#(I went with my sketch artist child)

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa: *writes a single throwaway line in one chapter of Lost and Found that is never referenced again*

Me, completely randomly and with no prompting: Alright, bet–

[dr-zeddy]

BLEH

[achromaticstars-archived]

TAXI :  for both muses to share the same taxi ride. (Adventuring investigative journalist!bai c.houfei for………..one of ur modern muses idk <3)

a comprehensive list of scenarios |still accepting|

It was normal for Shen Yi to find other means to reach the police station that he was apart of, it eventually became a second home to him. There was rocky ground underneath his feet at first because of what had happened in the past, something that was difficult for him to bring up. Especially for Du Cheng, he didn't want to bring up anything that might be unpleasant for the man who was his captain. His presence had been difficult in the beginning while it did seem that Du Cheng and the others were able to forgive him, it had taken them some time to get used to him.

They eventually saw him as a friend. They eventually saw him as someone who was a member of the team.

Shen Yi was quick to grab a taxi for the sake of being dropped off at the police station since he was unable to get ahold of Du Cheng who most likely had his focus elsewhere. He probably was already sitting in that office of his with his nose buried in whatever case decided to appear that morning. A case that most likely was going to need his skills as an artist depending on the situation, but he was going to work where they needed him.

It seemed that another person needed the taxi as much as he did which was the reason why Shen Yi offered to share. He didn't mind having to share the same vehicle with another, it seemed that they had an important matter to deal with as well. Their job was probably at stake or maybe something more, not that he was going to pry into their business.

Fingers moved to open sketchbook to continue working on the face that he needed to bring to life. A lost identity who was waiting to be rediscovered, a face that could bring a name to this unknown victim.

[1-800-kami]

4:23 pm | the adventures of dad!gojo

content: 0.9k words, fem!reader, dad gojo, megumi is your son, silly crack fic

gojo satoru is a man with very little fears.

in actuality, people are afraid of him. a mere gaze from those cerulean blue eyes of his sends people running off to the opposite direction, so the adjective “intimidating” was quite the understatement to describe him. some might even say that he’s the strongest, so he possesses no fear at all.

despite that, gojo has one thing he’s deathly afraid of: you–his wife, when you’re angry.

“suguru, help me out here!” geto can physically feel his bestfriend’s panic through the phone. gojo explained the situation in a fast ramble–geto could barely understand what he was saying, but he thinks he got the gist of it: you went out to run some errands and entrusted gojo to take care of your two year old child, megumi, while you were out. gojo conjured up the genius idea of keeping megumi entertained by handing him a paper and markers–so that they could surprise you with megumi’s amazing artistic abilities once you came back home.

it had gone “so well”, gojo said earlier, picking up the paper and studying it. “i think this is a drawing of a cat? or a dog, i don’t really know.. still, it’s made by my son, and it’s the peak of art and i think everyone should see it!”

gojo was so busy trying to decipher what megumi had drawn that he didn’t realize that his son still had the markers in his hands. when he peers over to look at megumi again, he just about screamed.

“gumi- no- GUMI!” he shrieks, snatching the markers away from his son’s hold. megumi, not having a paper to draw on anymore, decided to use the wall as his canvas instead—sketching a poorly drawn house with a bright red marker. “you’re not supposed to draw on the wall! aw fuc-ahem, freak… your mom’s gonna kill me…”

“gosh suguru, some advice would help!” satoru’s never been so afraid in all his years of living. you’re coming home pretty soon, and he has no idea what to do. he’s already imagining the look on your face–and it’s pushing satoru to the brink of passing out. gojo satoru–the renowned sorcerer who’s fought the king of curses, been sealed away in a box and has had multiple near death experiences–all of these things have happened to him yet none can compare to the fear of facing his wife when she’s angry.

“hmm? what is it, nanako?” satoru can hear his bestfriend trying not to laugh over the phone. suguru knows an easy solution to his problem, but he thinks that leaving satoru in the dark is funnier. it’s rare to see the strongest sorcerer like this, so geto revels in it with pure amusement. “you’re hungry? okay… let’s see what i can make for you, yeah?”

“you heard her, satoru~ one of the twins are hungry. i’m afraid i have to go… good luck about the markers, yeah?” suguru hangs up before satoru could say a word. he curses under his breath, but feels his heart stop when he hears the door unlock.

you’re home.

“mama!” megumi yells, clapping his hands and slowly crawling over to the front door. you happily greet your son, placing the grocery bags on the table.

you walk over to your husband, kissing him on the cheek before noticing the piece of paper that he’s holding. “oh? what’s this?”

you grab the paper from his hands and satoru regains a little bit of his composure once he hears you coo at your son’s drawing. “thought it would be nice for me and megumi to surprise you while you were gone… it’s a drawing of a cat-”

“horsey!”

“...a horse. yup, that’s what i said!” he sheepishly ignores his son’s glare, mentally preparing himself to tell you about the wall.

“i love it! oh my gosh, megumi, aren’t you just a little artist?” you say, ruffling your son’s hair with a big smile. “this is definitely going on the fridge.”

“...there’s one small problem, though…” satoru refuses to meet your gaze.

“what did you do this time, satoru?”

“hey, it technically wasn’t me!” he says, this time being the one to shoot the glare at his son. “so hypothetically…what if i told you that gumi thought it would be a nicer idea to use the wall as a canvas instead of the paper?”

“...”

satoru perceives your silence as his death sentence. “look, i’m sorry! i was trying to figure out what he drew and i forgot that he still had the markers in his hands-”

“satoru-”

“and the next thing i know, he drew on the wall before i was able to take the markers from him-”

“toru-”

“and suguru wasn’t giving me advice either, but then-”

“satoru!” your final yell finally breaks him from his ramble. he’s surprised to see that no, you don’t have a look of murder on your face. in fact, you’re actually smiling—looking more amused than anything.

“satoru, they’re washable markers.” you take a baby wipe from your purse and walk over to the wall, wiping away the bright red marker strokes easily with a few swipes. you’re trying not to laugh at his dumbfounded expression. “did you not know that?”

now he’s the one stunned into silence. “...”

“no, no… i definitely knew that…!”

“yeah, sure you did.”

being a father is so difficult.

[shegatsby]

I'm sorry but I have another idea for a story😅 please take your time to write it again and if you do it can I maybe be "♡🌸"-anon? I hope you had a really good time the last few days and weeks and that you're healthy! Same for anyone else reading this! Now onto the idea..

Hannibal and reader are already married and reader is a tattoo artist, one day when Hannibal comes home from work he sees reader sitting on the couch and sketching a tattoo, the tattoo is deer antlers(wink wink lol-) with vines around them, when he asks who the tattoo is for reader says that its for him and then they go on and on about why its fitting for Hannibal and he's just listening to her rambling before he stops them and asks if they could do a heart tattoo with the words Mischa, Readers name and the name of their child. (I know Mischa is from Hannibal Rising but I like to think that the movies are all connected to the show so.. yeah that would be amazing <3) Reader would say that they already thought of doing a design like that and they accidently slide the wrong way on the iPad and Hannibal sees a picture that says "Congratulions for a second child!" and idk, the rest is up to you!^^

Sorry that its so long again but its just super cite and yeah.. anyway, a good rest of the day to all of you! I hope all of you are healthy and stay/are safe! And I feel with everyone thats also a bit pissed at the situation with Tik Tok and UMG🥲

-♡🌸

A/N; Girll I haven't been writing Hannibal fics for a long time but here we go. Thank you for the request. xxx

You were preoccupied and didn't even heard the door. Soft yet determined steps approached you from the back and strong arms wrapped around you, you looked up to meet your husband's welcoming gaze, he he seemed tired because his work was consuming his hours more than usual. His hands were cold due to the fact that it was a harsh winter day in Baltimore, ''Hey.'' you said smiling, ''Hello dear.'' his voice softened. ''How long have you been sitting here and designing new drawings my love?''

You were self conscious about your designs before you could respond he added, ''Who is this for?''

His interest was piqued ''Do you like it?'' you asked testing the waters. Hannibal observed the design on the tablet, it was deer antlers with veins around them, ''Yes, I actually like it but you didn't answer my question dear.'' he replied with a questioning look in his maroon eyes, ''Its for you and I'm glad you liked it.''

He seemed confused, ''For me? Why do you think this dsign is suitable for me?'' he genuinely asked. You cleared your throat before speaking, ''In many cultures, the deer is a symbol of spiritual authority. During a deer's life the antlers fall off and grow again and the aniaml is also a symbol of regretion. In Christian imagination, the deer is a symbol of piety, devotion and of God taking care of his children: men.'' you explained, emphasising on the word ''children'' your eyes glowing with passion.

''And you my love,'' you held his hand, ''you are everything and more to us.'' you meant yourself and your daughter Mischa. As if the toddler had sensed that you were talking about her she started crying from her room. ''I'll get her.'' Hannibal said and kissed your temple gently. In moments he came back with Mischa in his arms, he was swaying her gently, ''Cna you also make something,'' he began and caught your attention, you admired the love he held in his eyes for you and your daughter and your hand went to your stomach without realizing, ''Mischa's name in a heart, maybe?'' he suggested, ''I already have.'' he was surprised that you already had thought about it, ''Can I see?''

You showed him the design you had made few weeks ago, ''And I also have other designs maybe you'll like them more.'' you said and moved to the gallery to show more and he made you pause, he held your hand, ''What is it?''

You got a picture of pregnancy test on your latest photos, 'you looked up to meet his gaze, hi clicked on the picture and saw that it was positive, ''Honey are you-'' he began but couldn't finish, ''Yes, yes I'm pregnant!'' you bolted to your feet and hugged your husband and daughter, Hannibal was holding Mischa with one hand and the other hand moved to your neck and kissed you passionately, you let him dominate the kiss. When you parted you were out of breath, ''I'm going to be a father.. again.'' his maroon eyes were glowing with love and warmth for you, Mischa and the new member of the Lecter family.

[inkpetrichor]

Muse | Azumane Asahi x f!reader

1.-Artist's block. masterlist here<3

cw. a little angsty, use of y/n, the ukai/sakanoshitas being lovely<3

an. Happy new years everyone! And happy birthday to my favorite ace and #1 fictional husband Azumane Asahi!!

wc. 4.3k

Drawing had always been your best coping mechanism. Anatomy sketches, doodles, scenery painting. Ever since your grandpa had gifted you your first sketchbook, you had poured yourself onto the paper, finding in it a peaceful, harmless way to deal with emotional pain—marking paper instead of skin.

It had saved you, in a way. This newfound skill, refined with time and dedication, became your lifeline.

Life in Tokyo had been one of the darkest times of your life. Living with your parents would have killed you—slowly, like a houseplant deprived of light and water, silently withering in the corner of a dark living room, incapable of providing for itself what should be provided for it.

Your grandpa saved you. Taking you away from your parents the moment he realized how badly you were hurting, how badly they were hurting you. He took you under his wing and assured you everything was settled—that you would never have to go back to Tokyo again.

Unsurprisingly, your parents didn't even fight to keep you with them. And while that hurt a little, it didn't surprise you. You tried to convince yourself that you weren't really attached to them either. There wasn't anything there to be attached to, really. Only the crushing weight of their expectations and absolutely zero affection.

You tried to find a memory from your childhood where you felt the warmth of their love, maybe a kiss to your forehead or a bedtime story, but the "child memories" drawer in your mind was almost sealed shut.

You were certain they had never truly loved you. They were probably relieved that someone else would take what they saw as a burden off their hands. You had never been good enough for them. That plant wasn't pretty enough to care for. 

And yet, under the Ukai and Sakanoshita household, you bloomed. Your grandpa put a sketchbook in your hands, food in your belly, and a warm family unit that actually felt like family around you. You were infinitely grateful for it.

You could feel the love they had for each other in this household. They would occasionally engage in playful banter with each other, like they actually got along, not just the typical family politeness where respect is law far above love. And everyone from your uncle to his wife, even their son Keishin, had assumed the responsibility to give you a home without expecting anything in return.

Your uncle's wife treated you the way you assumed an actual mother would, even though you weren't related to her. She was sweet and spoke to you softly, almost as if she was afraid of scaring you away—she was— You knew this was special treatment since you'd heard her nagging her son, every now and then, being far more severe with him than she ever was with you.

She always made sure you felt comfortable and acted as your personal guardian when you first arrived, ensuring everyone respected your space. You were skittish at first, and the Ukai family could be a little... intense. For the first week or so, you barely left the improvised room they'd given you while they set everything up.

And set things up they did.

Behind the Sakanoshita store stood a "Kura" storehouse, a large, traditional structure about the size of a small garage. You weren't sure what they used to store there or where it went once you arrived, but by the time you came to the Sakanoshita house, your grandpa, uncle, and cousin were already hard at work adapting it into a livable space.

"I don't like the idea," your aunt complained over dinner one evening after the men had finished working on it for the day. "It's too dark in there, and she'll be all alone. Besides, my grandma used to say people locked their children in there as punishment back in the day. It feels cruel."

Your uncle sighed, setting his plate of freshly served takikomi gohan down.

"That was way back in the Edo period, love. We can't have her sleeping in such a small room forever. She needs a bigger space."

"And besides! We've already started building; you should've said something sooner," Keishin added, sitting down and immediately talking through a mouthful of food.

You looked up from your warm, savory plate and smiled at your aunt as she cupped her face in her hand, brows furrowed, clearly unconvinced.

"I genuinely don't mind where I sleep. If it's small or dark, even if it's cold or humid, I'll still be grateful for it," you said, hoping to calm her worries.

Instead, your words seemed to have the opposite effect. For one, everyone looked at you in shock, as this was the first time you'd said more than a soft "thank you," "good morning," or "good night" since arriving. And second, your aunt's worried expression deepened with sorrow. You felt a flicker of panic, thinking you had somehow offended her with your words.

"Y/N, please don't speak like that. You're part of this family now, so it's important that you live well and comfortably. Besides, these are your last years of high school—equal parts fun and responsibility. You need to be well to do well."

Her words, though tinged with sadness, filled you with a warmth you weren't used to but would grow into soon enough.

After all, it's hard to feel cold when surrounded by warmth.

Your uncle nodded in agreement with his wife.

"That's just another reason why the Kura is perfect—she needs space and privacy."

Your aunt turned to argue again, a soft "but..." leaving her lips before Grandpa Ukai's voice interrupted.

"The Kuras weren't only used for bad things," he stated with his usual serious, matter-of-fact tone, not looking up from his plate. "Royals originally built them to protect their valuables and other precious things."

Even if his words seemed cold and emotionless, there was deep tenderness within them. Maybe he didn't intend it, but he had implied you were something to be valued and protected. It even seemed to convince your aunt, as she dropped the subject after that.

You didn't dare look at her face, though. You quickly looked down at your plate as soon as you felt your eyes grow hazy with tears of deep, joyful gratitude.

You quickly learned your grandpa was probably the sweetest man alive. It was easy to warm up to him, and even easier to see why the entire household was so loving. He might have looked scary or intimidating, but behind that cold attitude and coarse facial features was a deeply caring, kind man.

For starters, he had quite literally rescued you—taking you from the place that was killing you emotionally and putting you in a place that nurtured and cared for you. He showed you that drawing and art—something you already enjoyed a little but had never devoted much time or effort to—could be the perfect way to help yourself. To distract you from dangerous urges, to put your feelings on paper, to visualize.

Drawing required you to look up, to look inside, to look beyond. It demanded that you see past your mental fog. And the moment he realized you had replaced your self-destructive mechanism with art, he quickly placed even more art into your hands.

All sorts of supplies: canvases, acrylics, oils, art books, art lessons at the community center. He even asked you to paint him some landscapes under the excuse that "his house was looking empty and old." And nothing made you feel better than seeing Ikkei Ukai—a harsh-looking man who would never sugarcoat—genuinely love your paintings.

It built you up, sketch by sketch. Painting by painting. Like building blocks reconstructing a dark, forgotten Kura storage and turning it into a home.

Art was working. It was healing you. And once he noticed this, once you were slowly coming out of your shell and blooming into life again, he showered you with everything you needed to transform this hobby—this coping mechanism—into a lifeline. A ladder to climb your way out of the cave, the tomb where you had been buried and told to call home.

You didn't need that "home" anymore. You didn't believe in it. You had an actual home now. He had given you not only a place where you could be helped but also a tool to help yourself.

When he fell ill and was hospitalized, everyone in the Sakanoshita house watched you closely, as if expecting you to crash, to wither again. But you stayed strong. The thought of not letting their efforts—the time, money, and care they'd spent on you—go to waste kept you firm and focused on what you did best: art.

You painted and drew landscapes for him in the hospital, using the traditional Japanese style you knew was his favorite. Landscapes of the Sakanoshita store, the farm, his own garden, his own house. So he wouldn't forget the place he had to return to. They were reminders that silently said, "Get well soon. You need to come back home."

In a way, you kept each other in check. You kept your grandpa in the hospital, getting better, and he kept you in line with your own recovery. You didn't want to worry him, and he didn't want to worry you. You helped each other. You used that tool—art—in every way you knew it could help.

So naturally, when that tool started failing you, when the dreaded artist's block you'd heard of and feared so much finally arrived, it came as a grim reminder. Creativity was not an infinite resource.

And in its absence, you felt the beast that had once been your friend stir in her slumber, threatening to wake. She wasn't dead, only dormant.

And she was hungry.

"What if it gets bad again?"

"What if I get worse again?"

"What if I get worse again and they send me back?"

"What if I can't give back to them what they gave to me, and that causes them to resent me and discard me?"

"Me. Them. This."

"I don't wanna lose this. I don't want to lose them."

"Draw. Draw. Please draw. More landscapes, more."

It was different, though. It wasn't enough. Landscapes were good, but they didn't feed the beast; they didn't put her to sleep like they once had. And somehow, where you once found yourself in front of a seemingly never-ending ocean of ideas to put on paper, there was now a drought-stricken view of your imagination—dry and hot, burning your naked feet raw where you stood.

And the beast was starting to bite the bars of its cage, threatening to swallow you whole once again.

Finding solace in the written word of a good book was an okay coping mechanism. An okay replacement tool. But it worked even better when you had the presence of a certain someone there too.

Azumane Asahi exuded a sort of aura that made you relaxed. Everything about him, from his huge frame and strong facial features in perfect contrast with his infinitely softer demeanor, had your heart in a knot and made the once-scary beast in you purr like a cat while you were in his presence. He made you feel at home like the Ukai family did. He made that library you both shared feel like a sanctuary. Not quite like home, but enough. And even if, at the beginning, you tried to deny it, and even if it confused you, you were self-aware enough to know you were starting to fall for him. Hard.

Because how could you not?

At the beginning of your third year, he started showing up less, though. And you could tell something was bothering him. Your eyes would find him in class—as usual—and they would find him deep in thought, with his brows furrowed and eyes foggy, like he was somewhere else, like he was reminiscing about something, something that hurt. It's not just about what you saw, but about what you felt in that moment—a sense that something was unsettled within those warm, soft eyes. They seemed to carry a weight, like a shadow that words couldn't mask, something you could feel was bothering the tender smile he gave you every morning, making it falter.

And then the kouhais.

One morning, right before class, you were coming back from your little sanctuary—that felt less and less like one every time he wouldn't show up—just to find him standing right outside the classroom, talking to two first-years. He looked a little taken aback, as one of them—a tiny ginger one—was expressively trying to get his point across, talking with his hands and his whole body. You could tell he was small but full of passion. As you got closer, the bell rang, and the tall, dark-haired classmate that was with him lightly slapped him in the back of the head, encouraging him to leave. The ginger started walking away, looking very disappointed, and the tall one turned to Asahi and said one last thing.

"You don't win alone. That's just how it is. That's why there are six other players on the court. I didn't realize that till recently, so I'm not one to talk. Excuse me," he said, then politely bowed and walked away. You silently made your way to Asahi and tried to scoot behind him to get into the classroom.

"Excuse me..." you whispered, loud enough for him to hear. But he didn't seem to.

He didn't take his eyes off the duo that had just been talking to him, and there it was again. That fog in his eyes. That distant, almost haunted quality to them, as if he was reliving a moment he wished he could forget—or one he wished he could go back to, though you weren't really sure.

The pain lingered just beneath the surface, visible in the way his gaze softened, seeing something only he could. It was the kind of look that told a story without words—a memory that still hurt too much to speak aloud.

Your heart felt a little tight seeing him like that. You allowed your fingers to brush lightly against his back, feeling the texture of his school blazer and the warmth of his body under your fingertips. 

"Azumane-san. Are you okay?"

He seemed to snap out of his trance and looked down at you with wide eyes, slightly embarrassed to be caught in deep thought.

"A-ah... Yeah, don't worry. Just thinking," he said, scratching the back of his neck and averting his gaze. His lips curled up, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. It lingered there, a practiced gesture—just wide enough to look convincing. The feeling in your chest was so different from that usual warmth his smiles gave you. You didn't buy it. And he seemed to realize you didn't buy it, as his expression turned a little anxious. However, you nodded, giving him an understanding smile.

"I see... Well then, class is starting."

"Don't worry, Azumane. I won't pry," is what your smile seemed to say. And he seemed to get the message, immediately relaxing again. Still looking a little uncomfortable at the fact his cover was blown off so easily, but appreciative of your respect.

"Right..."

It was bittersweet. How desperately you wanted to be near him, talk to him, know more about him—and how little progress you had made in the month you shared the library with him almost every day. It's not like you were doing any active efforts to get closer to him, though. But you just didn't know how to approach him. He was clearly a rather private person, so you were afraid of crossing unspoken boundaries and driving him away.

You sighed and clutched the book you were holding to your chest. Even from the door to the library, you could tell he wasn't there. Another no-show. You felt a wave of disappointment wash over you and turn into frustration as you turned away from the library and decided to just go home for the day.

You still hadn't drawn a single thing, and the book you were reading wasn't helping either. You sighed again as you walked out of the school, and as you walked down the hill toward the Sakanoshita store, and again as you entered it. You didn't realize you were doing it, though. It was more of a compulsion, something your body did on its own, probably to ground itself.

You might not have noticed doing it, but a sharp-eyed blond behind the counter sure did. And he wasted no time shifting his perceptive gaze from the sports magazine he was reading to you.

"Another tough day?" he asked, making you stop in place and give him a confused look.

He rested his magazine on the counter and the lit cigarette on his lips, propping his face on a closed fist, observing you with prying eyes. With his other hand, he lazily pointed at the door. "Every day you cross that doorframe with heavy feet, and sighing all gloomy-like." Keishin mocked your "gloomy-like" walk through the door as he spoke, and your cheeks warmed a bit in embarrassment. "Which means... something has been bothering you."

You let out a defeated sigh and nodded, finding no use in trying to hide your frustration since he was so sure and so right about it. Keishin raised an eyebrow at you, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Have you been drawing?"

"No... Not for lack of trying, though."

"I see... so it's like that, huh?" He lay back in his chair and returned to his magazine. His demeanor seemed carefree, but his eyes still flicked to you attentively. "It happens sometimes, kid. Every artist goes through it. It'll eventually go away, and you'll be able to draw again."

"Sure. But how? How do I make it go away?" Your voice betrayed the pent-up frustration you had been feeling, but if Keishin noticed, he didn't show it.

"Well, I don't know—I'm no artist. Take a walk around the farm, look at nature and whatnot. Look at your surroundings, find something to inspire you I dunno."

"You know, that's actually a great idea..." His eyes returned to the magazine as he gave you a triumphant smile.

"Heh. Is it? Look at me, the wise older cousin... Now go, you're on pork bun duty today. The ones you make sell a lot better." The praise cheered you up a little, and Keishin smiled to himself at how easy it was to see what you were thinking.

"They do?"

"Uh-huh."

The confirmation only made you cheerier, making you forget a bit about your frustration. You hurried to your room to change so you could get to work on those buns.

The next day, you followed Ukai's advice to a tee.

You tried to look at everything around you attentively. Went for walks around the school building instead of going to the library, stared at the flowers the gardening club had planted around the yard, and tried to study their colors. You looked at the little bees and butterflies fluttering around, enjoying the spring's warmth and abundance. You even tried to conjure some haikus in your head about spring and sakura trees or anything and everything that could inspire you. But sadly, it didn't seem to be working.

Staring at your sketchbook at the end of the school day, you still couldn't think of anything to draw. Nothing of substance, at least. You drew little doodles of bees and butterflies, and the gardening club's tulips, but instead of helping, you found yourself growing more and more frustrated.

The beast growled, reminding you of her presence, her hunger. You closed your sketchbook and tried to calm yourself, calm the frustration, clenching your teeth as you took a deep breath through your nose.

"Okay! Time for another walk!" you said out loud, standing up and moving. You were determined not to let the frustration consume you.

As you walked around, your mind started drifting to Asahi. The moment his face appeared in your mind, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy, making you embarrassed.

His face in your mind was an uninvited but always welcome, recurring thought. Azumane was an incredibly gentle soul; you could tell that by the way he spoke, his expressions, his body language, and especially his eyes when he looked at you. Even though it didn't help your attempts at not falling for him, you couldn't help but observe and analyze him whenever he was around you, studying him, willingly putting on those rose-tinted glasses. The beauty in him was so apparent to you, so attractive. There was nothing unlovable about him.

You missed him.

You missed his comforting presence next to you while you both read. You missed the small conversations you occasionally had about books or about homework. You missed his deep yet soft voice, which made your heart beat faster every time he'd laugh or stutter.

You missed him.

And then you heard him.

"SUGAAAAA!!! ONE MORE!"

In your trance, you made your way to the school gym without realizing it. And as you passed right outside the gym door, his scream made you jump in place and stop dead in your tracks. You never heard him scream; you were surprised your gentle giant could even do that. But you were sure it was him. You recognized his voice. Your pulse quickened, and your stomach tied itself in knots—anxiety or excitement, you couldn't tell—as you peeked inside to watch what was happening.

When you spotted Azumane on the court, you held your breath. There he was, mid-air, ready to hit the ball. It was like time froze. And suddenly everything fell into place.

You felt an electric current flowing all over your body. From the top of your head to the tips of your fingers, an electric current that begged you to grab your pencil and sketchbook and get to work. That inspiration you had been missing filled you suddenly and fully, just by looking at him in the air, spiking the ball.

It was like you were standing in the middle of a vast, uncharted desert before, where the limits of your imagination stretched in front of you.

Then suddenly, Azumane was hitting the ball, powerful and loud, and the terrain before you was alive again, vivid and navigable. All the shapes, colors, and concepts that were once elusive, that escaped you, were now a coherent vision—a vision you could put on paper, a vision you could turn into art.

You felt an urgency to draw, to create. To get home and doodle away this intense feeling.

You wanted to draw him.

Everything, from his determined and focused expression taking over the face that so often looked nervous and unsure, his muscular arms, which might as well be considered artillery weapons judging by the sound the ball made when it hit the opposite side of the court and how the three blockers couldn't possibly stop it, to the toned legs that helped him cushion the fall of his jump like the springs of a perfect machine.

You weren't looking at his body in a particularly lewd way, but more like how you look at an already finished, already perfected work of art, deserving of a place in the most prestigious of museums. Your heart was racing even though you weren't breathing, holding onto that first inhale like a lifeline, and your fingers clung to the door as you watched with wide eyes. 

You needed to draw him.

After the powerful spike, his feet were back on the floor and his teammates seemed to congratulate him. You just couldn't stop staring at him.

And if you weren't so hypnotized by your big fat crush on this man, you would have noticed some familiar faces from the Neighborhood Association, or maybe you would have seen a freckled guy notice your presence and approach you with a confused look in his eyes.

"Um... excuse me... Who are you?" he asked politely.

You snapped back to reality, the crash of your adrenaline shock hitting you like a cold slap in the face. You opened your mouth, but no sound came out, and you felt your face heat up with embarrassment as you looked behind you to where Azumane was staring right back at you with wide, dumbfounded eyes.

"I-I..." You jumped in place again, jolting at the sound of the gym door being violently pushed open. Just to get even more disoriented when you saw none other than Keishin Ukai looking back at you with his own set of confused eyes.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked. And luckly, you could feel the confusion replace your embarassment a little. "What are you doing here? And who's- oh, hello, Shimada-san" you offered a polite smile to Keishin's friend as you recognized him, and he gave you a polite yet confused nod back. You turned back to your relative with furrowed brows "Who's watching the store?" Keishin lift an eyebrow down at you.

"My mom." he sighed and motioned you to go inside the gym. "It doesn't matter, come in and wait for me here, we'll leave together when this is done." He turned to the court and clapped his hands once. "Sorry about that everyone, let us continue." You entered the gym with a bow and an apology, and you avoided Asahi's eyes as you sat on the floor next to where Ukai and a teacher you recognized as Tanaka-sensei were standing. You could feel his eyes on you, and you couldn't find it in yourself to meet his gaze. It's not like he knew you were practically spying on him, if anything it looked like you had come to meet your relative, who so happened to be the coach. But that didn't really helped you feel less of a creep.

And yet, the feeling of guilt was occuping only a small portion of your head as the vast mayority of it was overwhelmed by the need to draw. So you pulled out your sketchbook and pencil and numbed out the sorrounding sounds as you worked your magic like you used to do.

It was easy again, natural. You could barely hear the sounds of Ukai and Tanaka-sensei talking about the match and the players, you could barely hear the shoes on the court floor, or the ball hitting the floor. But there was a particular sound you quickly learnt to recognize. The strong "boom" of a particularly strong spike, that only pushed you to draw more, like the drum that marked your tempo. You felt Keishin's eyes on you, but you didn't mind them, too absort in your sketching to look up.

"No more art block then?"

You shooked you head softly and hummed. "No more." You could hear his smile as he answered to you.

"That's good."

I know we saw too little of him on this chapter, but don't you worry cause next one will have lots. Next chapter↪

[trincketbox]

Jason Todd as a Trans (ftm) allegory

Written by me, a trans man

[this edit was made by me, original picture it's Dan Mora's sketch]

TW gender disphoria, (implied) transphobia.

Im not saying his story was written with this perspective in mind, Im saying *death of the author (*the reinterpretation of artistic creations by the public both as a community and aa individuals, and how this goes far beyond the creator's original message on mind) is a very real thing.

This narrative resonated with me, a trans man, and my experience as such. Maybe out there is another transmasc person who caught themselves invested in this character the same way as I, and maybe they'll read this post and be happy to found out they're not alone on these feelings.

Without further addue, let's begin.

The second Robin, and the feeling of not fitting

Every trans person first memory of perceiving oneself as somehow different (and how) it's particular to each.

Some realize pretty young, some older. Some always have this lingering feeling of not belonging but become conscious of it later in life.

This feeling its present trough all of Jason's life. First, when he first arrives at the Manor. Later, when he starts operating as Robin. Then when Tim "replaces him", and so on.

Usually labelled as the black lamb of the family.

Tragedy is always, first, born off love

Jason's death and resurrection is written as a tragedy (no shit, Sherlock). But there, to be a tragedy, there has to be hope first. There has to be love.

Now, this varies from version to version, but a general consence is that Jason Todd was loved by Bruce Wayne, regardless of how much their relationship might change and twist on the future; Jason Todd was a good kid, regardless of how he might be portrayed as recless. He was a traumatized, angry kid who wanted to make things better. Who wished for bad guys to not hurt people anymore. Who wished to change the system for better, and took the matter on his own hands both as a child and as a young adult.

This

This right here

Was a loved, brave, bold, sensitive, mischievous, smart child who would latter come back like this:

Demanding justice, demanding damnation for al the pain he went through, demanding retaliation to the monster that set him off this world.

And all these requests fell to the ears of Bruce Wayne, Batman. The man who took him in as a scared, bold litte child that beated him in the cold of the night in the alley where his parents died. He stole his car tires, he's a child and he stole his car tires and he made Batman laugh.

That Perception doesn't change with his rise from the dead.

What changes is Bruce's view of him now.

Now, this depends on the writer, but on the start of Jason's "coming back to Gotham to fight Bruce" arc, there is the accusation of him coming back wrong.

Of him being better before

Of something being wrong with him since the start.

The implications of his physical change as wrong in comparation to his younger self.

I find Jason's body dismorphia due to The Lazarus Pit™ very interesting,but in this case Im not referring to it as a comparation with body disphoria (even through, he does get the feeling of your body changing in ways out of your control and the trauma that surrounds it).

Im talking about Bruce's view on all of this.

Luckily, if you're trans and had supportive parents, you won't know these things by first hand experience, but many, many people do.

And Jason gets it.

Jason Todd its womanhood™ coded

This is, partially, one of th main reasons why his fanbase consists on a large part of fangirls.

Repressed rage upon the injustices you go through all your life, and once the last drop falls, said rage is weaponized. Seen as dirty, as over the top, as dangerous.

Your older self being compared to your younger self, being asked (directly or indirectly) where that sweet child™ went.

Being striped away from your body autonomy (murder, torture, resurrection against his will, whatever is going on in Batman Gotham War).

Being labeled as the most sensitive. Sometimes in a good light, sometimes not.

The burning weight of still loving parental figures that hurted you.

Topping it all, it's implied through many instances he's a feminist (yes, Im aware this is also heavily influenced by fanon interpretations of the character, but you can't deny it's still heavily implied).

All of these issues almost universal (however not exclusive) to AFAB people life experience.

There is this recognition in these wounds. "He gets it", you feel, he gets it.

He gets it in a similar way transmasc individual have an undeniable insight of these issues. He gets it in a way that feels genuine, familiar, personal.

Lastly but nor least important,

He gives me gender™ vibes. That's it, that's the argument

Over all, Jason Todd its a multifaceted, complex character. He's morally grey, his temperament ranging and mutating with each reinterpretation. Some core issues stick, others don't.

I do not hold the one and only right interpretation of this character.

We can al agree, nevertheless, that even through he's not canonically trans,

Jason todd would be a great trans ally, fighting by our side, in name of our rights, our pain but also our pride.

For that's what heroes do.

[melodic-haze]

☆ — SONG TITLE: I know what you tell your friends (it's casual)

☆ — PAIRING: mermaid!Kokomi x artist!Reader

☆ — TYPE: SFW, bittersweet angst? I honest to god don't know

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: POTENTIALLY OOC for the purpose of the character......mostly, light depictions of blood, drowning

☆ — NOTES: HI ALL I DIED BUT WHO'S SHOCKED LMAO 😜😜 this is for @edgeray's Halloween event, though it's a bit late bc I was ill at the last week of it and I'm lazy😭 GO CHECK OUT EVERYONE ELSE'S STUFF HOLY HELL. Also, my interp of a mermaid is moreso leaning towards what people nowadays THINK sirens are. I js couldn't bear to USE 'siren' bc of how they're acc supposed to be like. Winged creatures, not fish people

☆ — WORD COUNT: 2,801 words

It was often said that one must not go into the beach all alone.

Naturally, people would often tell you of sensible reasons such as possibly having your fragile items like your phone being dropped into the sand or, god forbid, the water or losing said belongings if you were to ever leave them somehow.

However, the most notably repetitive reasoning came out to be the possibility of being missing.. or ‘taken by the sea’, as everyone else would say.

It was a lot easier to just say that someone was lost or missing, but there was a certain reason why most have opted to disregard practicality for the sake of glamorisation—where you live, there has been a concerning surplus of missing persons cases with their last-seen location all being the beach, the seaside, the shore, all the same thing. And no matter how much the police had tried to investigate it (and it’s crazy that they actually did try, though that might be due to government concern), they found nothing conclusive about how the victims disappeared.

Perhaps it was because of the tides washing any sort of evidence away, though such an assumption led to the cases all collectively being dismissed as a suicide because.. well, really, they had to put some sort of conclusion to the case when they couldn’t really find any other possible outcomes without it sounding like more of a conspiracy than it already was.

(Fat lot that did anyway, because you can’t even put nightwatch on post there without them getting taken too.)

..So to a normal person, being at the beach all alone with nothing but a phone and a sketchbook in hand in the middle of the night would equate to one of the dumbest things you can do out here.

It wasn’t like you didn’t care about what would happen to you, or that you were experiencing that particular phase where you went against what was advised of you just because you wanted to be cool or popular or something (you weren’t a child, you were a grown adult with a life, for god’s sake), but oftentimes people like you all had one common flaw: artists were all dedicated to their craft, suffocatingly so.

And you were no exception, even if it had been too long since you drew with any sort of creative inspiration.

You remember when you walked back from god knows where and witnessing the way the moonlight hit the water, its gentle glow reflecting on the tide like fluid glass.

You remember that sweet dulcet tone stopping you in your tracks in the midst of your misery once your headphones lost power, the singing voice holding a certain alluring cadence that rooted you to the spot.

You remember the sight of dark crimson on shimmering claws and scales of blue, pink and purple, the palette much too distinct to be considered ‘natural’.

You remember the brief contact of eyes between your own and a set of glowing orbs that were no less striking than the tail that flapped behind the entity once it turned to have its body be entirely consumed by the ocean’s depths.

As an artist, you knew you had to immortalise the vision seared into your brain. And so, the day after that fateful encounter and consecutive days after that, you visited the beach at the exact time you remembered from before, picked up a pencil and opened your sketchbook to sketch like a madman possessed.

But of course as time passed, so did the freshness of your memory and your recollection of the details that had you entranced in the moment. The background itself? You had no problem. The issue was the oceanic figure; what details were you missing? What was its scale pattern? Was the red meant to mesh with the purple? What was it doing there?

Eventually you convinced yourself that maybe you were seeing things, and the messy scribbles of faint recollections were erased and drawn over with lines that connected the ever-flowing sea. Even when artists were seen as delusional, prone to confuse one thing with another—perhaps that thing was just a trick of the light, or maybe you’re starting to go insane, whichever tickled your fancy—you knew where to stop and come back to reality.

..Still doesn’t mean you had to keep coming back to the spot at the same time over and over again but alas, you couldn’t help it when you woke up at the dead of night just for your legs to lead you to the exact same spot you remember being at that very night.

Despite the constant warnings against the act of going to the beach all by yourself, nothing had happened to you or interrupted your creative flow despite being completely alone so the nights you spent on that exact spot were often peaceful, if a bit devoid of life. That was fine for you though, it meant less distractions from finally finishing this piece and moving on with your--

(You feel warm breath against your skin before you hear--)

“What are you doing?”

You startle, the pencil losing its gentle stability and creating an atrocious line across the page, and for a moment the irritation actually takes over any form of self-preservation you have.

So you start to complain, “I was drawing until you scared me—” then you turn to look at her, "—and made me ruin my own--"

...

Shimmering blue.

"..work."

Your speech fell flat the minute your gaze clocked onto those glaringly familiar set of eyes that pulled you in as if it were the ocean's depths itself. Its highlights were some sort of pearly pink, a soft contrast to the deep dark unknown.

And no pupils.

Maybe a trick of the light again, maybe you're hallucinating. Though you guessed even some of the best painters were kinda crazy back then.

"I apologise for disturbing you but, ah.. I don't suppose you can stop staring now?" And the mystery woman giggles lightly, her hand—a normal human hand, although her nails were manicured sharp and painted a glittering blue—moving to hover over her mouth as if to cover it politely, "I don't think I have anything of interest on my person to give you for.. emotional compensation?"

You blink, and you are drawn back to reality, "Physical, actually. You ruined my work."

"Even worse."

"You don't seem all that apologetic."

"But I am... Can't you tell?"

"It's dark, and our only light source right now are some busted tungsen street lamps." You sighed, putting your sketchbook and pencil down beside you, "Whatever, did you need something? No one's supposed to be out at the beach this late."

"Why not?"

"..Are you a tourist? Actually, no, if you were a tourist, you'd have to be real ignorant to not know... Though I've never actually seen you before."

You weren't sure if you lied just now or not. In fact, you're pretty sure you told the truth, but...

You see her stare at you, and you're unsure of what to do with the quiet.. until she shrugs, "I've been curious of what you were doing all alone at night. No one else seems to come outside."

"Don't you think that's any sort of indication to maybe mind your own business?"

"Forgive my curiosity."

You almost do, and you know not of why.

(Her gentle voice, a soothing lullaby, putting your safety to sleep.)

Instead, you relent, "People have gone missing after giving this place a visit all alone in the dead of night. Nobody really wants to die, so mornings and afternoons are when the people crowd here."

And you tear your gaze away from the stranger to look at the ever-expanding sea, "Come midnight, you won't see a single soul standing on the sand."

"But you're here," she says. "Why?"

"If I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."

"I don't think I will."

"I doubt that—I don't even know your name."

"Kokomi."

You look back at her, brows raised slightly, "What?"

"My name is Kokomi. Yours?"

...

You tell her your name and state your purpose for coming here every single night. And from then on, the two of you talk until the sun comes up, sketchbook forgotten.

She asks you if you're going to come back now that your drawing's been ruined. You tell her that you don't know, considering your current lack of purpose, but then she says that she'll sit with you as you recreate your ruined art as if that's going to make up for the ruined days—weeks, even—of meticulously-sketched pencil art.

..For some reason, you were compelled to agree.

(Maybe it was the voice, maybe it was the eyes.)

(Maybe it was the feeling of unsettling familiarity that drew you in, or that strange feeling of fight-or-flight.)

And so you continue to go down to the beach at night despite everyone's constant warnings, putting pencil to a new page in your sketchbook after having taken out and thrown away your previous attempt. Though even then, while there are still all sorts of warnings, people have noticed that there have been less and less people going missing from the shore. Can't help but think 'no wonder', considering how you haven't been killed or kidnapped after continuously coming here for so long.

Either way, nothing much has changed in your schedule.. save for a brand new companion appearing at night, her pink hair flowing behind you before going to sit beside you and observe.

Sometimes the two of you sit in comfortable silence, other times one of you talks of whatever comes to mind and it turns into some sort of winding discussion that ends with your sketchbook completely forgotten until you need to leave.

"..If you have something to say, you may as well spit it out."

"Hm?"

"I can feel your eyes burning holes into my skull. You may as well."

"Ah, I hadn't realised that I was staring so hard!" You feel her body draw back from originally leaning onto you and you suppress the urge to pull her back next to you as she continues, "I'm just wondering... Was no one particularly interested in coming outside with you?"

You put your pencil down on the page and look at her with a raised brow, "Are you calling me lonely?"

"No? ..Well, perhaps a little, I admit. I don't ever see you outside with anyone else."

"Oh, so you've been watching me. A bit creepy, no?"

She shook her head, "The observation merely struck me just now. I haven't seen you with anyone else at night, apart from me."

Instead of giving the curious girl an answer, you look down on the pencilled page. There wasn't much that you could really say beyond the fact that everyone else was asleep at this time.. and...

"I like being alone at the end of the day."

"Mmm. Me too."

"..That so."

No one points out the fact that neither of you are alone right now.

Nothing else is said, and you continue on sketching.

Oftentimes, that's what usually happens.

And it's.. nice, being able to just sit there with soothing company—she isn't overwhelming, nor is she insufferably awkward or borderline unbearable. She was like a smooth current, her voice akin to the sound of gentle water and her touch against your skin as she leaned into you cool and refreshing.

Not like you'd admit it.

(You wouldn't because saying that to a stranger's face is, quite frankly, really lame.. though you couldn't help but touch upon the water's detailing a lot more delicately in your sketches.)

(Or think about drawing her as your muse under the moonlight instead.)

One certain topic she was particularly interested in was the iridescent visage you witnessed all those nights ago—anyone would be, of course, in an 'entertaining-the-schizo' sort of way, not.. not her way. Not with genuine curiosity laced with something much more hidden, inquisitive.

"What would you do if that thing came back?"

"Like, to do what?"

"Who knows." Kokomi wore a soft, jesting smile, "Eat you, perhaps?"

"Would you be there with me?"

"Let's start with a 'no'."

"Probably sit there."

"Really?"

As you muse on the question, you take the cap off your water bottle, "May as well die finishing this rather than live with it gnawing on my mind."

"You have no self-preservation, do you?"

"Would it be edgy if I said it was overrated?"

"Perhaps," she shrugged, letting her hair shift and cascade from her shoulders and her arms down to her back. "What would you do if I was there, then?"

You took a sip, "..Say thank you, maybe."

"Oh? Why?"

"For keeping me company? I guess? Dunno, I just feel like I should thank you if I died on this beach with you."

You turn to look at her, and before you could say anything more, you notice the look on her face; it's indecipherable, blank, as if she were sizing you up and profiling you within her mind palace.. but what for?

Her eyes are unsettling—a touch of hunger glimmers in the ocean depths—as they stare at you (and has she ever even blinked once?) but then the moment you blink, her light expression is back as if it was never taken off.

"Let's hope that neither of us die, haha."

"Right..."

You also can't help but notice the way that you are reminded of said visage whenever you look at her, especially when she's by the water.

"Join me?"

"Why should I?"

"Perhaps you need a change of pace," she says as she takes off her lavender jacket and leaves her slippers off the sand. "I get the feeling, but you've been concentrating on your work for a while now."

"I don't swim."

"Don't? Or can't? I can teach you."

"Why?"

"Perhaps being in the water may help you gain a bit more perspective with your art."

"But I only need one perspective. Plus the water would be cold."

Kokomi stares at you with a slightly tilted head, and you can't help but notice her unusual eyes softly glowing but you do nothing but dismiss it, and then ends up shrugging, "Alright. I won't force you, of course. Just..."

She turns her head, "You never know, maybe getting into the water will turn out to be your final step."

..And as she walks off into the ocean, you don't even notice yourself taking off your shoes and chasing her after a beat until--

"Wait!"

She turns around, an eyebrow raised and a gentle half smile on her lips, "Yes?"

You stop just short of her, "Fine, I'll.. I'll go. With you. But you're not letting me go. I know how to swim but it's dark. So."

"Of course not," she reassures you, "I sought you out, after all."

"Huh?"

You don't get a chance to react, not when she takes your hand in hers and leads you to the water.

You don't get a chance to react, not when the both of you submerge yourselves and you are thrown back to that very night at the sight of clustered scales on pale skin.

..Or maybe you can't react at all, not when water starts clogging up your lungs and your consciousness sung to sleep.

...

You woke up coughing your lungs out, sore and very much still full of saltwater.

You woke up alone on the shore, probably for the first time since Kokomi had decided to come up and startle you enough to ruin your focus.

And you got up and ran.

You don't tell anyone, because the only person who would have ever believed you turned out to be someone you wish you hallucinated.

(Never felt so lonely like this in so long, like you don't have a purpose--)

You don't visit the beach for a while. And when you do, you wish you hadn't.

Not when you see a crumpled piece of paper—your scrapped mistake—on the spot the both of you had always occupied at night.

Not when you see the scribbled-out 'thank you' on the back of the page.

Not when you spot that same visage at night all over again, yet with the tainted memory of your near-death and of the brief company that you kept.

And certainly not when she looked at you with those shimmering blue eyes, her claws clear of any sort of metallic red, before she looked away and disappeared into the ocean depths.

(Though you end up finishing what could have been your magnum opus forged from looking at death in the eye all those many nights, you voluntarily put a line across the page and close your sketchbook.)

(You don't end up opening it anymore, not when you feel disjointed.)

(Incomplete.)

[moralesmilesanhour]

I saw your requests were open! I've seen in some concept art that Miles is trying out watercolor, can you (when you have the time and if you want to, ofc) please write a reader (Gn or fem) who is really good at watercolor and is a artist and teaches him? Either romantic or platonic work :D thank you, I love your work so much!!!

omg wait I used to do watercolor I still have the paints at home...hold my beer (I went with platonic)

Miles sucked his teeth as the pinks, blues, and green he had just put down ran together and formed a puddle in the middle of the paper.

No matter how many YouTube videos he sped through, he couldn't seem to grasp how the disembodied hand on his screen could lay down all that color (without the paper shriveling up like a raisin) and manage to sculpt it into something...comprehensible.

Just then, he remembered the scanned painting you had sent him the other day. It was a vibrant forest, dotted with bright neon flowers and birds dozing off in high branches. He couldn't for the life of him figure out how you managed to capture beams of sunlight in your heavy sketchbook and needed to learn your secrets, so he'd borrowed some leftover paints.

Miles had already mastered sketching, and knew his way around a box of markers. He could even command a messy can of spray paint. What's a bit of watery paint?

...A lot, it turns out. At any rate, he knew just who to call.

After a few beeps, your face appeared onscreen.

You were still in bed, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals with a sleeping mask pushed up to your forehead. Miles made a 'tsk' sound. It was two o'clock in the afternoon.

"Rise and shine, bestie!" he announced loudly into his phone speaker.

"What do you want?" you grumbled, rubbing your eyes.

"This watercolor shit is blowing my mind right now, and I need your expertise. Look!"

Miles flipped the camera to show you the blob of what was now a bright indigo pooled in the middle of his would-be masterpiece.

You squinted. "Jesus. Is that in your regular sketchbook, where you do the markers and shit?"

"Yup."

"Well, there's your first problem. You're using the wrong kinda paper."

"So that's why no one in those videos fucks it up? Noted,"

He reversed the camera again.

"What about the colors? Mine keep running together when I don't want 'em to."

This made you laugh, imagining Miles slapping a ton of different colors on top of a sketch like a child learning to paint in kindergarten for the first time, thinking that he knew what he was doing. He was never the patient type, preferring fast and loose marks with sharp edges. No piece of his was ever allowed an "ugly stage"; it either worked immediately or it would end up crumpled into a ball in the trash.

Oh boy, was he was gonna learn today.

You could see Miles pouting through the camera.

"What's so funny?"

"Miles," you snorted, "did you let the first layer dry before adding more colors?"

His eyes widened in realization, triggering more peals of laughter.

"I just wet the whole page, then started coloring! How was I supposed to know?"

"It's water, dumbass! It's not like your lil' Copic markers--"

"Prismacolor--"

"Whatever. Anyways, gimme fifteen minutes, I'm coming over to save you before you flood your entire room."

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

hiii . I saw ur requests are open and if u still do fics can u do ac Valhalla hytham x reader? Reader is an artist and hytham enjoys his time with them , also their drawings, maybe he goes through the papers she drew on and sees himself? And he thanks the reader with a kiss.:3

U can change anything u don’t like in this request i just want a fic about my boy hytham .😭😭

Canvas of Secrets

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: if you count that i love writing yearning and falling in love with Hytham instead of actually having a relationship with him lol THE YEARNING GUYS HE'S A YEARNINER MATERIAL!!!

Note: I feel like I need to get back into the writing mood, writing vibe because its still off for me??? Lemme know I tried my best with my lil fried brain :(

The mid-morning sun bathed Ravensthorpe in a soft, welcoming light, casting long shadows as villagers busied themselves with their daily tasks. The rhythmic clang of blacksmith's hammers and the lively chatter of merchants created a symphony of everyday life. Amid this bustling activity, Hytham moved with a sense of purpose, his mind focused on his duties as a Hidden One. 

Based on the documents Eivor found, another possible target appeared on the horizon, although he still had to do some research to make sure the information was true.

However, that day somehow work eluded the man as he passed by the edge of the settlement, where a small group of children had gathered around a figure seated on a low stool. Curious, he approached, drawn by the sounds of laughter and the sight of animated faces. Sharp laughter rang out in the air, but not with the usual gaiety of children- instead, he heard a soft, restrained laugh.

As he drew closer, he saw you surrounded by the little ones, gleaming eyes watching you, your hands deftly sketching on a large sheet of parchment. The children watched in awe as you brought a scene to life before their eyes, pencil strokes fluid and confident. You were capturing the essence of a lively market, complete with bustling stalls and cheerful passers-by.

Hytham paused, intrigued not only by your talent but also by the way you engaged the children, patiently answering all their questions, letting them try out anything and everything that piqued interest in their little heart from your work.. You glanced up, sensing his presence, offering him a warm smile.

"Ah, Hytham! Come, join us," you called out, your voice light and inviting. "We're just sketching the market today."

He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just passing by as I heard your little gathering having a good time." He smiled warmly at you.

You waved off his concern with a flick of your hand. "You're not intruding at all. Here, take a look." You held up the drawing, and Hytham marveled at the intricate details and the lively energy that seemed to emanate from the paper.

"You're incredibly talented," he remarked, genuine admiration in his voice.

You chuckled softly. "Thank you. Drawing has always been my way of capturing the world. It helps me see things more clearly, appreciate the beauty in everyday moments."

Hytham nodded, understanding the sentiment. "I can see that. Your drawings have a way of bringing things to life." Hytham chuckled, his eyes flickering between the drawing and her face, admiring the details and the skill that went into it

A child tugged at your sleeve, drawing your attention back to the group. "Can we draw the animals next?" the child asked eagerly.

"Of course!" you replied, ruffling the child's hair affectionately. "Let's find a good spot near the stables."

As the children gathered their papers and pencils, you turned to Hytham once more. "You're welcome to join us, Hytham."

He nodded in response, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her invitation, a rare sight that made your heart skip a beat. He then glanced over at the children and thought for a moment before replying.

Very well. I'll join you. He agreed quietly.

Hytham followed her lead as she guided the children over to a spot near the stables where there was enough room for all of them. As they settled down and everyone began drawing the animals around them, Hytham took a moment to observe the scene before him. He chuckled softly at the children's excited chatter and laughter, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. The day passed in a blur of laughter, sketches, and shared stories. Hytham found himself returning to your side time and time again, drawn by your infectious enthusiasm and the sense of peace that seemed to radiate from you. He watched as you guided the children's hands, teaching them to see the world through the eyes of an artist.

As the sun began to set and the children dispersed, you and Hytham found yourselves alone by the stables. Whipping your hands on your apron you joined him at the end of the stalls. Hytham leaned back against the wall of the stable idly, his eyes fixated on the setting sun. He chuckled softly, feeling a sense of peace and contentment in the moment. Once the children had left and it was just the two of you left, he turned his gaze towards you. Yours eyes met and he noticed the warm, knowing look in your eyes. You held his gaze for a moment before speaking quietly in a calm voice, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"Thank you for spending the day with us, Hytham. It was nice to have you here."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. " It was my pleasure to spend the day with you and the children. They're a playful and curious bunch, it was refreshing to be around such innocence. I enjoyed it more than I expected. You have a way of making even the simplest moments feel extraordinary."

You blushed at the compliment, your heart fluttering. "I'm glad you think so. Sometimes, it's the little things that matter most."

He glanced at the drawings scattered around, his gaze lingering on a particularly detailed sketch of a horse. "You have a talent for this, you know. These drawings. They're beautiful."

Your blush deepened, and you looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Hytham. That means a lot."

Hytham noticed the way her blush deepened and how she looked away shyly, his smile softening at the sight of her shyness. He chuckled softly and pushed off the wall of the stable, taking a few steps closer to her.

“It's the truth.” He stated softly, his gaze fixed on her with a warm, genuine look in his eyes as he spoke. “You have a gift for capturing beauty on paper.”

 "This has always brought the greatest happiness to my life." You replied, crossing your arms in front of your chest, walking up to the wall and joining him to admire the colors of the setting sun. "The days pass quickly, and we often forget the things that bring us happiness as time goes on. There are memories I don't want to forget. So I learned how to preserve them.”

“And that gift will last a lifetime.” He replied softly, his eyes fixed on the gorgeous hues of orange and red as the sun descended below the horizon.”Memories are important. They make us who we are, after all.” 

"They do," you murmured softly, a smile playing on your lips. "Memories shape us in ways we sometimes don't realize until much later."

Hytham nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still fixed on the horizon where the sun had disappeared. "I never used to think much about memories," he admitted quietly. "My life as a Hidden One demanded focus on the present and the future. But being here with you, experiencing these moments... I realize how much they matter."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. "I'm glad you feel that way, Hytham. It's important to cherish the moments that make us feel alive."

Hytham's gaze flickered towards her at the feeling of her fingers brushing against his. A touch that sent a small shiver up his spine. He looked back at her with a softened gaze and a small, warm smile.

“And moments like this?” He gestured with his head to the setting sun and then to their surroundings in the stables, his smile growing slightly. “Are they moments that will stay with you in memory?”

You considered his question, taking in the peaceful scene around you—the gentle rustling of the leaves, the faint scent of hay, and the quiet companionship between you both. The beauty of the moment seemed to intensify with his presence beside you.

"Yes," you replied softly, meeting his gaze. "When shared with someone special, they become the heartbeats of our memories. They're the ones we carry with us, even as time passes."

Hytham's eyes held a gentle intensity as he listened, a small smile playing on his lips. He seemed to absorb your words, savoring the tranquility of the moment, the connection between you both.

He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours in the cool evening air. "And I want to make more memories like this—with you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, overwhelmed by the sincerity and depth of his feelings. You reached out, cupping his cheek gently in your hand. "I want that too, Hytham," you replied softly, as if afraid this moment  will disappear if spoken out loud. 

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch. "Then let's cherish this one," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss that spoke of promises yet to be made, and a future waiting to unfold..

Hytham leaned into the touch of your hand on his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he reveled in the sensation of your touch and words. He felt a wave of emotions swelling within him—a mixture of gratitude, hope, and a sense of belonging he had long suppressed, and he couldn't deny the longing that stirred in his heart at the thought.

As he opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft, vulnerable look in his eyes, he took in your beauty under the golden light...

You reached up, gently threading your fingers through his hair, cherishing the softness of his dark locks beneath your touch.

Hytham's heart skipped a beat at the feeling of your fingers in his hair. He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, closing his eyes momentarily as he enjoyed the sensation of your touch. It was a simple gesture, but it felt intimate and tender, a connection that seemed to deepen with every passing moment.

He swallowed, his words barely above a whisper as he spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability and tenderness."I've long kept my heart guarded, hidden beneath the weight of duty and the shadows of my past," Hytham murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes remained closed, savoring the intimacy of your touch, the way your fingers threaded through his hair with such gentleness.

"But with you," he continued softly, opening his eyes to meet yours, "it feels as though the walls I've built around myself are slowly crumbling. Your presence... your touch... they awaken something within me that I thought I had lost."

His admission hung in the air, vulnerable yet filled with an honesty that spoke of deeper emotions. The golden light of the setting sun cast a warm glow over both of you, lending an almost ethereal quality to the moment.

You felt your heart swell with tenderness at his words, understanding the weight they carried. Gently, you let your hand caress his cheek, your touch conveying comfort and acceptance. "Hytham," you whispered, your voice soft with emotion, "you don't have to carry that weight alone anymore. I'm here, and I want to share whatever burdens you carry."

Hytham's gaze softened at your words, and he reached up, gently resting his hand over yours as it gently caressed his cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. "For seeing beyond the surface, for... for accepting me."

You nodded, a small smile touching your lips as you met his gaze with unwavering compassion. "You've shown me glimpses of who you are beneath the armor, Hytham," you replied softly. "And what I see... it's someone deserving of love and happiness."

The evening breeze stirred around you, carrying with it the quiet intensity of the moment. You stood together, bathed in the fading light of the sun, united in a bond that grew deeper with each shared revelation and tender touch.

When the world around you settled into dusk, you knew that this moment marked a new chapter—a chapter where walls crumbled, hearts opened, and the promise of a future filled with understanding and love blossomed under the gentle caress of an evening's embrace.

[smoothielenny]

Bearly see any Norm or Max and seeing artists reader got me thinking of this

Unlike Spider in some ways Reader respect the people of the tribe and not try to be liked them but try to understand them ( like Steve Erwin on how he respects the animals and people) and they went to a solo adventure to draw more plants that haven't even documented in her art book and one day she came back kinda late and they holding something and it's few jars of bry dyes, and when asked where they got it she just said " I meet a small group of Na'vi in my adventure and they seem to liked drawing so we trade one of my art book with these "

Turns out they meet different type of Na'vi who wears a type of skull mask due to the high altitude they travel with their large flight companions ( bigger then the banshees ) that been traveling, and they seem to be very friendly as they view reader as a just a child despite being a sky demon, apparently these Na'vis are very allusive and private individuals but willing to learn of things that Pandora have to offer with a open mind

Dora, Dora, Dora, The Explorer

I couldn’t think of better title lol.

“Norm! Where is (y/n)!?” Max yelled. Max and Norm is like your parents, they deeply care for you. Max is mostly the worried one while Norm is more focused f that chill dad. Norm scratched his head responding with ‘I don’t know’ Max just sighed and face palmed himself.

“I’m sure she’s around, you know how she is, always on adventures.” Norm calmed Max, but he wasn’t having it. What if you accidentally went to the enemy’s territory? And got kidnapped by them? What if this time you got lost? These ‘what ifs’ is messing with Max mind and it’s making him crazy.

While you ‘dad’ is having a panic attack, you were walking around the jungle, actually opposite where the enemies territory are, so basically you are safe. While walking you saw through wood some Na’vi, you thought it would be some Omatikaya who is in hunting, but no, they look different. The clothing seems a bit similar, but they were wearing a mask. A mask that looks like a skeleton (luckily not a human skeleton). You walk further to them make a crisp noise from stepping at a dried leaves. They all look at you way, they took their arrow and bow and on their defensive mode. You gasped and put your hands up causing to drop your sketch book and pencil. Your breathing started to go faster. Nervousness is crawling up to you head.

“I…I’m not a threat I swear.” You said in Na’vi. They were shocked that a human knows their language though they didn’t back down yet.

“I’m a friend, not an enemy.” You said slowly. They all look at each other and finally lowered their weapons. You sigh in relief from this, but now feel intimidated, you don’t know what to do after, but you just asked, “are you part of Omatikaya?” They said no and answered with ‘We are not, We are mountain people.’ You nodded. They were about to leave, but you said something along the lines with, “Will you let me follow you? I want to know more about you.”

You are now in the air riding with one of them on a big ikran, well at least like an ikran, it is bigger that an actual ikran. They all landed on the top of a mountain. It is different from the Hellelujah mountain, it has its own type of plants and habitats. You were intrigued by it and starts drawing it. One of them got curious and gets close to know what you are doing. They saw you vastly sketch out a plant, they were impressed. You started asking them about everything you could find and taking notes of it, they happily answered you. Talking to a human who has an interest in their clan and place makes them happy. They told you about their tradition, their food, animals, and their own spirit tree.

Night has come and Max is extra stress. He still couldn’t find you and Norm is now also worried. You usually go back afternoon and now it’s night. You now probably got lost.

“Norm that’s it, I’m going out—“ his arms is grabbed by Norm, again trying to calm Max.

“Hey, hey. It’s already night, why don’t you relax and I’ll find her with my avatar bo—“ his words interrupted by a bang of a door opening. It was you.

“(y/n)! Where were you!?” Max exclaimed. You have a lot of thing to tell him.

[ryushichan]

aaannnottheeer 3.5 heads style chibi

this was my interpretation of Alucard from Hellsing as a human child pretending to be a vampire XD and the phrase "for the last time Alucard you're not a vampire?!?!" kept ringing in my head as i was drawing it XD

I will be honest tho, this was a drawing I did back in 2010 or sth the sketch, I loved the idea so much but i never finished it, I always wanted it as a fridge magnet, but years went by and life kept me away from art and last year I came across the drawing and decided, better late than never!

So I did it and I'm happy that I did not very pleased with the tomato sauce but it's ok

And was pleased with this style of shading on the hair, made me think of 3d models how they look when they're rendered without bright light sources

As you'll prolly notice I change the style of shading hair with every drawing almost, that's because I take long breaks between drawings but also keep testing things cuz i consume a lot of content from other artists and when i see sth i like i somehow adopt it in the next drawing without realizing it, or i find cool brushes that i test etc etc and i'm still learning so all my art is basically going through constant change

anyway tl;dr

[linghxr]

My late summer 2023 cdrama updates (+ movies)

This is a follow-up to a previous post I published in February. I'm thinking of doing twice-yearly updates on what I'm watching! I'm also including a few movies this time.

I'm going to try to include content warnings, BUT my memory is not perfect, so please be aware that I may have forgotten details.

Shows I've watched: Some of these were mentioned as "currently watching" in my previous post.

《消失的孩子》 The Disappearing Child As the title suggests, this show is a mystery about a child who goes missing. It also incorporates other plotlines that gradually converge—that's all I'll say to avoid spoiling it. The payoff when the plotlines finally intersect was so satisfying! Overall I really enjoyed this show and highly recommend it. Be aware that it does have references to sexual assault and corpses (I don't think anything was directly shown).

《猎罪图鉴》 Under the Skin This show is about a sketch artist, a police detective, and an old murder case that connects them. I enjoyed the first half, which mostly chronicled stand-alone cases. But I found some cases hard to follow (disclaimer: my police vocab is limited, and I took several breaks while watching). Frankly I was a bit disappointed by the ending, so I don't think I'll watch the upcoming second season. Warning: contains some depictions of sexual assault and domestic violence.

《她和她的她》 Shards of Her To avoid spoiling anything, I'll just say that this show is about a woman who, after experiencing a traumatic accident, wakes up in an alternate version of her life. This show had me constantly doubting what was real and what was fake! I really couldn't get it out of my head. BUT I ultimately wouldn't recommend it due to what I found to be pretty disturbing sexual violence. I don't think there was anything too graphic, but I had to take significant breaks between episodes due to the upsetting content.

《镇魂》 Guardian I knew virtually nothing about this show (I thought it was steampunk tbh) but had heard good things. It's hard to summarize...basically it follows a police bureau that handles supernatural cases and, with some help from a mysterious, powerful envoy, saves the world. My favorite part was the first half, when they were mostly solving stand-alone cases. I got a bit fatigued during the second half. But it was perfect for when I wanted to unwind after work. Warning: the ending left me upset, and the special effects are hilariously bad.

《模仿犯》 Copycat Killer This is probably one of the most violent and death-heavy shows I've ever seen (and that's coming from someone who has seen Criminal Minds and part of Hannibal). It's about an unconventional prosecutor and a sadistic serial killer who uses the media to cause mass panic. Without spoiling it, I'll just say you need to be prepared for murder, torture, suicide, and other violent imagery. This show is not for the faint of heart—I could barely finish it, honestly. There are no happy endings for this kind of show.

Movies I've watched:

《想见你》（电影版） Someday or One Day (Movie) This long-anticipated film adaptation was a letdown for me personally. Instead of simply condensing the show, they made A LOT of changes. I'm not against changes, but the plot of the movie was way too confusing for me to follow. I'm not even going to try summarizing it here. If you haven't seen the show, I think you'll be completely lost. If you have seen the show, you'll be wishing you were rewatching the show instead.

《消失的她》 Lost in the Stars I'll admit, I only went to see this to see 朱一龙. The premise is very Hitchcock—a man is nearly driven over the edge after his wife vanishes and a woman he has never met appears, claiming to be his wife. There are lots of twists and turns, and I did not see the ending coming at all. Personally, I wish it had less action and more elements of a psychological thriller. It was a fun summer movie, but it wasn't anything groundbreaking. But that's OK!

《关于我和鬼变成家人的那件事》 Marry My Dead Body I barely knew anything about this film before I watched it. I only knew it had 许光汉, and I saw a lot of buzz online. It's about a homophobic police officer who enters into a ghost marriage with a (male) ghost. Frankly, I didn't like it that much. I did enjoy seeing the characters' growth, but the plot was very fast-paced, so I didn't have time to process anything that happened. Please note: there is rear nudity and some limited depictions of sex.

Currently watching:

《隐秘的角落》 The Bad Kids After hearing about how great this show is for years, I'm finally checking it out. I've only seen the first episode so far, but I'm really excited to see what's to come! It's about three children who accidentally film a murder. That's really all I know at this point.

《我们与恶的距离》 The World Between Us I haven't even finished the first episode of this show yet. I started it but decided to pause because I felt like I was juggling too many shows. I plan to revisit it after I finish some other shows. I know it's about the aftermath of a mass shooting, so I'm expecting it to be very grim.

《不良执念清除师》 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble I saw a lot of praise for this show online. It's a bit odd but in an endearing way. It follows a young man who discovers he inherited a mystical power after all sorts of strange beings start coming to him for help. So far the only thing I disliked was the gore.

《你的孩子不是你的孩子》 On Children This show is kind of like Black Mirror but with the theme of troubled parent-child relationships. Each episode is practically a movie, and I have only finished one so far. If you are not on good terms with your parents, it may bring up some painful memories.

Potentially abandoning:

《理智派生活》 The Rational Life I started this drama because I was curious about the premise—a professional woman's ups and downs in the workplace. There is also a slow romance (a 姐弟 romance since the male lead is much younger). However, after finishing episode 23 out of 35, the thought of watching 12 more episodes kinda fills me with dread.

《你安全吗？》 Are You Safe? This show is about "vigilante" hackers and the antics they get up to. It's supposed to raise awareness for cybersecurity. Honestly I don't think I have made any progress on this show since my last post...! I may just abandon it because there are a lot of other shows that have more successfully caught my interest.

I can't wait to share another update on what I'm watching/have watched in 6 months or so!

[maxwellsuperbien]

Reminiscing & Sketching

I'm currently working on my portfolio and was thinking about what started my desire to work in art and when I started doing so. I guess other people approaching 30 y-o also think a lot about their past.

I believe my presence on the internet started in 2010, when I was 13 y-o. I created an account on Facebook because my favorite cousin moved there and wasn't on Skype anymore.

I was a naïve, sensitive, insecure, undiagnosed and bullied child. Friendships then weren't very good, I was constantly reprimanded for symptoms of my ADHD and probable autism.

However, I won't talk too in depth about it. I'm just giving context about how risky it was for me to have a presence online (less risky than nowadays though).

Back then, I hesitated between becoming an animal scientist or an artist. I think what made me chose the latter (apart from being bad at math) was the desire to share what I did. I used to show what I drew to my "friends" and my art teacher.

I wasn't confident, but I knew I had fun sketching and some pretty good skills. So I went ahead, created my online persona and started to display my art. I tried to gain more followers in the hope to find more people like me, who were passionate about drawing, make friends... I didn't go as far as 80 people until I went on Instagram, in 2016 (it was easy then, just had to post everyday and add the right tags).

I still don't have online ART friends, I wish I knew the steps to have mutuals become friends in a non-creepy way (I also know many minors are more active on social medias and I don't intend on befriending them, I'm 27, that's not appropriate). So most of my online friends are geeks (Wow ! Geeks on the internet ? Nobody would have guessed ! /s) but it's not the same as talking to people who know more about art.

Regardless of all that yapping, I'm still very much into sharing my sketches so here's a bunch of them.

[myrskytuuli]

Welp, I finally watched Longlegs...it was a dissapointment.

I was pretty hyped for Longlegs ever since the really intriguing trailer and very good marketing campaign started, and even went out of my way to avoid spoilers before seeing the movie. With expectations so high for another artistic, slow-paced, psychological horror ala Hereditary or the VVitch, I have to say I was left wanting. The more I rotated the movie in my head, the more dissapointed I get.

Warning here be spoilers!

Longlegs is a story about an FBI agent who displays slight psychic abilities on her first case and is then assigned to help with a perplexing serial killer case, the Longlegs case. In longlegs case all forensic evidence suggests a murder-suicide of a family, and cryptogram letters left on the crime scenes and signed by "Longlegs" are the only hint that someone or something else has been involved with the murders. The main character, Lee Harker, eventually finds out that the murders are commited via devil-worshiping man called Longlegs, who makes a life-sized, Satan-infested, doll resembling the family's daughter, gifting it to the family, which then possess the dad to kill the family and himself. In the end, Lee figures out that she was supposed to be one of the victims as s child and that her mom made a deal with the devil to help with the doll-murder-scheme in exchange for Lee's safety.

Let's start with the biggest, most obvious one. The titular character Longlegs is a transmisogynistic caricature who could just as well be a distasteful Daily Wire sketch spliced between the scenes of a serious horror movie. Longlegs, both the movie and the character, relies way too hard on the expectation that you will accept a close up of a middle-aged man in a badly applied lipstick to be a jumpscare in itself. But we will return to Longlegs the character little later. First, I want to talk about Longlegs the movie.

Longlegs is both too much and not enough. It markets itself as an occult detective mystery, but unfortunately instead of getting best of both worlds, it strips both the detective story and the occult story off of its most enjoyable elements. For a detective mystery there isn't much detecting, and for occult movie there isn't much occult.

A lot of occult horrors have gone out of their way to base their stories around real occult histories and as a consequence are full of easter eggs for those who recognise the historical nods. Hereditary references the Lesser Key of Solomon, The VVitch based its horror on real 1600 century archival texts, and even As Above So Below followed real alchemical traditions. This allowed those movies to avoid infodumbing lore, while still having internally consistant mythology that you can dig deeper into, if you want to. Longlegs does not do this. It handwaves towards the idea of satanic occult without ever creating its own internal mythology nor relying on one consistant real-life source. Which for me, personally, felt like a very frustrating experience, because you can't connect the dots of why whatever occult means are used.

Why was Lee getting visions of snakes? Because snakes are spooky and associated with the devil. Why were there bible quotes left at the crime scenes? Because they come from the Revelation and the revelation is the spooky chapter of the bible. Why were these murders being commited? Because Lucifer was bored. Why did the haunted dolls need vibrating metal spheres inserted inside their heads in order to be haunted? So that the doctor can put a stetoschope on one and hear evil vibrations. Why dolls? Because the director read a book about voodoo and found the idea of symphatetic magic spooky. (Not what symphatetic magic means btw. It has nothing to do with christian magic tradition or possession)

lacklustre magical theory could be excused, and I have excused in many other movies, with otherwise solid or entertaining plots, but this movie about catching a serial killer does not actually offer the viewer any clues to put together or follow the detective along the trail of mystery. rememeber that slightly psychic part? A huge mistake in my opinion, which cripples the movie for no reason. (Also, I really felt like the scene of the FBI having a psychic testing program was a leftover from an entirely different movie. Why was it there, what did it contribute??)

Lee is a passive vessel being led around by her psychic visions to every clue and revelation. She doesn't figure things out for herself, instead she receives answers from her visions or by her sixth sense, or by other people telling her the answers. She solves the Longlegs cryptogram because the Cipher is literally handed to her by Longlegs. She finds the picture of Longlegs by being guided to it by her sixth sense, and finally sees the final plotwist of the movie in a dream narrated to her by her mom. There is an actual literal flashback scene that explains the twist, without any lead up of the puzzle pieces slotting into place. As a mystery, it's bad.

okay but why is Longlegs even here? No, but for real. This is one of those movie tries to do too much moments. The movie's focus is supposed to be on Lee, solving a murder mystery, and her strained relationship with her mom, who is secretely killing people. But instead of letting that plot develop and breathe, too much time is spent following Longlegs, who is what? Middle-manager of this scheme? The scheme which goes like this:

Lucifer wants to kill people -> Lucifer contracts a socially maladjusted crossdresser named Longlegs to build dolls which Lucifer can then possess -> Longlegs contracts Ruth Harker to knock on people's doors dressed as a nun and smuggle the dolls inside people's houses -> Lucifer, once inside the house, influences the dad to murder his family and himself -> ???????profit

It's halfway through the movie, why, instead of getting any development for the main character, am I watching Lucifer's doll guy fail at making small talk at the convenience store???!!!!!

Okay, joking aside, lets talk about the transmisogyny and ableism.

Longlegs is an older man(?) who dresses in women's clothes and wears grotesque amounts of makeup, while exhibiting behaviours best described as autistic stims, and lives in Lee's mom's basement.

His mannerisms osciliate between childish deference to aggressive cussing in a way that brings to mind stereotypes of low-fucntioning autistic behaviour. It's very uncomfortable to watch and not in the way the movie wants. I think there is something almost darkly ironic in the way that thorought the whole movie, we never actually see Longlegs, the titular movie monster, do anything evil, and the entire loadbearing part of holding the movie's uncanny athmosphere rests on us finding Longlegs' behaviour creepy without seeing him commit any attrocities. Sure, the uncanniness is supposed to come from the fact that we know that he is the killer, but the movie doesn't want to show us that part. Imagine watching Friday the 13th but you only see Jason doing grocery shopping with his hockey mask on and hear about other characters talking about the murders that happened off-screen. no seriously, why is Longlegs here?

We never find out anything about Longlegs, why he worships Lucifer, why he started the murder doll-scheme with Lucifer in the first place, or what his history is. In the movie Longlegs, Longlegs doesn't matter. Lee finds a picture of him in her home and In the next scene he has been arrested. Longlegs kills himself during the police interview, and Lee goes off to find the actual important part of the mystery, her mom. So....why did we spend all that time with Lucifer's doll guy? Wouldn't all that time have been better spent slowly finding clues that reveal Lee's mom's as the perpetrator???

The metaphor of Longlegs is confused at best, if it even is supposed to have one, which I personally doubt. Sure, the director says is is about the darkness in us all and about families, but...is it?

Longlegs makes gestures towards wanting to be a movie about family violence, but it never arrives at it. The outside influence satanic panic is played comletely straight. There could be something about Ruth, the church lady, being allowed inside family homes because she looks trusthworthy, and bringing with her forces which lead to family violence, but the fact that the force causing the violence is literally the devil in league with a vaguelly inhuman (does he have magic powers? Maybe?) crossdresser kind of kneecaps that interpretation. Allowing strangers inside your suburban home is the root of all evil in this movie. Even Ruth joined in leagues with Longlegs under duress, after home invasion.

The deepest the movie gets is that sometimes parents lie to their children and that makes those children distant from their parents. But that's the literal thing that happens in the movie, this movie isn't really a metaphor for anything in the way that Hereditary or Nope or any other horror movie that seamlessly functions as both good in-universe storie and out-universe fable.

Okay, so there is one very redeeming part this movie has and it's Bill Clinton's giant portrait looming over way more scenes than you would expect, with the energy that I would best describe as Laura Palmer's photograph in the end credits of Twin Peaks. Somehow, Bill Clinton is haunting this narrative.

[bimrsadler]

Hello, I saw requests were open. I wanted to see if you could write Arthur finding out he has a child/teen that he didn't know about, but now needs to help care for them. How he has to bond with them whether it be through interests like drawing or teaching them to hunt/self-defense.

A Pretty Dream

Characters: Arthur Morgan, Arthur’s daughter

Warnings/tags: dad!Arthur, fluff

Word count: 1,000

Notes: went with giving Arthur a daughter named Sarah (maybe around preteen age) who he bonds with through drawing

Arthur hadn’t expected to feel so nervous, he knew she would like the gift but he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointing her.

He didn’t even believe Sarah was his when the telegram came through and she stepped off the train. His heart skipped a beat when he realized there was no mistaking it — those were his eyes.

It terrified him. Seeing a child with his eyes look up at him for guidance when he himself was lost. But he couldn’t abandon her, not when she needed him the most.

It took time to warm up to each other and Sarah was fiercely independent, never wanting to be told what to do or how to do it.

But with time she took interest in Arthur’s adventures, asking to come with on the outings that weren’t too dangerous. She loved watching him sketch his surroundings most of all, in awe of the drawings that he thought were simple scribbles.

So Arthur’s hand sat in his satchel, fingers gripping the journal and pencils he picked out for her, waiting for the right moment.

He watched lovingly as she flipped over rocks to look for critters and undiscovered treasures. A sense of adventure had been instilled in her during her time with Arthur and the others.

She loved dresses and flowers and all those other things that young girls were expected to, but she loved learning and exploring more. If she had to work for something or get dirty in the process? Even better. And God help anyone who told her she wasn’t allowed.

The natural world was her playground, the animals and trees and everything around them; her happiness. One day Arthur hoped to introduce her to Albert Mason so long as gators weren’t involved in that day’s photography.

“Hey sweet pea! C’mere for a bit.” Arthur patted the ground underneath the tree, motioning for her to sit beside him.

Timidly revealing the leather bound journal from his satchel, he slowly handed it to her. “I uh, wanted to give this to ya. I know ya been wantin’ to try drawin’ more so…”

Arthur watched her small hands grab the journal exuberantly as her face lit up, “are ya serious?!” She shot up to wrap her arms around his neck in a tight hug, “thank you!”

“Ain’t nothin’ honey.”

“Well you’re gonna teach me how to draw better right?”

“Do my best but uh, I never fancied myself as an artist.”

Arthur felt an elbow in his side as his daughter scoffed, “oh hush, y’are too. Now! What should I draw?”

“Well,” Arthur gestured broadly to the area in front of them, “see anything ya like?”

Holding the pencil up to her lips in thought, she pointed animatedly. “That rabbit under the tree over there! See it?!”

“Sure do,” Arthur drawled with a grin.

He watched as she nervously began sketching what she saw, “now relax — it don’t need to be perfect… jus’ try yer best.”

Arthur felt his affirmations were clumsy but he truly meant them, and it seemed as though the awkward anxieties of a parent and child who met later in life were finally fading.

He didn’t have all the answers and never would, but they felt like family now and he would do anything to protect her.

As the warm afternoon breeze cooled to evening, Arthur advised on which parts to shade, which lines to draw first, how to make things more realistic; anything he could think to teach.

She listened intently and applied everything he taught, and it felt good to be a teacher. Not a killer or a robber, just a man helping his kid.

The drawing was finished as the sun began to set, an indication that it was time to head back to camp.

Arthur helped Sarah up on the back of the horse, and wondered if it was time to find her her own.

Her expectant inquiry interrupted his thoughts however, “soooo is there anything we’re doin’ tomorrow?”

“Well I’m goin’ huntin’. Ain’t the nicest thing and it can be real boring but if yer inter—”

“Sure!” She exclaimed more enthusiastically than anticipated. “Then after maybe you and Aunt Sadie can teach me to shoot?!”

Arthur let out a soft chuckle, she did love spending time with Sadie and he would most certainly be fighting a losing battle (with both of them) to say no. “In good time kiddo. I do want ya to be able to take care of yerself but I don’t want ya to grow up too fast neither.”

“I’ll just practice with cans and bottles. I mean, you do want me to be able to defend myself right?”

Arthur sighed, he knew Sadie would say the same and maybe they were right. “Of course,” he stated with a tone, “but I can protect ya til then too ya know…”

Arthur could hear Sarah roll her eyes, “I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to know how to do these things. Even if some people think it ain’t ladylike.”

Arthur laughed to himself as he hurried the horse along, “yer right sweet pea, we’ll get to it. I promise.”

After arriving in camp, Arthur watched her run excitedly to Charles and the girls; showing off the drawing that she was rightfully proud of.

Arthur never thought he would get a second chance at fatherhood. He wasn’t sure at first if he even wanted it and most certainly felt he didn’t deserve it.

But there she was — reading to Jack at the campfire which he politely asked for after being shown the drawing.

Abigail flashed a kind smile from the seat beside them, no doubt thrilled that Jack had her to befriend.

It wasn’t lost on him that this life was dangerous and unfit for them, as much as he would always love the gang; he needed to love his daughter more.

And maybe one day Abigail’s little dream of turning John into a rancher would have room for Arthur and his girl to join them. It was a pretty dream.