up. He's simply too tired.

You start playing with his hand, drawing patterns in his palm, lightly dragging your nails on the sensitive inside of his wrist. It makes him shiver.

There were at least four things he was supposed to do outside before it got too dark, a load of towels and sheets needs done, a basket of clothes waits to be folded and put away. He does not want to do any of it.

His fingers close around yours.

"Thank you," he interjects softly, "I was so tired."

You lean forward and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, whispering in his ear, "you wanna leave the dishes to soak and watch a movie instead?"

Steve chuckles, turns his head to quickly kiss your lips, and nuzzles his nose to yours.

"Oh, you're a naughty minx, aren't you?"

Playfully racing up the stairs, ignoring the plates and glasses still on the table, you call back to him.

"Show some hustle, big guy! We got a whole lot of nothing to do."

He twitches, just for an instant, before finally deciding that grabbing the spare pillows from the guest room will add more to the movie experience than doing the dishes.

You're both going to do the work tonight: the work of taking care of each other, enjoying each other, and being human together.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[chocopriski]

JAYVIK SFW & NSFW HEADCANONS

SFW

-Who cooks?: Viktor. Their house chores are meticulously planned around Viktor's condition. Jayce does the most physically straining ones.

-Who’s the messiest? The cleanest?: Jayce is the organized out of the two. His clothes neatly folded and hung on his closet. His side of the bathroom sink grouped by product type.

Viktor though, just throws his clothes into the closet and closes the door as quickly as he can. Like when storing Tupperware. This man somehow knows where he left that tiny little thing among a pile of stuff. It might look messy but he knows exactly where he left everything.

-Who fixes the vehicle after a breakdown: Jayce. I mean, he's the engineer out of the two. Viktor just stays there with the excuse that he's there to help. He obviously just wants to see Jayce all messed up and sweaty. Jayce knows that, and he makes sure to give him a good sight then act completely oblivious to the fact.

-Living space has a leak! Who fixes it?: Same answer as before. Except Viktor will be ready to call someone to repair it for them in case Jayce has no idea what he's doing.

-Who buys the groceries?: Both, but mostly Jayce. Viktor is either working himself to an earlier death or sleeping at their place. If it's the random thing you run out of, Viktor will do it no problem. If it's all the groceries for the month, Jayce will do it. Again, to avoid straining Viktor's already fucked up body.

-Going out to eat: Who pays? Who orders the most food? And who has dessert?: Jayce pays. He never lets Viktor pay, he has the money, I guess. "Oh, I ate more, I'll pay". Or saying he's going to the bathroom and paying so by the time Viktor asks for the bill, Jayce mutters "Who could've been the smart man that already paid?". Jayce orders dessert but Viktor always steals a bite or two.

-Would they go to the beach?: Jayce loves the beach. Viktor not so much. Viktor likes swimming, he enjoys the water lifting him and taking away most of the pain. But the sand, oh, he hates the sand. The times they've gone to the beach together are mostly because Viktor feels bad telling Jayce "no". Jayce is aware of this so he makes it worth it for Viktor by giving him a spectacle out of Baywatchers. Drying himself up as little as possible just to get a reaction.

-Who knows how to swim? Who doesn’t?: Both know how to swim. But Viktor enjoys just floating while Jayce goes "DIVEBOMB!" and splashes literally everyone and everything around him. Then just swimming for hours to then complain about sore muscles the day after.

-Any pets? Or plants?: Viktor has his own little garden. He treats the plants very carefully, even having a log of the changes in them and last time they've been watered. Every time Jayce even comes near them, he hisses like a cat.

-Baths or showers? Together or separate?: Jayce prefers a quick, cold shower to get off all his sweat (also I like to think that Jayce is the type to always be feeling hot while Viktor's the one that always feels cold, mostly due to his lack of body fat).

Viktor enjoys long, warm (boiling hot) baths to soothe his aching muscles. Sometimes he'll fall asleep and have Jayce walk into the bathroom all concerned about the amount of time he's been in there.

They do their own thing separately. But sometimes doing it together doesn't sound so bad. When feeling all romantic they bathe together. However, when they're all warmed up from the inside out, shower it is.

-Can they stand silence? Who talks the most? Who talks the least?: They can stand in silence as long as Jayce doesn't start overthinking and asks Viktor if he's mad at him or if he's upset or if he's tired or... (anything). They definitely have a yapper/listener dynamic. Jayce could talk for days on end and Viktor would listen to every word.

-Who stays up late? Who sleeps the most?: Viktor is a chronic overworker. So, even at home he'll stay up late to finish up some notes he took home from the lab. Either that or the pain keeping him up. Which he never tells Jayce but he can somehow detect Viktor's in pain and happily massages whatever hurts. But whenever Viktor gets uninterrupted sleep, he hibernates. There was one time where he took a nap and woke up at the same time but the day after.

-Does the other have to force them to sleep/wake up?: Following the last point, Jayce always has to drag him out of the lab. And sometimes wake him up since there were times where Viktor was up at 5am and times where Viktor slept like a log.

-Who is the highest maintenance? Does the other mind?: Unsurprisingly, Viktor. His leg hurts, his back hurts, his wrists and fingers hurt, his neck hurts, his shoulders hurt, he has a migraine, now he has a coughing fit, now he gets a cold that somehow lasts a whole month. But Jayce doesn't care at all. He actually enjoys taking care of Viktor, a sort of intimacy that isn't matched by anything other than that.

NSFW

-How often do they have sex, if at all?: Whenever it fits into their schedule, honestly. Sometimes they get home after a long day of work and seeing the other so disheveled from work makes their gears start turning. Or sometimes when Jayce checks up on Viktor to see if he's had a break during work, they'll have some other type of break different to a cup of tea. Not in the lab, obviously. They go up to Jayce's office just for that. That desk has seen things.

-Who brings ideas? Who initiates?: Viktor doesn't care as long as it's good. And he doesn't consume adult content so he doesn't really come up with anything new. Jayce, on the other side, watches stuff while only thinking about Viktor, and when he sees something he likes, he brings it up whenever appropriate.

Jayce mostly initiates, being obnoxiously obvious about how he's feeling. And even if he tried to be smooth about it, the semi he's packing definitely tells Viktor all he needs to know. Viktor is either too tired or in too much pain for the idea of sex to come up to his head. But sometimes he'll be in the mood. Being way more subtle and smooth than Jayce, which consequently gets Jayce going.

-Oddest place they’d have sex?: The lab in the middle of research. Door unlocked too. One of the times where they couldn't wait to make it to Jayce's office. Also the time they learned that they needed to turn off the soldering iron before bending over the table. Viktor burnt his hand pretty bad.

-Favourite positions?: Anything that lets them see the other's face. Mostly Viktor on the bottom to, again, avoid physical strain.

-Dom/top? Sub/bottom? Any switches?: Jayce is a sub top. We all just know that. Don't act surprised. Viktor's a dom bottom.

-Genital headcanons?: Jayce is a bit above average girthy. Unlike Viktor, painfully average and on the thin side. Also points to the side whenever hard.

-Quickest turn ons? Immediate turn offs?: Viktor with messy clothes is one of the best things for Jayce. Or whenever he starts explaining some project that Jayce can't understand a word of.

Viktor goes feral over a sweaty Jayce. Whether it's because it's hot, he just finished working out, or anything related to the forge (including being messy from working). Also whenever his hair is messed up. Jayce spends his sweet time every morning styling his hair, a million different products and techniques to give him his signature style. Whenever it's all undone, Viktor needs to stop himself from drooling.

-First to orgasm? Last to orgasm? Who comes the most? Does someone ever end up unfinished?: Viktor comes first, as much as he tries to hold it in to make it go for longer. Jayce needs his sweet time to come, that guy has some serious stamina.

Even though Viktor's the first, Jayce has a significant load when he finishes. Getting the most out at first and some small ones during the next 5 seconds. Viktor's is in small quantities but persistent.

Jayce sometimes ends up unfinished, taking way too long to orgasm but seeing how Viktor is too messed up to keep going. He finishes himself off.

-Favourite romantic gestures during sex/orgasm?: Viktor loves touching foreheads. Eyes closed as Jayce is on top of him and just enjoying the moment. Jayce will brush through Viktor's hair with his fingers and smile at him telling him how much he loves him.

-How are their afterglows?: Viktor is always disheveled by the end of it. But at least the pain went away momentarily, which adds to the pleasure. Jayce gets clingy, spooning Viktor or anything that involves continuing the physical touch.

-Who’s loud? Who’s quiet? Does one try to make the other louder/quieter? How?: Jayce is the loud one, that man grunts and moans. Viktor lets out some soft moans (which make Jayce want to somehow make a million babies) but he stays quiet for the most part unless they're talking.

Jayce pleads to hear Viktor, it gets him going and gets him closer. He literally just asks him, and if that doesn't work, begs him.

-Lights on or off? Do they look at each other? Or is someone embarrassed?: Lights on, they love each other and they love to see how the other comes apart. Eye contact is persistent all throughout.

[bluecanvasshoe]

platonic!Arthur Morgan & teen!fem!reader

reader being female is only mentioned, like, once at the very start, rest of the story has virtually nothing to do w it

based around the end of the game!!

Arthur notices you’re upset after some sulking around, so he takes you fishing.

warnings: slight rdr2 spoilers, a little smidgen of misogyny, maybe ooc? idk, no beta reader we die like MEN 🔥, little bit of angst, comfort, NO ROMANCE‼️‼️‼️, …….lazy ending, I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK OKAY

word count: 1.5k

Part 2 !!!!! (link is fixed!)

——————

For the past couple months, it’s felt as if nothing you have done has ever gone right.

When carrying hay-bales to the horses, your arms grew tired. Micah laughed as you dropped the feed and breathed heavily. A few months back, Hosea reminded you that, as a child, you weren’t expected to do any of the more challenging work. However, the urge to prove yourself triumphed over his lectures.

Then Ms. Grimshaw approached you in camp, reprimanding you for your insistence on doing the more “manly” tasks. As a girl of the camp who was yet to be an adult, you, unfortunately, were not saved from her pressing you about your future in the gang.

Afterwards, while practising your handiwork with a needle, you pierced your index finger. It drew blood, so Strauss gave you a bandage and a disapproving look.

The gang slowly dwindled in numbers, leaving your already fragile state of mind in a bit of a crisis. Small things piled on small things that piled on big things, and you soon found yourself dreading chores, which turned into dreading every day that followed. The feeling of thinking you were actively disappointing every living being ever drowned out any sense of reasoning.

On a clear morning, you woke up groggy. All seemed well until you were punched in the face with the realisation that you had to actually get up.

Instead of wasting the early morning away, wallowing in the sadness of your flimsy canvas tent, you sat at the dying campfire. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and your mouth subconsciously pulled down into a frown.

Arthur, ever the early bird, awoke not long after you and sat down on the next log over. His worn and muddied boots crunched on the gravelly terrain, interrupting the chirping of birds. The sun hadn’t yet risen, shrouding everything in a dusky glow.

“You uh… sleep well, kid?” said Arthur, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee.

“Yeah,” you replied simply, staring at the fire. Strauss told you not to drink coffee; he said it was “bad for a child’s development.”.

Arthur sighed, turning his head over as he propped his upper body up, an arm supporting himself by pressing on his knee. “You’ve been acting’ strange,” he commented, “we’ve all noticed. Is somethin’ botherin’ you?”

Your voice caught up in your throat, the words that formed in your head fighting to escape and pathetically losing. “No…just tired.”

The man next to you coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “You…uh, you wanna go fishin’? I oughta' bring some food back to Pearson.”

Fishing? Now there’s something you haven't done in a while. Maybe you could get out of the camp.

“Okay,” you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleep bottoms, your eyes darting from Arthur and back to the fire. It seemed Arthur hadn’t expected you to agree, as he hesitated to find a response.

“Alright, then. Be ready in...about half an hour.”

As promised, you were dressed a quarter after six; at least that’s what your pocket watch you pickpocketed forever ago said. Hopping up onto the pony you used on rare outings, you waited for Arthur to saddle up too.

“You got all your stuff?” He asked, storing away his fishing rod and hoisting himself up, grabbing hold of his horse’s reins.

You look at your saddle bag one last time before turning to Arthur, nodding. “Yeah. ‘Been a while since I've gone fishin’, though.”

“Don’t worry about that; I'll give you a refresher.” Arthur shifted his weight before clicking twice, lightly jabbing his spurs into the side of his mount.

Following his movements, — except spur-less, as you don’t do nearly as much riding as the other men in the gang — you began to move, your horse huffing gently.

You caught up to him thanks to his slow trot, swatting away a couple mosquitoes in the process. “Where’re we goin’?” you asked, your voice raised.

“Well, you ain’t too familiar with his area,” he quickly wiped his nose with his free hand, sniffling. “But it ain’t far. There’s a nice little spot on a lake nearby. You oughta' get a couple bites.”

“Uh-huh,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. Arthur was holding onto his horse’s reins with one hand. You had trouble steering your horse with two.

Arthur slowed once he approached a patch of gravelly sand, getting off his horse with you following. He took out his fishing equipment and walked over to the shore.

“Here,” Arthur reached into his brown satchel, pulling out a block of cheese wrapped in brown parchment paper. “Use some a’ this.” Reaching over, you broke off a small chunk and murmured a hushed ‘thank you’ in return.

“‘M guessin’ you remember what bait is and how to use it, right?” he remarked, preparing his rod. “I think I got it,” you muttered, fumbling with the fishing pole but eventually hooking the cheese onto the sharp point.

“Careful there. Don’t wanna poke your finger.” Arthur joked snarkily, waiting for you to get into a similar position to his, his fishing rod held in front of his body. The bandaged finger he was referring to was sliding the small bit of bait onto the hook clumsily. “Shut up,” you grunted, getting a good grip on the pole and holding it out in front of yourself. The water moved lazily, quietly washing up and down on the sand. The calm surface showed the fish that swam underneath. Minnows dashed around quickly, the small groups of fish moving together.

Crickets still chirped in the distance as birds were beginning to sing, too. The air smelled fresh and felt dewy, a light breeze turning trees into calming windchimes.

“You wanna hold it like this,” he said, tapping his index finger against the line. You attempted the same hold that he had, but with the limited information given, you didn’t immediately get the hang of it.

“No, like- like this, with your index on the line. Should be pressin’ against the rod.” Arthur peered over your shoulder as you adjusted your fingers, pressing the thin string against the wood of the rod. Arthur nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. Now pull back the bail.”

Now, you hadn’t a clue what the bail was, but that hardly mattered. Matching Arthur’s movements, you pulled a semi-circle piece of metal back and over the line spool.

“Alright, now be careful here; don’t wanna take out an eye. Draw back your rod over your shoulder, but not too far. The farther you draw, the longer the cast,” he advised, drawing the pole over his shoulder. You mimicked him.

“Now, you throw it over your shoulder and straight forward,” he instructed, watching your movements. The bait landed about 3 metres away from the shoreline, splashing pathetically before bobbing up and down.

“Just like that. Now, you pull back the bail and wait.”

Silence filled the space between you two—a suffocating, invisible force.

Deer galloped across the lake and within the thick brush. One stopped, a buck, and stared at the two fishermen across from it. His ears twitched before he joined the others.

Loons sang, their eerily beautiful calls travelling across the calm waters. Frogs croaked in the distance, and clouds languidly drifted overhead.

“Look, I… I haven’t a clue what you’re feelin’. But just know that you ain’t alone. We’ve all been stressed. I can’t imagine what you must be feelin’.” said Arthur, turning briefly to face you.

The sun peeked over the distant treeline, slowly casting a calming light over everything in the vicinity.

“I feel like I can’t never do anythin’ right.” You croaked, voice catching in your throat and a painful ache creeping up to your jaw.

“Aw, kid… whad’ya mean?" Arthur had never been great at comfort. He could do it, of course, though he certainly had his favourites when it came to his affections.

You stared off into the lake, your reflection looking right back. “Everythin’ I do feels like a failure. There ain’t a single thing I’ve been able to do right recently.”

Arthur sighed, reeling his line back in and casting it again.

“That ain’t true. You’re a kid. You’re learning. You aren’t… supposed to be great at everythin’, and nothin’ you do is supposed to be right; it’s just supposed to teach you something. This’ll go away; trust me.” He chose his words carefully, coughing to the side before continuing. “Now I know this probably ain’t what you wanted to hear. Feelin’ sad feels... nice sometimes. But it’s true. Basically everyone in this gang is an adult, ‘cept for Jack, so don’t go comparin’ yourself to anyone, you hear? We’re all goin’ through hard times; none of this is your fault, and you ain’t a failure for anythin’.”

The sun steadily rose, framed perfectly by the view in front of you. Your horses huffed occasionally as geese flew above, honking distantly.

He was right; you didn’t want to hear this. You don’t know what you want to hear. Maybe something about how awful you are, or maybe something about how great and amazing you are. You felt conflicted, confused, and even a smidge defensive.

“But I-” “but nothin’, kid. Do with that what you will, but just... think about it. Maybe see things from a different perspective.” He rasped, clearing his throat. “Or don’t; it’s your choice. But just give it some thought.”

Silence settled between you two again, leaving your conflicting feelings to dissipate.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, watching as your bait bobbed on the water’s surface. The chill of the north was soothed by the warmth of the sun, and everything, in that moment, felt okay.

—

Part 2

[delicatebarness]

wildflower ridge ranch | prologue

Summary: Sneaking out to meet with JB, a ranch hand who works for your family, you share a quiet moment under the stars while keeping the relationship a secret from your father and brothers.

Warning: There isn't necessarily anything triggering, but just to give you a heads-up: Age Gap (18/21) | Power Dynamics

Word Count: 1174

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

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A/N: I know I said I'd update Winter's Widow but I went for a creative thinking walk, and this is all I've been able to think about since. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - B

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

The ranch had settled into the usual nighttime quiet, and the air was warm, still– one of those perfect summer nights. The barn doors had been closed, the horses tucked away, and the ranch hands had turned in for the night. Their snores probably fill the small, shared space. Yet, the bunkhouse lights flickered, indicating that not all were asleep.

You were also not ready to sleep. Sneaking out of the ‘Log Mansion’, you made your way down to an old oak tree just past the stables. A canopy of leaves rustled from the branches stretching high above in the soft breeze. It was a hidden corner of the ranch, your spot, where no one would come looking for you.

Well, except for him.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes– commonly known as ‘JB’, your family’s best ranch hand and the man who somehow stole your heart. He was supposed to meet you here.

Working for your family, JB lived in the bunkhouse with the others, and he spent his days under the sun, toiling away as if he had everything to prove. He came from a few towns over, looking for work around six years ago, and he quickly became part of the ranch’s rhythm.

No one knew what you both made sure to keep a secret– that between his barn chores and the late-night campfires, you both found something else. Something more.

At the age of eighteen, you were still too young in your daddy’s eyes. And, JB, at twenty-one, was the last person he would approve of for you. He was just another ranch hand, hired to work the land for your daddy. And your brothers– Ari, Curtis, Cole, and Johnny would tear him apart if they ever were to find out.

Leaning against the tree, you gazed up at the stars and a nervous energy bubbled in your stomach. Every time you saw JB, it always felt like the first time again. You never knew if it was his quiet strength or the way his blue eyes saw right through you– but he was someone more than just the man who worked for your daddy.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the soft crunch of boots hit against the dirt. Turning just in time, you saw JB emerging from the shadows, the moonlight outlining his familiar silhouette. The old guitar that he kept stashed in the bunkhouse was being carried in one hand, and his smile was small, almost shy.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, darlin',” he said, coming to a stop in front of you, his frame towered over you. He leaned against the tree, never dropping your gaze.

Blushing, you looked down, kicking your boots in the dirt, trying to play it cool. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“Oh, darling, you should know by now,” he grinned, his touch was warm and tender as his hand gently cupped your cheek. “I’ll always come when you call.”

You both settled on the ground, his long legs stretching out as he rested the guitar against a thick thigh, plucking a few lazy chords. By now, you were content being near him, even when the air between you was thick with unspoken words and emotions.

There was a mischievous glint in his eyes when he glanced at you. “You wanna hear a song?”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you nodded. “Yes please, James, but only if you want to.”

Sensing how flustered you were, the smirk on JB’s face deepened. “Oh, I wanna. I’ve got somethin’ I’ve been practicin’ for you.”

The melody was familiar and slow as he strummed a few chords, and it only took another moment for your heart to skip when you recognized the opening notes. It was one of the new songs you had been playing on repeat, one that made you want to slow dance under the stars. Your chest tightened with emotion as you listened to JB play it.

His voice was low and rough as he started singing, but it still had the teasing edge he always had. JB wasn’t just singing a song, he was singing it to you, every word meant to wrap around you and pull up closer.

You had to bite your lip to stop from smiling too wide, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as he began to come to the end of the song.

“You like it?” he asked, though from the way his eyes glanced down to your lips, causing the smirk to reappear across his own, he already knew your answer.

Nodding, you met his gaze, now unable to hide your smile. “It was perfect, James.”

“Yeah? I thought you’d like that one,” he spoke, setting the guitar aside. His knee brushed against yours as he shifted closer. More serious now, his voice lowered as he added, “You know, darlin’, I didn’t just come out here to play you a song.”

Looking up at him, there was something in his at caused your heart to race, and your stomach to flip. “What else did you come for?”

There was a softness in his eyes, one that you had rarely seen before. He reached out, brushing that damned stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been waitin’ for the right moment, and I reckon,” he paused. “I reckon this is as good as it gets.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in. His plump lips brushed against yours softly, teasingly, and your heart fluttered in your chest, leaving you wanting more.

When he pulled back, his grin was still in place. “You okay, darlin’?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

You nodded. “Y-yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, a little dazed and breathless.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his thumb lightly against your cheek. “I’ve been dyin' to do that.”

He never gave you time to respond, pulling you in and placing another kiss against your lips. This time, he was a little firmer, deepening the kiss. It was everything to you, slow and sweet. Yet, there was a hint of heat and desperation. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you closer. Your heart continued to pound in your chest as you melted into him.

You were both gasping for air as you broke apart, and JB smiled down at you, tracing lazy circles over your skin.

“Guess that’ll be added to our collection of little secrets, huh?” he teased.

Nodding, you smiled and looked at him.

Your heart filled with the warmth of your first kiss as you sat under the stars, together, settling in a comfortable silence. This was a memory you would carry with you, forever, even if it had to remain a little secret.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

That Fluff Alphabet is making me melt already 🥹 Shanks is my present comfort character ❤️ (and Sanji, of course, but I'm just requesting Shanks for now), and I would love to see your headcanons for:

Domestic

Hugs

Listening

No rush! Thank you as always for sharing your talented writing with us lil' mortals. We are unworthy 🫶

First one!! And it's our silly redhead??

I am squealing.

Only internally, though. Don't want to frighten the neighbors.

Anyway. Gonna post this, then get the Fluffy Alphabet Masterlist set up.

For my other asks, I have already logged the requests for Mihawk and Sanji and edited the main Fluffy Alphabet post accordingly.

D is for Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning and other such household chores?)

“The only way this ship would feel more like home would be if you came with me.”

Settling down by definition isn’t exactly in Shanks’s nature. He has always considered himself at home on the sea—but when your relationship gets serious, he’s going to do absolutely everything in his power to convince you to come with him.

Will literally get on his knees and beg if he has to. There’s no room for shame, he wants you with him and he’ll do anything to make it happen. So in that way, he is perfectly content with "settling down."

As far as chores go, he does his best. There are a lot of things that are difficult to do with only one hand, but he’s learned to make due in most respects, and he always wants to help as much as possible. Any partnership is supposed to be fifty-fifty, and if he can help with anything in any way, he's going to.

He’s a little scatterbrained, so his cabin tends to get a little cluttered on a semi-regular basis; but if it gets to the point that it’s a problem or he notices it’s bothering you, he’ll straighten up himself without being asked.

H is for Hugs (How do they like to hug you? How often?)

“Oh, nonsense, you can stay a bit longer.”

His primary love language is physical affection, so if you happen to be near him, he’ll have his arm around you in a second.

Pulling you to his side almost absently and pressing a quick kiss to your forehead or the crown of your hair, even if he’s in the middle of talking to someone else or otherwise occupied.

Constantly sneaking up behind you to wrap his arm around your waist because he thinks it’s just adorable when you jump in alarm and scold him or elbow him in the ribs for scaring you.

Absolutely refusing to let you go until he’s done hugging you, even if you have something you need to do, and probably pouting about it a bit after he does. Mostly all in good fun...but really, the more often you have your arms around each other, the better.

L is for Listening (How are their listening skills? Do they hang on your every word, or is it sort of in-one-ear-and-out-the-other?)

“Er…what was that, doll?”

Poor, poor easily distracted baby. He tries. He really does.

A lot of times things will go in one ear and out the other, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. He really doesn’t. He’s a bit scatterbrained, he has a rather large crew to run, and things do get overlooked or forgotten from time to time.

He always feels absolutely awful about it, will apologize endlessly even if you’re understanding.

But it's only the little things. Important things, dates like your birthday or your anniversary, little seemingly insignificant details about when you first met or first kissed or anything of that sort that even you might have forgotten? Those, he doesn’t forget, and he never will.

Actively listening, though—you’re going to get quite a few vacant stares, quite a bit of “Hmm?” or “Sorry, love, I was miles away,” accompanied with a guilty grin.

[awkward-fink]

In times of sickness - Captain John Price

„John, could you lend me a hand over here? I could really use some – John?” You slowly bully your way into the house again, your arms fully laden with grocery bags. Normally your husband would have already materialized at the door at the first sounds of you coming back from the market, would have taken your bags and helped you put them away, but today he wasn’t even at the door, you couldn’t even him walking the old wooden stairs.

Furrowing your brows, you set down the first haul of bags on the kitchen table, which was halfway cleared from breakfast items and the bad feeling in your gut only intensified. Your husband had begged off your Saturday market run, against his very nature, citing tiredness and wanting to go sleep for another hour. But this had been three hours ago.

“John?” You cautiously call up the stairs, but there is no reaction. With hurried steps you go up the stairs and towards your shared bedroom, opening the door and slipping into the darkness right behind. Seems as if your husband didn’t even open the blackout-curtains. It was stifling inside the bedroom, a sweet scent lingering in the air.

And there your husband was, in bed and buried underneath his own and your blanket, forehead sweat slicked and breathing even louder than his normal relaxed snoring. Now you were worried.

“John? Love?” You whisper softly, taking a few steps closer, but your husband doesn’t even move, doesn’t even twitch as your voice reaches his ears. With nearly silent steps and only the light shining through the barely open door, you creep closer to your husband’s bedside, reaching out to put the back of your hand against his forehead. Instantly the heat hits you hard, sweat clinging to your skin as you draw your hand back again. A fever, a high one. Damn.

“Oh Honey…” You murmur under your breath, leaning down to press the gentlest of kisses onto his temple, watching his brows furrow and then relax some. Your husband isn’t sick often, but when he is, its thankfully over in a few days. But those days that he is sick, you prefer to stay in right beside him.

“Don’t worry Love, I am going to take good care of you.”

---------------------------------

Captain John Price doesn’t get sick, never. He has too much to do to become sick, chores and work and house improvements for example.

So no, that man really doesn’t have the time nor the free time capacity to be sick.

But when he does, he is down for good. Thankfully only for a few days, but those days are hard. On him and you.

He won’t move much, doesn’t want to eat much. He doesn’t want to be a burden on you and just wants to sleep and sweat that sickness right out.

He doesn’t like you getting to close in that time, you could get ill and he really doesn’t want you to fall ill as well, he would feel so bad about it

Would much rather you be ill, and he can care about you every second of a day with soft cuddles and self-made soup than he be ill and you doing the same for him

Double standards all the way

Thankfully doesn’t have the man-flu and won’t be dying anytime soon.

Will be back to normal at the latest 4 days after falling into bed like a log, will take a self-indulgent shower (best is with you under the water as well) of at least 15 minutes to feel like a new man again

That man. I swear. This man will hide sickness and illness if he can get away with it.

[iwantjaketosullyme]

𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝, 𝐢'𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞

…but, big spoon, you have so much to do and i have nothing ahead of me.

➺ pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader (fluff/angst) ➺ summary: seeing jake was easy, seeing toruk makto not so much. (w/c: 2.8k) ➺ warnings: minor mentions of war & death a/n: inspired by mitski's 'your best american girl' nd dedicated to our fav all-american boy <33 na'vi dictionary at the end !! gif credit goes to @/worldofpandora

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

Seeing Jake was easy.

It was shirking clan chores in favour of being held in the safe cocoon of his capable arms on a lazy afternoon, the two of you splayed out on the forest floor as it welcomed you into its clutch, soft grass embracing you, gentle breeze lulling him to sleep. As he slumbers you trace his features gently, eyes first, then nose.

You coast over the worry line that creases just like that when he senses a formidable threat, like the rogue palulukan that strayed a little too close to camp the previous week (or the persistent Omatikaya child that insists on having you braid his hair exactly when Jake’s sat down for you to rebraid his, meaning a rushed job and less scalp scratches for him).

Cautious fingertips are guided by the smattering of tanhi that litter his face, a map provided by Eywa, tiny stars aligning to lead you to your final destination - your favourite destination – his lips.

Being Seen by Jake was even easier.

- flashback -

Two weeks have passed since the fateful day your people reclaimed your ancestral home from the Sky People. The injured have been treated and deceased loved ones have been mourned and committed to Eywa. Now, the clan must celebrate.

Young ones chase after each other's tails (knowing the mood is good enough for them to escape chastisement from their parents), potential lovers dance around their feelings as they dance around the communal fire and elders thank the Great Mother for the privilege of witnessing another night like this – too many eclipses have passed since the clan could revel in shared joy like this.

The evening’s jubilations wind down as eclipse approaches, but the air is still charged with a sense of collective anticipation; you are yet to do what you do best. Gathered clan members form a blue sea, bioluminescent tanhi a mirror image of the stars in the skies above as they seat themselves on fallen logs. 

Deep inhale, shoulders rolled back, head held high and gaze cast over young and old alike, you open your mouth and sing. Entranced, Jake looks up from where he was refilling his cup of pongu pongu (after falling victim to a particularly wily adolescent Na’vi bartering for the drink reserved for adults of the clan) and his amber gaze settles on you as he listens to the legend of a valiant Omatikaya warrior made song. His legend.

His song rolls off your tongue, volume ebbing and flowing like the waters of the Eastern Sea, reaching ‘ahhs’ and throaty ‘oohs’ conveying the highs and lows of his Pandoran alterlife. Sweeping peaks and troughs in the notes you belt out paint the picture in his mind of the mountains climbed and valleys traversed on his quest to find his humanity in a Na’vi body. Dulcet tones undulate from the soft pillows of your lips into the attentive ears of every clan member gathered around the fire, demanding the rapt attention of all that can and will listen.

Your voice betrays you, wavering slightly when you make sudden eye contact with Jake. He gawks at you unashamedly, his expression reminding you of the awe and excitement of a child watching kenten unfurl their luminous fans for the first time. Inwardly, you curse the power that this vrrtep has over you; you never get distracted! No doubt Ninat would be teasing you about this mishap til Eywa calls you home. That skxawng always liked to argue that she’s the better vocalist.

Final note lingering in the air and resonating in the hearts of those around you, you graciously accept the compliments offered. Soon after, you make a swift break for your marui, unaware of your newly acquired shadow following after your hurried steps as if still woefully caught in the spell your voice had cast upon him.

You flit about the marui, humming under your breath as you search for the herb and nectar concoction Tsahik gave you after overhearing you complaining to Neytiri about putting your vocal cords under too much pressure. An appreciative hum leaves your parted lips as the mixture soothes your throat, before a male, gravelly and obnoxious “Ah, shit!” cuts through your minute of peace, followed by the clang of a pot falling.

A stunned squeak escapes you before you have the chance to stop it, eyes widening as your ears fold back and your brow muscles raise in shock before furrowing in confusion. A moment passes. 

You slowly crane your neck to look behind you, chancing a glance at whatever, whoever it is that managed to sneak into your marui and elicit such an embarrassing reaction from you. The fallen pot is still rattling on the floor as you lock eyes with the perpetrator and your upper lip raises into a sneer. Of course, you think to yourself, as if the vrrtep has not bothered me enough tonight he has come back for more!

“Oel ngati kameie,” Jake greets awkwardly, eyes shifting between your defensive posture and the offensive pot that he had tripped over in his dazed stupor. He brings his fingertips to his forehead before extending them towards you in a gesture of respect, and for a moment you are pulled from your derisive train of thoughts as your eyes follow the raised veins on his hands and you feel an unfamiliar feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach – much like the kindling of a new flame. Your examination of his anatomy comes to an abrupt stop when your eyes hone in on his outstretched fingers. Four fingers. Alien fingers.

“What is it that you want?” You throw the words at him, eyeing him up and down in an admittedly pathetic attempt to intimidate him. You are well aware of his prowess as a warrior; you’d only spent the latter part of the evening waxing poetic about it. Despite this, you cannot help but feel as if you must prove yourself to be a formidable threat to him, to this man who was once a tawtute imposter in a Na’vi body and has now made himself an imposter in your home.

He inches towards you cautiously, arms outstretched by his sides and palms open, intending to  communicate his lack of malintention as he clears his throat and opens his mouth to answer you. Your eyes remain vigilant, ears pointing up, alert and awaiting his response. A series of unintelligible noises is all you hear, his mouth opening and closing in such a stupid way that you almost find it endearing. Almost.

Further incensed by the lack of answer, you jerk your head towards him, tail lashing behind you, impatient, “What is it then? Speak!” You begin to pace in front of him, agitated and expectant of an explanation. “Or do you only know how to stare?”

As if jolted back to reality, Jake blinks blankly before retorting “Damn, you sound just as good when you talk, pretty girl”. Astounded, your pacing comes to a halt, allowing you to baulk at his insolence – there is a notable pause as you compose yourself once more. His lips pull back into a self-satisfied smirk as he greedily absorbs your reaction, and there is a dangerous glint in his eyes, eyes too small to belong to a native Na’vi, that calls to you. You decline the call decisively.

“You still have not answered my question, Jakesully,” you attempt to regain control of this odd interaction, remaining firm in your affronted demeanour. “Speak!”

He lets out a huff of laughter under his breath, made bashful by the reminder of his inexplicable attraction towards you. “Well…I guess I heard ya singin’ out there and I-” he shakes his head, looks down and brushes a hand over his face, lips puckering to blow a gentle whoosh of air as he exhales. You feel his breath waft over your face and refuse to register the way it stokes the flame within you.

“I knew I gotta tell ya that you sound amazing, heavenly, even, unlike anything I’ve ever hea-” his reverent rambling is cut short by your cackle that pierces his ears that had perked up in delight while he sang your praises. He looks up to observe you doubling over in sarcastic laughter and waits, confused as ever, for you to explain yourself.

“Skxawng,” you rebuke, “do not insult my intelligence by suggesting you understood a single word other than your name. Neytiri has told me of your incompetence,” you lower your voice and let the venom seep into your tone, “Jakesully.”

He meets your narrowed eyes with a challenge in his stare, his right eyebrow, yet another tawtute feature, quirking up. “You’re wrong y’know,” he tilts his head to the right and nods as if still contemplating your rude interjection. In spite of his shock, he does not appear deterred in any way and for a moment you fear that your attempt at resistance is futile. Perhaps you have grossly underestimated his proficiency at your native language and have embarrassed yourself.

He continues, “I understood you calling me a skxawng just now.” A cheeky smile creeps onto his face as he basks in his ability to rile you up. “But I figure that might as well be my name with how many times Neytiri’s called me that”.

Insistent on finding a fault in his words, you give him an incredulous look and respond, “Now you dare to criticise the tsakarem?” A disbelieving scoff leaves your lips. “Impertinence!” Your words, however, do not have their desired effect as he remains unbothered by your jabs, seeing through them completely. 

“C’mon pretty girl,” Jake tries to reason with you, “y’know that’s not what I meant.” Encouraged by the involuntary huff of defeat that leaves your body that has grown weary from the night’s activities and this back and forth that is honestly fraying your nerves, Jake perseveres with the determination of the Marine that he is. “Now stop deflecting ‘nd take the compliment.” You relent, albeit reluctantly. “Call me crazy but the way you sang out there…it felt like I knew exactly what you were sayin’, even with my thick Jarhead skull.”

He takes a breath before more words tumble out of his mouth. “I know you were singin’ about me. I never thought I would mean enough to the Omatikaya people for someone to write a song about me.” He surprises you by laughing self-deprecatingly – in the short time you have interacted with him you have become used to his natural bravado. “I never thought I would be enough for anyone to write a song about me.”

Jake wants to tell you more. He yearns to speak of the cosmic force, the pull he felt towards you the moment he heard your voice for the first time. The pull he feels tugging at his heartstrings now, plucking away at them, composing a tune to accompany the siren song of your voice. For a moment he thinks he might just really believe this Eywa shit now.

But he doesn’t tell you. For once in his life he holds back. Instead, he moves even closer to you, every inch of his eight foot figure towering over you as he encroaches on your personal space. Your eyes widen, pupils dilating as you take him in. All of him. 

Spurred on by your favourable change in expression, Jake reaches forward to place a warm hand on the snug of your neck. His other hand’s forefinger and thumb frame your dazed face as he caresses your cheek with a reverential tenderness you would have never attributed to him. He shifts his grip down to your chin and tilts your face upwards, so that eye meets eye. 

As your steely resolve weakens into something soft, something pliable, you are rendered boneless against your own will, putty in his hands – carbon fiber-reinforced bones be damned. He is held captive by the unexpected, soft trill of your laughter, spirited away by the light breeze that has entered like the melody of a windchime. Eyes of molten gold bore into your soul and he sees you. He Sees you.

- end of flashback -

Seeing Toruk Makto, however, was anything but easy.

You smile to yourself as you recount how you and Jake met, but are quickly sobered by the realisation that no other clan member would even fathom speaking to Jake so disrespectfully – speaking to Toruk Makto so disrespectfully. And so you are forced to confront the reason why you could not stand the man, even if he ensured your clan’s survival by bringing an end to The Great Sorrow.

You fiddle with the purple tassels of your breast covering, made up of the fallen strands of a tawtsngal plant that you had painstakingly braided to be in likeness to the whispering tendrils of the Utraya Mokri. The Tree of Voices.

To the ignorant tawtute that threatened to populate your beloved Eywa’eveng like pests it was simply one of the many flux vortex hubs that rendered their alien inventions useless, stripping them of their ill-perceived superiority and reminding them that they do not belong here. But to you, it was an awe-inspiring wonder that was the source of many a song composed by you and crooned into the ear of a fussy baby, sung to soothe an ill elder or belted out to relay the ballad of a beloved fallen warrior.

With the stories whispered in your ears by the ancestors, you weave the tapestry of the clan in song form. It is for this reason that Jake had taken to affectionately calling you ‘parrot’, explaining to you that they were birds that once lived on Earth and repeated what was said by others.

Your garment was not only of totemic value, symbolising your role in the clan as an esteemed singer, but was also a love letter to the sacred place that birthed your passion for the art of song - and in doing so established your roots in the intricate network of the clan.

If only you had known of what was to come, you lament. That a day would come when the very roots of the tree that planted you firmly within the clan would be so easily uprooted by the wretched Sky People and their demon machines. On that day, you felt as if your place in the clan was uprooted with it; you had lost your communication channel with the ancestors, and therefore your muse. 

You sit up and detach Jake’s arm, limp with sleep, from your waist. As you look upon his face you try to reconcile all the affection he has extended to you with the fact that he once was a Sky Person, working for their destructive cause.

Before you can stop it, the familiar feeling of resentment stirs within your belly as you question why the Great Mother would choose to allow  your life’s joy to be so mercilessly taken from you and yet bestow the revered title of Toruk Makto on such a man as Jake.

How could she turn her back on you? Strip your pride from you? Replace you with a man born not of Na’vi, but of the immoral tawtute? You cannot help but feel that Jake is more Omatikaya than you ever will be now, as you think of what you long to be. 

His mate.

Mate to Toruk Makto, rider of last shadow, yet unworthy to stand with him, even in his shadow. The honour of being under this dark, ominous, yet protective shroud was reserved for a select few - the chosen ones. Proven warriors who have sacrificed their lives, their existence on this terrestrial plane for Toruk Makto, like Tsu’tey, or dutiful daughters who have overcome prejudices born from murder for Toruk Makto, like Neytiri. Not for glorified parrots. Not for you.

You heave a gentle sigh, banishing those thoughts with a soft shake of your head and rest your head back on Jake’s shoulder. Tense shoulders loosen as you shuffle back into the warm comfort of his body. Your finger begins tracing again, up, up, up his arm before a tentative hand opens up to grasp one of his larger ones.

Curious eyes explore the network of veins that branch out along his hand like the roots of a tree, like the roots of the Utraya Mokri. You feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you reminisce the first time you had been in such proximity to the veins on his hand and the feelings they aroused in you back then.

Perhaps, you muse, you could find solace in him the same way you once did in your sacred trees. You lean in, pursed lips relaxing to place a tender kiss on each of Jake's fingers, all four of them. The same fingers that once instilled a deep rage within you. The same fingers that held you with a love that can only be Eywa-given. The same fingers used to tame the mighty Toruk. A part of you, no matter how distant or small, knows that in these capable hands you can rest easy.

So yes, your struggle to See Toruk Makto may yet prevail, but Jake? Jake you would always See. It is with this conclusion that your hold on his arm slackens, and half-lidded eyes flutter close. You slot yourself into the space within his body that is made for you. Two bodies mould into one. Little spoon into big spoon.

─────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

na’vi dictionary

palulukan - thanator // tanhi - na’vi bioluminescent freckles // pongu pongu - na’vi alcoholic beverage // kenten - fan lizards // marui - tent // oel ngati kameie - I see you // skxawng - idiot // tsakarem - tsahik-in-training // tawtsngal - purple pandoran flower // tawtute - sky person, sky people // eywa’eveng - na’vi word for pandora

© iwantjaketosullyme tumblr 2023

[heart-of-gold-outlaw]

Welcome Home | Chapter 13: No Surprises

When you open your eyes the next morning, you see a butterfly.

It's a pretty little thing, all delicate wings that float gently in the early summer breeze. A monarch, you think. It sits perched on the small piece of wood that acts as your nightstand, right next to the flower in a bottle that Arthur gave you some time after you all left the Grizzlies.

You blink and rub your eyes, just to clear the sleep from them is all. But when your vision clears, the butterfly is gone.

The rest of the gang is already up and about. Camp chores don't do themselves, you suppose, and head for the chopping block to get some firewood ready. Abigail smiles at you when you pass by, and you're pleased to note that so far, she's kept her end of the bargain and hasn't said a word to Arthur about your conversation yesterday. Good. The last thing you need is a strong cowboy crushing your fragile little heart with his strong cowboy boot.

Not that you think Arthur will be mean when he rejects you (if you ever decide to tell him about your feelings, that is).

You reach the chopping block and grab the ax. The first log splits clean in two without much of a fuss, but the second one is a bit stubborn. The third is even worse, and by the time you finish the fourth, you're sweating.

"Come on, you piece of shit fucking fuck," you hiss as the ax gets stuck in fifth log. Again. "Come on!"

You're dimly aware of Kieran giving you a terrified glance as he scurries by. You can only imagine what you must look like, ax in your hand, eyes wild, cursing everything under the sun as you bang the log against the chopping block again and again and again.

"Ain't strong enough to chop a little wood?" Micah sneers as he stalks over. As usual, he doesn't look happy. As usual, you're disgusted by his very presence.

"Go fuck a brick," you snap at him as you finally, finally, succeed in splitting the log. Splinters fly every which way, but at least it's done.

Micah blinks, confused for just a moment, before your words register and he narrows his eyes.

"You think that just because you're Morgan's favorite, you can get away with talkin' to me like that?" He demands.

You open your mouth to tell him to fuck a stick this time, but abruptly shut it when you realize what he said. Favorite? Arthur's favorite? Not possible. Arthur's got plenty of other people in camp he likes more than you. Sure, you're entertaining to him, a distraction for when things get a little too boring, but you're not important.

"I think I can get away with a lot of things," you hear yourself say, sounding a lot more confident than you feel. "And that'll include your murder if you don't back the hell off."

Silence. Micah glares at you, venomous, like a rattlesnake, and you do your best to glare back. And it must look at least a little convincing, because he eventually shakes his head and stomps off.

"Goddamn waste of space," he mutters.

You're thankful he has his back to you so he doesn't see you flinch. Gritting your teeth, you set the ax aside and kick the firewood into a neater pile. And if you kick some of them a little harder than necessary, then so be it.

The rest of the camp chores are already well underway, so your plans of losing yourself in tasks immediately turn to ash. You take to wandering toward the horses without much thought. Taima whinnies softly once you're close by. It's almost enough to make you smile. Over the last few weeks, you've bonded with her more than you thought you would. She's a sweet horse, odd for a mare, and you just know she'd never try to throw you.

You give her an oatcake that was buried in your pocket. Then, after a moment's hesitation, you start brushing her. Chances are, she's already been groomed for the morning, but you don't think Charles will mind if you do a little extra.

As you brush the dirt and dust from Taima's coat, you can't help but think about what Micah said. Waste of space, he called you. There are certainly worse things to be called, that's for sure, but this hits a little too close to home. How many times have you heard people in your own time say the same thing? How many times did you have people you looked up to, people you loved, shake their heads with heavy sighs and mumble to themselves that you wouldn't do, just wouldn't do at all?

Tears well in your eyes, and you wince against the sting. Great. Now you're crying. Now you're crying because some jerk said something mean, and your skin isn't thick enough to brush it off. How are you supposed to fit in with a gang of outlaws if you cry when someone's just a little bit angry?

Engrossed in your thoughts, you don't hear the sound of footsteps from behind you, don't even realize you're not alone until a familiar drawl says: "You feelin' okay, Y/N?"

He startled you, of course he did, but you miraculously don't jump, throw the brush, or do anything that's particularly embarrassing. Somehow.

"I'm fine," you say automatically, wiping your eyes before turning to face Arthur. "Just thought I'd give Taima a brush."

Arthur frowns and slowly places a steady hand on your shoulder. His eyes are drawn to yours, taking in every detail, noticing the tears without a doubt.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" He asks gently, and boy, how a simple question can be so complicated, you have no idea.

You look around camp. You don't want anyone else to notice you. It's bad enough that Arthur already has to see you cry, but you don't think you can bear it if Dutch or Hosea start fussing.

As if reading your mind, Arthur gives your shoulder a warm, reassuring pat.

"Let's go for a ride into town," he says. "Charles ain't gonna mind if you borrow Taima for a bit."

The ride into Valentine is short, but does wonders to clear your head. Taima's gate is smooth, sure, and soothing as you and Arthur approach the saloon. You're proud to admit that you can actually dismount without needing help now. Looks like practice really does make perfect. And, of course, Arthur's approving smile is absolutely the best thing you've seen all day.

You both take a seat at the bar. The piano player is already hammering away on the keys, an upbeat, fun tune that almost makes you want to dance. The Maple Leaf Rag, you think. You know the song from a film class you took some years ago. Guess it never really left your head.

"So," Arthur drawls as he orders you both a couple of drinks. It's still relatively early in the morning, but hey, you're down for day drinking. "What happened this mornin?"

You fidget a little on the bar stool. "I mean, nothing really. Went to chop some firewood, had a little trouble with the ax, told Micah I'd murder him... the usual?"

The second you mention Micah, Arthur's face hardens.

"Micah say anything to you?" He asks, voice low and serious.

For a second, you think about lying. But Arthur's giving you that look, the one that says he's genuinely concerned, and any chance you would've had at fooling him is instantly crushed.

"Yeah," you mumble. "He was just being a jerk at first, but..." You bite your lip uncertainly. "But he called me a waste of space, and... I don't know why that hit me as hard as it did, but..."

You trail off, unsure of how to continue. How can you tell Arthur the truth? How can you tell him that you were just starting to feel at home here in the 1890s, and then some jerk who probably can't even spell waste of space had to go and ruin it?

Arthur sighs and shakes his head. "That goddamn animal," he hisses. "Look, Y/N, I'm gonna settle somethin' for you right here and now: you ain't a waste of space. You done more for us in the last month than Micah's done in the last six. Ain't nobody that matters gonna tell you different."

Embarrassingly, you feel your eyes start to sting again. You stubbornly blink the tears away.

"Thanks," you say in a small voice. "I guess... I guess Micah's just has shit for brains?"

Arthur laughs. "That's givin' him too much credit."

You smile at him and bump his shoulder with your own. "Thanks, Arthur. For everything."

Arthur nods, reaches out, and brushes a stray tear from your face that managed to escape.

"Ain't no trouble, Y/N," he says softly. "Ain't no trouble at all."

[queer-irritator]

The Best Part... |Kratos x Fem Reader | Oneshot

!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Content Warnings: Detailed sex, just a lot of smut, adult language. 

Word Count: 3386

No gendered language, but afab anatomy briefly described.

A/N: Since my main fic I’m writing is a slow burn, and I am so down bad for this baldy, I cranked this out. It’s my first time writing smut, so let me know if I fucked anything up, or if you thought it was good/decent!

--------------------------------------

You were laying down with the cold, hard earth beneath you. You could feel the warm heat of the fire about a foot away from you, it was keeping you comfortable. You were staring at the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen, your partner, Kratos. You had first met him two years ago, he had saved your life from a horde of draugr. Ever since you first laid eyes on his grumpy face, you were smitten. Of course, Kratos took a while to warm up to you. You slowly gained his trust, getting short answers instead of annoyed grunts. Then before you knew it he was telling you about his past. Seeing him be vulnerable was a rare sight, but a welcomed one. You can remember the look of disgust and self-hatred etched across his face when he had revealed that he was a god, and the mistakes he had made. All you could do in that moment was hold him as close as you could, hoping your actions could communicate what your words couldn’t. That was the night you told Kratos you loved him. Luckily, your actions had done what your words couldn’t. That was also the first night you had slept with Kratos. Which is what you were thinking about at this very moment. The golden glow of the fire accentuated his body, especially since he had taken off his armor for the night. “You are staring.” Kratos spoke, his deep voice breaking the silence. He was cleaning some clothing, which he hadn’t broken his attention from. “I have a lot to stare at.” You retorted, shifting from laying on your back to on your side. You got a classic Kratos grunt in response. Sometimes you didn’t know if he was truly oblivious to your flirting, or if he just loved playing hard to get. You sat up fully, wiping some dirt off your hands. You were trying to decide how to best get his attention. Mimir was perched on a log-turned-bench across from Kratos, but he had seen much worse than your flirting. You looked to the sky to check the position of the moon. A bit early for Atreus to be asleep… but he had become invested in reading all he could about Gaia ever since Kratos had shared a story about her the other night. He’s spent every free second with his nose buried in a book, you basically had to yell his name to get his attention when he’s just sitting a foot away from you. You formed a decent idea to get Kratos to stop trying to get blood stains out of furs. You stood up and walked up behind Kratos, resting a hand on his bare shoulder, you peered over his head to see if he had made any progress cleaning. He hadn’t. “Love,” you started, “I can take care of that tomorrow. We don’t even have the right ingredients to get that out at the moment.” Kratos stopped scrubbing at the stain with a sigh. He didn’t like leaving chores for you to take care of. But you were right, he’d been scrubbing for five minutes straight and the stain had just gotten larger. “Fine.” Kratos reluctantly gave up and dropped the fur and the rag in his hands. You smiled, he was very slowly allowing you to take care of a few things around the house without too much resistance. You leaned over and wrapped your arms around his neck loosely and rested your cheek on his shoulder. Kratos turned his head slightly to look at you. He never knew if your antics meant you wanted to be held, or fucked… or both. So, he never initiated sex, no matter how many times you told him it was more than okay to do so. But his heart beat never failed to increase when you were this close to him. You quickly gave up waiting for Kratos to make the first move, so you closed the gap between the two of you, kissing him softly. Mimir also never knew what your actions would lead to, so he was mentally preparing himself for the worst, and focused harder on reading the book propped in front of him. You shifted to straddle the log bench Kratos was sitting on, not breaking your kiss, but deepening it. Kratos had felt his stomach do a flip, he knew what you wanted. He turned his body so it was facing you more now and rested one of his hands on the small of your back. You left one of your hands on his shoulder that was closest to you, and slowly began to migrate your other hand to his chest. You parted your lips, inviting Kratos into your mouth. He gladly accepted, dipping his tongue into your mouth and cupping the side of your face. You moaned softly into his mouth and glided your hand down his abdomen. You could feel how aroused and how wet you were getting, this man did things to you that you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Your kisses were becoming more open-mouthed and sloppy, taking millisecond breaks to breathe before connecting once again. You moved your hand down further, resting it on the upper inside of his thigh, very close to his crotch. “Mmh.” Kratos grunted and broke off your make-out sesh. “What..?” You questioned him, starting to pull your hand away from his thigh. “Not that.” He assured you. “The head.” he turned his head to Mimir. “Oi, don’t mind me brother. Had to endure this hundreds of times before, what’s one more time?” Mimir truly didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t too loud or distracting from his book. Kratos grunted, annoyed. He made a mental note to survey the area for Mimir more often… “hundreds of time?” he thought. But for now he grabbed a nearby shirt he had been meaning to clean and tossed it over Mimir. He didn’t want to risk endless jokes about his genitals, but mostly he didn’t want anyone else to see you naked. You slid your hand back up Kratos’ thigh and began to kiss his neck, with his head turned, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. You felt Kratos’ fingertips grip onto you a little bit tighter. It encouraged you to scoot even closer to him and place a hand on the back of his head, you settled on a spot near his collarbone to begin to suck and gently bite at his skin. Kratos let out a soft, quiet moan into your ear. You moved your hand over his crotch and began to rub him slowly through his pants, kissing and sucking at little spots going up his neck. He began to rub your waist, wanting to turn the focus more to you than him now. “Lay down.” Kratos instructed you softly. You detached yourself from his neck, feeling a little proud of the marks you’ve made on such a strong, stoic man. You obeyed his instructions and moved off the log, threw a blanket on the dirt and then laid on top of it, starting to take off your pants. Kratos had his knees on either side of your legs and took over for you, slowly pulling down your pants and underwear. You propped yourself up on your elbows slightly, watching every move Kratos was making. He quickly moved to help you take off your shirt as well. After he had considerately put your clothing on top of the log instead of the ground, he was hovering over you and kissed you in the middle of your chest sweetly. You smiled to yourself, every action he made with you was so gentle and loving. You used one hand to rub his shoulder. Kratos began kissing you all the way down to your lower stomach, you were very happy about where this was going and your eyes were glued to the man on top of you. He left one last kiss above your pubic bone and shifted your legs so that they were over his shoulders. With his hands on your waist, he pulled you closer to him and dove right in. It took everything in you not to let out a loud moan, but you were breathing heavy. Kratos started by licking you all over, he loved how you tasted and how wet you would get from just kissing him. He moved one hand to rest on your stomach and used the other to spread you open even more. He created the perfect amount of suction around your clit and used his tongue to add even more friction. “Fuck.” You moaned softly as you let your head drop back and were grinding against his tongue. Kratos was not a fan of cursing, but when you said it, especially how you just did, it went straight to his dick. He pressed his face deeper into you and moved his mouth even faster. You gripped the fur of the blanket beneath you and began to arch your back, you had to bite your lip to muffle your moans. Kratos took your clit into his mouth and began to suck on it, and that’s all you needed. “Oh… fuck, Kratos!” You were trying to be as quiet as you could, but he made it so damn hard. You let out a moan as you reached your climax and tried to push yourself closer into Krato’s mouth, if that was possible. He began to slow down, trying to extend your orgasm for as long as he could, using the flat of his tongue to slowly stimulate you. He knew you were done when your entire body relaxed, he pulled his mouth away and gave your inner thigh a kiss. Your chest was heaving, completely out of breath, but you managed to look down at the Spartan. He carefully unhooked your legs from his shoulders and sat up on his knees as he stared down at you, your chest moving up and down, your cheeks still red from your orgasm and the mess your hair was starting to become, he loved it. He loved you. “Fuck.” You simply stated as you stared back at him, trying to translate your feelings into words. “Sorry, I know you don’t like that.” You apologized for your language as you sat up. “Mh..” Kratos grunted, debating if he should tell you how he feels about it. “It is fine when you say it.” he admitted. You smiled at him and brought your focus to his pants, working on taking off his belt, “Really?” You questioned him, not fully believing him. “Yes.” he assured you. You got his belt off and set it aside, you rubbed his hips and looked up at him, “You know… I only say that when I’m left speechless.” You slid down his pants and watched his very erect dick spring free. No matter how many times you’ve seen it, its size and girth was always a little intimidating. Your words fed into the god’s ego a little bit, “Mhhh…” He hummed, almost like he was surprised to learn that information about you. He watched as you stroked him slowly before licking a line from the base of his cock to the tip and ran your tongue over the slit. You heard Kratos let out a pleased grunt before you took as much of him as you could into your mouth and began to suck him off, using your hand to stroke what you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Kratos’ heartbeat was picking up speed, he gently ran his fingers through your hair, careful not to push you further into his cock. He rested his hand on your cheek and you began to bob your head and stroke him faster, moaning around his length. Kratos’ breathing was starting to get heavy now and he clenched his teeth to suppress any sounds from escaping his mouth. You slowed down slightly, and decided to focus on the head of his dick again, swiping it back and forth with your tongue. The hand Kratos didn’t have on your face was clenched into a fist, because you were doing everything to make him a moaning mess, but he wanted to keep his composure. However, before he could lose it, he took an opportunity to stop you from continuing when you needed a breath of air. You looked up at Kratos when he stopped you, hands still wrapped around his swollen dick. You could see the lust in his eyes as he leaned down to kiss you, and you happily returned it. You moved your hands to wrap them around his neck and savor the kiss. But Kratos cut it short, he felt like if he didn’t get closer to you he might die. He carefully leaned you back, one hand on your head and one on your back. After sleeping with him a few times, you quickly realized Kratos’ favorite position was missionary, but you got him to mix it up once in a while. Kratos leaned over you and started to position himself to enter you, but before he did he locked eyes with you. You already knew he was checking in for consent, you gave his biceps a squeeze and nodded your head, “I’m ready, love.” You assured him. Kratos leaned down to kiss your forehead and then he slowly began to enter you. You tightened your grip on his arms and let out a soft gasp, he felt so good, like he was meant for you. Kratos had filled you up with his entire length, he was waiting for you to adjust to him before moving. But you had long gotten used to him, no longer needing time to adjust to his size, but he never skipped this step. “Please, Kratos…” You begged, not wanting to wait any longer. With your enthusiasm, he began to rock his hips into you at a steady pace, admiring your facial features as he fucked you. You let out a moan, louder than you meant to, and you moved your hands up to grip his shoulders and wrapped your legs loosely around him. You couldn’t form any thoughts when Kratos was in you, you could only think about the warmth radiating off of him and how fucking good he felt. Kratos started to increase his speed as he moved one of his hands to grip your waist, but was conscious to not hurt you. All you could do was moan softly over and over again, and occasionally lean up to give Kratos a sloppy kiss. You could feel your arousal building up again. You intertwined your fingers with his and pushed him up so his back was straight, changing his angle to hit you in all the right spots. “Yes… right there.” you encouraged Kratos, looking up at him as you felt yourself starting to become closer to your second orgasm. Kratos groaned slightly at your words and gently squeezed your hands as he started to go faster, deeper, and harder. You attempted to muffle your own moans as your nails dug into Kratos’ hand and with a few more thrusts you were cumming, your walls squeezing around Krato’s cock, the tightness bringing him to his own orgasm as well. He groaned in ecstasy as he came inside you and slowed his thrusts. You were, again, out of breath and you could feel the fur blanket under you becoming wet from your orgasm, you let go of Kratos’ hands and lets your arms fall to your side. You were thoroughly fucked and exhausted. Kratos leaned over you again and rested his forehead on your shoulder, stilling himself inside you, breathing heavily. He lazily kissed your shoulder and your neck before he willed himself off of you and pulled out, seeing his cum spill out of you. You could feel it, his cum slowly leaking from you, it was definitely one of your favorite parts of sex with Kratos. “Come ‘ere.” you instructed Kratos, who was just taking in the sight of you. He laid down next you with a slight grunt, the one you teased was his “old man grunt”. He slipped his hand under you and pulled you closer to him and kissed the side of your head.  “I love you.” he whispered in your ear. Hearing those words come out of his mouth made your heart feel so full. A big smile found its way onto your face as you turned on your side to face him, “I love you too.” you reciprocated as you rested an arm on his abdomen, right at the top of his scar, and hooked one of your legs around him and finally laid your head on his chest. This was your favorite thing about sex with Kratos. The love. The moments right after when you felt complete and whole and can hold him as tight as you can. You laid together, staring up at the stars in the sky and the moon in silence for what seemed like an eternity. But, in classic Kratos fashion, he eventually sat up and began to wipe away the mess between your legs and helped you get dressed. No matter how much you protested and insisted you were perfectly capable of cleaning and dressing yourself, Kratos insisted on helping you. Every time. When the two of you were dressed, you added the blanket you were laying on to the pile of washing to get done. The previously strong fire was now just some smoldering embers. Kratos released Mimir from his cloth prison and picked him up, ready to head to bed with you. “Aye, please tell me you washed your hands…” Mimir didn’t sound too confident. “No.” Kratos replied plainly as he held open the door to the house for you, closing it after entering behind you. Mimir let out a defeated sigh as he was set down in front of his book on the table. You let out a yawn as you spotted Atreus, who fell asleep sitting up in his bed with books sprawled out around him. Kratos put out the candles that had illuminated the small cabin and sat on the bed the two of you shared. He had insisted on sleeping closest to the door, of course. “Goodnight Mimir.” you whispered to the head. “Goodnight, (y/n).” Mimir replied, he couldn’t be annoyed or upset with you and Kratos. He was just glad to see Kratos truly happy, he deserved it after the life he’s had You climbed across Kratos to your spot in bed and snuggled up to him. “Goodnight, love.” You kissed his cheek as tiredness was taking over. “Goodnight, (y/n).” Kratos said as he wrapped an arm around you and closed his eyes.

~Morning after bonus~

The next morning Atreus was up early, getting breakfast ready. You woke up to the smell of bacon cooking, still entangled in the arms of your lover. You lifted your head slightly to peer over the sleeping Spartan and smiled at Atreus. “Good morning, you’re up early.” you whispered to him, but it was no use because Kratos had opened his eyes. Atreus looked over to you and his Father, “Morning.” he smiled at the two of you, “Food should be ready soon.” Kratos sat up fully and planted his feet on the floor, “You fell asleep reading.” he stated to his son. Kratos had been on his back for letting his interests interfere with a proper night’s sleep. “I know…” he started to explain, “But I’m-” he stopped mid sentence and gave his father a strange look. “Father, did you get hurt?” he asked, motioning to his own neck. You could hear Kratos’ breath hitch as his hand went up to his neck, “No.” he deflected. Since he was in his 1000’s, if he didn’t specifically focus on healing an injury, especially a small one, it took a few days for them to go away. Atreus gave him a doubtful look. Kratos was not good at lying, anyone could see straight through them. He focused his energy and healed his body. “Uhm,” You piped up sitting up and peeking your head over Kratos’ shoulder, “We were laying down outside, looking at the stars and one of those rat things, you know the red ones? It snuck up on him.” You patted his shoulder, covering for Kratos’, “He’s kinda embarrassed about it…” Mimir was looking back and forth between the two of you and Atreus, seeing if the boy was really that naive. “Ohhh…” Atreus bought it. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Father. Those things are fast.” he set the food that had finished cooking onto a wooden slab to cool. “Mh…” Kratos just grunted and dropped his hand back down to his side. Mimir rolled his eyes, he was gonna have to explain sex better to Atreus than the horrible talk he could only imagine occurred between the boy and his father.

[yellowocaballero]

In Stars and Time AU: Sif Puts The Star In Starcraft

Wow the ISAT fandom has a lot of cool AUs. That's a lot of fun! What if my extremely good buddy @lazuliquetzal theorized while playing ISAT for the first time that Sif was a fallen star? What then? What if I have unsuccessfully tried to restrain myself from talking about it?

Anyway AU where Sif is a star and also a gamer.

Sif is a hip Gen Z star who doesn't go outside nearly enough and spends all of their time playing videogames watching Earth. Their sibling Loop is always telling them to stop touching grass and to get their head back in the clouds, but they can't help it - they might miss the newest adventures of their favorite humans! Look at them, they're questing! Aren't they so cool? Isabeau just got a rare item drop!

Mirabelle and Isabeau are cool. They're brave, strong, nice, and best friends. Sif loves watching their heroic quest and cool adventures. After a while they even feel like his real friends. Eventually they start making a wish on themself - if they could only join them on their adventure! Get out of my room Loop I don't know what a parasocial relationship is.

Mirabelle is scared. Mirabelle is worrying that she's leading Isabeau on a doomed journey, that their struggle is destined to end in their deaths. She doesn't know if she can do this at all. Why her? Why not somebody more competent, more worthy? In a moment of desperation, she clasps her hands together and makes a desperate wish upon a star from the very bottom of her heart - that her party will be protected. That the Change God will send somebody to help them and keep them safe and save the world. Somebody, anybody, a little more competent than her.

Sif logs on.

Sif is a stroke of luck. Sif is mysterious, cool, and very talented. Sif can protect the whole party with a smirk on their face and a quip on their tongue. They're cool. He cheers you up, he's reliable, they're strong, and they are a treasured member of the party. They're a treasured friend. Things might be hard and scary, but with Sif there everybody breathes a little easier.

Sif loves, loves, loves being a human! The world is so fun and exciting, nothing like the boring and dreary cosmos! They have croissants, trees, friends! Being a human is great. They have an entire life on Earth, one way nicer than in the boring old sky that never changes. Sorry, Loop, they're skipping dinner, they have a World of Warcraft guild raid adventure with Mira today!

Sif has a job to do. Sif's here to grant a wish, and Sif is going to earn his place here. They protect the spirits of their friends by joking and keeping everybody hopeful. No friends get injured on their watch! Even if Sif gets hurt, that's part of the job. Bonnie's just upset about the eye because they don't know it's Sif's job as their friend to protect them. There's no point in feeding them during snacktime, so they'll patrol while you guys relax. Sif can't tell them how lonely they are or how they don't want this adventure to end, that's burdening them. They can't know that Sif's not really their friend, that they're not human, that their only point is their job - that's not protecting them. Get out of my ROOM PLANET, Loop, I'm NOT turning off the game touching space! It's not a game to them, it's their lives. Even if it'll never be Sif's.

But this adventure is drawing to a close. Mirabelle wished upon a star, and a star fell, and the star's about to grant her wish. And the star will have to log off. Even if the star wants to a be human, even if the star wants to be together forever - the game ends. Even if this ending really freaking sucks.

Why does this have to be a JRPG? Why can't it be one of the good games, the games that you can play forever and ever - like a farming/life simulator or an MMORPG or something? Where you do the same chores every day and nothing ever changes, and you're happy and safe in this little town forever? Everybody seperating at the end isn't a happy ending. Sif hates this ending. Sif hates this genre. Sif can't log off. They can't protect their friends if they log off. It's their job to protect their friends. They have to play the game right and create an ending that makes sure everybody is safe and happy and everything's perfect.

The party - Sif's family - reaches the third floor. Sif cracks open his Star AO3 account. Mirabelle unlocks the door and swings it open to find…

What's a coffee shop doing here?

[whumpninja]

more vampires

Featuring: the hot n’ evil vampire ladies are back, sad wet cat whumpee is also back, more creepy pet names, creepy comfort, casual talk of death, dehumanization, vampire duel, throat cutting (not permanent), regeneration

deadly nightshade

"It isn't fair!" Lucy complained. "I'm a vampiress, not a scullery maid!"

She kicked defiantly at the pile of logs she'd just finished stacking, sending them scattering over the floor of the cave. Folding her arms, she glared at Morgana. "I thought that's what we kept him around for, anyway. To do the chores so that I don't have to."

"We keep him around for his blood," Morgana replied in an even tone. "The fact that he makes a useful servant is only an additional benefit."

Her hand crept into Will's hair, stroking him exactly the way she would her beloved Clover. There was no magic binding him to the stone table this time, but regardless he didn't dare move. He lay half-curled on the hard slab of rock, his head in Morgana's lap, trying not to tremble as she carded her fingers through his curls.

Pouting, Lucy bent to stack up the firewood a second time. She was doing a terrible job of it; Will had a feeling it was on purpose in the hopes that someone else would pick up the slack. "He's done nothing all day but sit on his arse," she huffed. "Maybe Selene's right about him."

Will glanced fearfully over to where Selene stood at the other end of the cave, rearranging the contents of the crooked shelf they'd managed to put up. Morgana clicked her tongue, pulling his attention back to her. "Don't you worry about Selene, my sweet little William," she murmured. "Just rest."

Right, I'm supposed to be William. A year with the vampires and he still hadn't stopped thinking of himself as Will. Morgana liked him to be William; she had told him at the beginning that just Will was far too common a name for a vampire's pet. But she hadn't used that word exactly. She'd called him something else- a familiar? That didn't sound right either. But Will didn't have the strength of mind to puzzle it out. The last meal had been hellish. They'd drained nearly every last drop of blood he had. He was still recovering from it, and the blood loss combined with the aftereffects of their magic had addled his brain. He couldn't focus.

And it wasn't just his strength of mind. Will had never been very strong, but it had been four days since the vampires' feast, and he was still as weak as a kitten. The wood Lucy was grudgingly piling up had been one of his tasks that morning. He'd run out of strength in the middle of it, dropping the wood and scattering the pieces everywhere. He had cowered on the floor, trembling, sure that Morgana would be angry and tell Selene to punish him. Selene always handled his punishments, and they were always cruel. She would drag him from the cave and beat him, or tie him to a tree and throw her daggers at him, or hold his head underwater in the river until he was half-drowned, or whatever terrible thing she thought of to do to him this time.

But he had been even more afraid when Morgana had pulled him- gently- up and guided him to the stone table, making him lie down. For a heartstopping moment he had thought that she would drink from him, again, and he had barely started to heal from the last time, he was hardly strong enough to stand, she couldn't take any more, he had nothing left.

She hadn't bitten him. All she had done was sit on the edge of the table and pull his head into her lap. And that was where he had been ever since, lying perfectly still while Morgana stroked his hair and murmured soft silly things to him.

And she'd told the others to finish his chores. Lilah was out hunting, and Annabel was too old for much housework, so it had fallen to Lucy and Selene. The older of the two had set to the work without a word. Lucy was being much more vocal about it.

"Lilah ought to be back here helping us instead of traipsing through the woods without a care," she sulked. "If they've caught her and burned her for a witch I won't be a bit sorry."

Annabel snorted from her rocking chair. "If it's Lilah they catch, they'll lock her up as a lunatic."

"Besides, not much burning nowadays," Selene said. "It's all hanging."

"Hanging isn't much fun," Annabel replied with a sigh. "No pageantry, no theater- just a rope, a drop, and you're dead. I miss the days when we could scream curses at the crowds from the midst of the flames. Now that was some real entertainment."

Will shuddered. He had heard them talk about such things before, of course. But he had never quite gotten used to it. The way the vampires spoke so casually about death, knowing they would simply resurrect...it was unnerving. Will lived a few drops from dying every day of his life. The vampires' flippant talk of the subject hurt to hear. He knew that one day they would kill him- his body would wear out at last, or Selene would take a punishment too far, or Morgana would grow tired of him.

It was the way things worked. The vampires were undead. Will was closer to dying every day.

Morgana's hands slid from his hair down to his cheek, and despite himself Will lifted his head slightly to press into her touch. It was so rare for her to caress him like this- usually it only happened while she was drinking from him, a gentle hand laced with magic to still his pained writhing. He hated the vampires' magic. He hated the feel of it- it felt like silk, sliding over his body and holding him down, forcing him to lie still while they drank his life away. He hated the way it infiltrated his mind, whispering lies to him and making him believe things that weren't true.

More than anything he hated how powerless it made him feel. They could force him to do anything they wanted him to do, and they could even make him believe he was happy to do it. Lucy liked to do that- she put him under illusions when she fed on him, and Will hated it. She would get in his mind and pull out memories and make him relive them. He'd believe that he was back on the farm, lying in the hayloft and looking up through the cracks in the roof at the stars- and then it would end and there'd be a corpse-gray face and red eyes and sharp fangs, and she'd laugh. Lucy always laughed at him. "Silly little human," she'd titter, and Will felt so small when she did it. She teased him endlessly, or said cruel things as if he couldn't even hear. Or, worse, as if she knew he could hear every word.

Morgana at least seemed fond of him, even if it was in the same way she was fond of Clover. Will was just another pet to her. Part of him- the part he tried his best to hide from them- hated it.

But part of him didn't mind so much. Especially in moments like this.

Will's eyes had started to slip closed without him realizing it. Morgana laughed above him- her laugh was rich and silvery, not high and teasing like Lucy's. "Poor lamb. Are you tired, sweet one?"

Will knew she didn't really want an answer. She just liked to talk to him. He shifted his head to the side, and she put her hands in his hair again. Will's eyes fluttered as she stroked his curls.

"I still think we should kill it," Selene said, and Will froze.

Morgana's hand never faltered, as if she'd been expecting this conversation. "Not yet."

"Why?" Selene sounded frustrated. "It's useless now! It's hardly worth the effort to keep it alive! Look at it! It's so worn out that it's sleeping in your lap!"

Morgana made a little humming sound. "Because I said no. That should be enough."

There was a noise like metal on fabric. When Morgana spoke again, her voice was as silken as ever, but wrapped around steel. "Put that away, Selene. You can't possibly hope to overpower me."

"You've gotten soft." Selene's accusing tone rang loud around the cave walls, and Will cringed. "You actually care about a human. You're attached to it."

"And what if I am?" Will didn't dare look up, but he could imagine the elegant lift of Morgana's eyebrow. "What if I like having a human about the place?"

"This place is a cave in the middle of the woods!" Selene shot back. "And why did we have to flee here? Because you stopped to catch a human!"

"Is Selene going to stab Morgana?" Lilah's voice. Apparently she was back.

"No," said Morgana, falsely pleasant. "She is going to put those daggers down before I bespell her into a spider and crush her." Will smelled the acid tang of Morgana's magic alarmingly close to his head. One of her hands still rested in his hair- but the other hand held a spell, snapping with energy, ready to hurl at Selene.

"And Morgana is going to stand up and accept my challenge for leadership of this coven," Selene growled back, "or forfeit it here and now."

Morgana stood up. Will's head slipped from her lap to crack painfully against the stone. He yelped, sitting up and putting a hand to the sharp pain that bloomed in his skull.

No one took any notice. Lucy and Lilah had gone very still where they stood, their eyes wide and almost afraid. Will had never seen any of the vampires look afraid.

Annabel stood up from her chair, waving away the rats. She seemed suddenly to have lost the dozy haze that always lay over her, her spine straight and her face focused and sharp. "Selene, do you challenge Morgana for the leadership of this coven?" she asked, her voice ringing against the stone walls.

Selene spat on the floor. "Provoc."

"Morgana, do you accept this challenge?"

Morgana pushed her silk sleeves up. "Greva."

Will didn't understand the words, but he could read the tone behind them.

"To the blood," Annabel said, and stepped back. Lilah and Lucy pressed themselves against the walls, too. Annabel raised a hand and brought it up in a quick twisting motion. "Sange."

Selene uttered an inhuman shriek and leapt at Morgana, daggers drawn. Morgana stood still until the very last moment, then smoothly stepped aside. Selene fell, caught herself, and twisted around to aim a savage slash at Morgana's legs. Morgana dodged, her finger tracing a spell in the air.

Will gasped as lightning shot from Morgana's hand. I didn't know she could do that!

Selene just managed to duck the bolt, growling through bared fangs. Morgana smirked, gesturing for her to try again.

"Weak!" Selene snarled, charging Morgana again. Morgana spun a shield of violet magic, and Selene's daggers slammed into it with a crackling sound. "Playing with your- ngh- pet instead of leading the- agh- coven!"

Morgana smiled grimly and turned on her heel, taking Selene with her. "Pathetic," she retorted. "Jealous of a little human."

Will sat on the table, his legs drawn up to his chest to hide how much he was trembling. He knew without being told that this fight wasn't only deciding leadership of the coven. It was a fight for his life. If Selene won, she would kill him.

Please, Morgana. Please win.

Selene let out another war cry and flung herself at Morgana, slashing and stabbing with both daggers at once. Morgana waited for her to get close and stepped to the side. In a move so quick Will barely saw it happen, she grabbed hold of Selene's arm and bashed it into the cave wall, then pushed herself on top of the other vampire. Selene went down hard, and Morgana trapped her other arm in a hold, twisting it savagely back and up. Selene shouted in anger and pain, her eyes flashing.

Morgana laughed her scornful laugh. "Down, girl," she teased.

Selene thrashed, snarling. But Morgana had her pinned, and she knew it.

"It's to blood, Morgana," Annabel reminded her from the side of the room.

"Oh, I knew I was forgetting something." Morgana plucked Selene's fallen dagger from the floor. She pulled Selene's head back by the hair and set the knife to her throat-

Will looked away. But he still heard the sound of the knife slicing into skin and blood hitting the floor. Selene herself died silently, without so much as a gasp.

"Congratulations, Morgana," said Annabel.

Will turned back to the vampires. Morgana unceremoniously kicked Selene's still body aside and ran her fingers through the blood. Will hated the sight of vampire blood- it was all dark and thick and unnatural-looking. And so were Morgana's eyes as she licked the blood from her fingers.

"Well, that settles that, then," Morgana said. "I win."

Selene's body jerked once, twice, and then she sat up, the gash in her throat pulling itself back together. Will had to stifle his own scream. He'd never seen one of them resurrect before, though he knew they could. He watched as Selene dragged in a huge gulp of air, her eyes almost glowing red. There was a dark scar across her throat now.

"Oh, you're back," Morgana observed. She tossed the dagger over her shoulder. Selene caught it, her face still angry, but more subdued.

Morgana flounced back over to the table, swishing her skirts as she sat down beside Will. "Did I frighten you, darling? I'm terribly sorry." She pulled his head against her shoulder. "Selene, I will allow that once. Challenge me again, and I'll tear your beating heart from your chest and impale it on the nearest rowan tree, do you understand?"

Selene nodded, her hand splayed across the new scar. There seemed almost to be a new...respect in her face.

Morgana made a little hum, flicking her dark hair back over her shoulder. Her fingers stroked Will's cheek. "She is right, you know, lamb," she said softly, and Will stiffened. "Oh, not about killing you. I wouldn't do that for a long while yet. You're much too sweet."

Gently, she took his chin in her hand and turned his head, making him look her in the eyes. They were still pale blue at that moment, but Will knew they would begin to turn red as she got hungry. "You haven't really been earning your keep, little one," she told him. "A bit of blood here and there, a few chores. You've got to be a little more useful for us if you want us to keep you." She laughed at the look on his face, patting his head as she stood. "Oh, don't you worry any more about it, sweet lamb. I'm sure I can find something for you to do."

The scheming look in her eyes was dreadful to see. Will found himself trembling a long time after she let him alone, too afraid for the shivering to stop.

[arcane-vagabond]

Maybe a Drabble about Jake carving the horse for Scout? Ha ha jk, unless 👀

I wanted to do this before publishing Chapter Eight 👀

Jake wasn't sure how to feel after his argument with you. On one hand, you were an excellent shot and he questioned why that didn't shock him as much as he thought it should.

On the other hand, the sight of you in the saloon had him terrified. What would have happened to you had he not shown up when he did? Isaac had been so close to...no. He couldn't think of that now. He had made it, he reminded himself. You were safe for the time being.

Jake wasn't a naive man, he knew that Isaac wouldn't lay low forever. Isaac was a calculated and cold man. He would strike when the time was right. He knew Maverick would keep an eye on you, but it was the fact that that thought didn't even bring him comfort which gave him pause.

He had always looked up to Maverick, seeing him as a father figure ever since his died in the outbreak all those years ago. Maverick was strong and dependable. But Jake knew that he would worry about you until he got back to town, that much was certain.

Jake paced along the street, debating on what to do. He needed the money that would come from this job, Sarah and Billy depended on it. But the nagging inside him said to not leave you alone. He'd never forgive himself if something were to happen to you.

He wasn't sure when his feelings for you had become so strong. Javy told him that he was smitten from first sight, and Jake supposed he was right. You were fiery, and you didn't let him get away with shit. He liked that about you.

He huffed out a sigh before plopping down on the porch in front of the saloon, grabbing one of the logs Penny kept for the fire. Jake wasn't sure when he had started whittling, but he knew he enjoyed it. It helped keep his hands and his mind busy when he was troubled. He never knew what it was he was going to carve until the figurine already sat in his hand, finished.

Jake sat there thinking about you, his pocket knife digging into the wood harshly as he thought back to the events from earlier that day. He had never seen you that vulnerable, and his hands itched to track Isaac down and put a bullet through his skull. He thought about how your eyes glistened with tears that mixed with the blood from the scratch on your cheek. Your clothes had been torn and you had looked at him with such a sense of relief that it had his heart aching in his chest.

But he had also seen the claw marks on Isaac's skin, the blood running from his mouth. You had fought him, his girl was a fighter. His chest swelled with pride at the thought of you fighting the larger man, and a smile twitched at the corner of his lips.

Yes, you were a fighter, the voice inside him preened. Maybe that was why he liked you so much.

He thought about how your eyes blazed every time he tried to flirt with you, how you scowled at almost everything he said. You were so cute when you pouted. You were even cuter when you tried to cling onto that prim and proper act, but Jake could see the wild streak in you. It was one that could never be broken, and Jake decided right then and there that he would build that streak up, wanting to see who you really were behind your fancy clothes and words.

Jake also thought about how you looked working in your garden. The dirt covering your face and dress as you toiled away, the pinch of your brows as you concentrated. The very thought brought a small smile to his lips. He kept carving.

Your skin was so soft, and where most girls would be determined to keep it that way, you had insisted on taking on as many chores as you could around the ranch. Jake remembered how exhausted you had looked when he popped by unannounced that one day, your face red from excursion, your hair plastered to your forehead from the sweat. He wanted to kiss you right then and there.

His mind raced with thoughts of you as he continued to carve, and before he knew it, the blue light of the early morning greeted him. He blinked, looking up as he finished his last cut. He grimaced at the thought of riding out today with no sleep, but one look at the figurine in his hand had him feeling at ease.

The horse stared back up at him, poised in its grace, but looking like it was ready run wild at any moment. Just like you, Jake thought. He smoothed his thumb over the back before turning it over, carving his initials into the belly.

He slowly moved from his perch, muscles aching from being in the same position for so long. He stretched before making his way back down the road to your house. The town was quiet as he made his way towards the outskirts, and your home stood proudly in all its fine glory as the sun began to peak over the horizon. Jake trotted up the steps, debating on where he should leave his gift. He settled on the railing by the steps, placing the horse so that it faced the front door.

"Watch over her for me until I get back, yeah?" He told the figurine. It stared back at him, and he let out a soft chuckle. He gave one last look at the front door before turning and walking back towards the saloon where his friends waited for him.

[pastel-rights]

I LOVE your art style! How did you came up with it?

huh? my art style??? uhhh, i mean i uhhhh if you want, i can explain how I got to this point but. sometimes, things just. happen yknow???

honestly my old art compared to the more recent of what I've done probably looks. very very jarring side by side since it looks like it was drawn by completely different people lol. For example, look at this early 2017 character concept verse a late (November) 2024 character concept.

It's. Definitely a lot to take in so uhm. Buckle up! [cue a heavy metal version of bye-bye-bye playing for atmosphere reasons]

So, I've been drawing as a hobby since about... 2009 give or take? However, the earliest art I have on hand is probably from... 2016 or 2015 tbh??? Although, I only really started keeping a fr fr log of my art from 2019 and onwards so, let's start with what I actually have to show.

It's all about the basics, anon!

Growing up, my art was inspired by the shows I watched growing up! in particular, shows like "Codename: Kids Next Door" and "Tom and Jerry" were my rock in childhood times (since I wasn't allowed to watch Spongebob until I was much older and a majority of my "childhood" tv shows didn't start airing until later in my life, like Bubble Guppies (which aired in 2011) and Team Umizoomi and Octonauts (which both released in 2010) which, by then, the television was run by my younger brother's needs mostly, and I didn't get a say.)

So, I guess you could say my art was inspired by those two shows mostly???? of course, not... fully? hold on let me show you guys the earliest art I have to work with here-

these are all from 2019 since it's the furthest back I was able to save my art but. Looking at it, it doesn't look like it was inspired in the way artists are normally inspired by their environment. At least, that's not how it feels to me.

my art at this point was very... a lot of it was traditional in comparison to now, for starters. The color grades are completely off, the lining is. interesting. A lot of one shot one result type of shenanigans. Of course, it shares its origin with my childhood entertainment in general, which is being very cartoonish in style! On traditional grounds, I fucked around with a lot of different methods, some just pencil, some with markers, blah blah blah yada yada yada.

which, character design is my passion /ref if you couldn't tell. but my art style has always been very cartoonish and stylized, even in my earliest days. Big eyes, wild hair styles, noodly limbs, you know, the cartoonist hallmarks! If nothing else, my art style is more reflective of who I am as a person?? like the cartoons that formed me, it's very expressive and full of color and whimsy and in its own way, it's my way of thanking the world that taught me happiness and joy, and I draw to give others that same feeling.

Whether that be my friends' OCs or silly shitposts, I draw for the joy others get seeing it! Here look at this picture of my friend (@sxftriina)'s OC, Ocean, I draw way way back when lol

...

but at some point, I realized. My art didn't make me happy anymore. I didn't have fun drawing anymore. and it just became more of a chore to make than a fun hobby or a good time. I couldn't find the joy in art anymore. And I couldn't create anything I was proud of either.

I got stuck. It didn't matter what I drew, what things I tried. I couldn't make myself happy again. and while my art might not have suffered.

I did.

art was nothing more than a chore. something I had to do because I wasn't good for anything else.

and it made me severely depressed, among other things happening during those times.

so what does a burnt out depressed artist do in crisis times??????????

...

he joins tumblr, of course.

I wish I was joking. I'm not.

anyways so it was like 4am and I was like "let me join tumblr why the hell not maybe I'll find something there" and uhm. well I didn't find anything initially. and every day was as depressing as the last, and I eventually just. felt like giving up. I ran an askblog and drew a ton still because while it made me unhappy, I felt unhappier just. doing nothing. Lesser of two evils I suppose?

that was until I uh. I met someone really special to me. Even now.

if you're reading this, uh. hi lupi!

This was around the time I found Identity Five at the end of 2020, and began drawing fanart for the game, which restored... some joy to art? Not completely, but, I wasn't so miserable drawing during this time of my life. It felt like a chore still, but, at least now I was having some semblance of fun doing it. Not completely fun though... I was still stuck in a funk. I didn't know why.

And then, I met Lupi. At the time, she was following me through her askblog account (she still does) and I got curious and decided to check it out for myself and. I think if I never checked out Lupi's blog that day, my art wouldn't have taken the direction it did, and, I would have never regained my love for my craft.

Of course, I feel silly even talking about it so... I took a different direction with my art after scrolling through Lupi's art, which sometimes I'll do, even to this day just for fun sake. And this time... I don't know.

It just felt different this time. It wasn't the best, and it certainly wasn't easy either. But for the first time in over a year... I had genuine fun drawing again. No negative feelings attached.

Just... fun.

A lot of fun at that. A lot of things from this era of my style stuck. Like... a looooot. My color choices, my mini style, the flow, a lot of what I learned from this era stuck with me, even now.

it retains so much of the past yet it means so much more. it's still cartoonish, still small and squashed, funky hairstyles, noodle limbs, fun clothing... the whole nine yards.

Of course... this is only 2021 art. My art now, while similar... it's not the same. And it's all thanks to ONE RED HAIRED MOTHERFUCKER. not ginger, red haired. apples are red, not orange. /ref

It was the first time in. several years that I've drawn something just for me. Even if it was something small and silly while waiting for an after-school activity to start. It was something I remember really fondly, a feeling that wasn't just fun but. actual joy.

Not only that but, for as simple as it is, it marked the start of a very, very... very long long of stylization like never before. You take what makes you happy... piece by piece, bit by bit...

you learn... you grow... you improve upon skills you have... body language, expression, detail... all those things. You meet some really cool people along the way... you talk, you laugh, you cry.

you get inspired and you want to show them something new, something cool... and in doing so, you make something you never thought was possible. Not with your skills, and not in a million years.

But, you learn. you laugh. you watch. you grow.

you figure out what you like. cool colors, fun dynamics, shading, lighting, storylines... things like that. you inspire others, and those people inspire you in turn.

you learn some cool new poses, you draw some fun fanart for your friends aus, you try new things and those end up sticking.

sometimes it's just you and one other person, who stuck through, watching you draw until a piece's very end. because they like you for you. and they care. sometimes they never leave your side, and they continue to inspire you to this very day.

you have fun with what youre doing. there's not really any need to rush, you know? you look at new media, you talk to the people you care about the most, you make things to surprise them with. and they're happy. and you're happy.

and you want to keep drawing.

but you can't forget to draw for yourself sometimes. something just for you that others can enjoy, but, it wasn't made for others. it was made because you love yourself and you deserve something special. it's important to draw what you want for yourself.

and sometimes, it becomes your staple.

you put your best foot forward, you give it everything you've got! because it's not a chore. it's fun. it's a hobby.

and it makes you happy. your art becomes recognizable, people compliment it and enjoy its presence. even in passing.

...

I love my art style too, anon. i know its been a long while of me talking. telling my story, my experience with my art. how it built me. how it ruined me. and how I found myself again.

I didn't know how to answer your question when I first got this ask.

Because, I didn't know how I came up with it. In my mind, it just happened. But, I think I have an answer for you now.

For real this time.

My art style is a culmination of everything and everyone I love. Navi, Pins, Beth, Yuu, Tae, Klai, Joe, Rina, Lupi, Four, pretty much everyone I surround myself with on a day to day basis. Bit by bit, piece by piece, my art style is fueled by the love I have for my friends.

Every improvement over the years has all been so I can show them something fun, something new. So I can keep surprising them with each new piece I do.

But, it's not just my friends.

It's you too, anon. Whoever you are. Wherever you are. Every like, every reblog, every comment and compliment. Every ask, every live reaction.

Thank you.

Thank you for helping me find my joy again. I hope I didn't disappoint.