#*・。. watercolor eyes ╱ closet.

[cassicpei4]

↺⟳  CARGANDO GRÁFICOS                           user: @𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐈𝟒   vestida de MALARIA.                                           📁 ↳ CÓDIGO #1031: HOCUS POCUS.

[milkteabinniechan]

bath water | hwang hyunjin

part two

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY ☕| m.list

pairing: virgin! hyunjin x afab reader

warnings: oral (f. receiving), some angst, lots of smut, hyunjin is just learning hehe

a/n: this is a continuation of this story. This was a labor of love and I feel personally connected to this so please go easy on me, thank you for reading!

Your phone hadn't buzzed yet. Hadn't rung once. You cleaned your apartment. Twice. You reorganized your closet. You washed your hair. You played loud music. He still hadn't called.

Brrt Brrrrt. Your phone jumped on your desk. Not so gracefully, you leaped to grab it. "Buy one, get one on all hand soap! Now through Sunday." You squeezed your phone in your hand. A goddamn promotion. How evil.

You lay your head on your pillow, slaying arms out wide. Your eyes blur and unfocused, making shapes in the ceiling. You let your eyelids close. Suddenly you were back in that bathtub. Hyunjin's fingers appearing in and out of focus. You could hear the water, you could smell his cologne.

Brrt. Brrrrt. Now you were imagining things. Pretending your phone was ringing. You really were losing it. You glance down at your closed fist, phone inside. The light shone through your fingers. A cute picture of a ferret peeking through, Hyunjin’s contact photo. You shot up from your bed. This was real. 

“Hey…” his voice was low.

“Hey, you…” Your voice was shaking, “what’s up?” attempting to sound casual, you hoped it was convincing enough.

“Not much, just bought some new watercolors, some brushes. They’ve got this great sale going on at…”

Hyunjin continued talking about his day. His voice was chipper, like nothing had happened. He sounded warm, so warm. You clutched your shirt. 

“...what about you?” his voice back in your head. 

“Oh! Not a lot. Just some spring cleaning, ya know.”

Hyunjin paused. “You hate cleaning.” He huffed. You could hear the smirk in his voice. 

The conversation continued like that for a while. A few pleasantries, a few inside jokes. He made you giggle, so hard you would snort, making him laugh too. After a long fit of laughing and funny voices, there was a silence between you. You both sat in it for a moment.

“So…” Hyunjin cleared his throat, “I wanted to ask you something.”

You clutched your shirt again. 

“Do you think I could… paint you again?”

Days later you found yourself at Hyunjin’s apartment again. New plastic sheets on the floor. Neither of you had discussed what happened last time. He just asked to paint. That is all he wanted. You stared down at the plastic. Then up at Hyunjin, taking a deep breath.

“Where do you want me?” you spoke in a clear, confident voice, hands on your hips. A power pose. However, you felt like feathers and cotton candy on the inside, so fragile. 

Hyunjin pulled up some photos on his phone of women with painted stomachs. Beautiful works of art sprawled across skin. Your stomach flipped. Your mouth dried up. 

“Is this okay?” Hyunjin lowered his phone and met his eyes with yours. He had an intensity that shot through you like a bullet. All your feathers and cotton candy would melt away if he stared at you like that for even one more second.

“Of course.” You clasped the hem of your shirt and began to pull up. You expected Hyunjin to turn away, like last time. But he didn’t. He stood right there in front of you and watched. He watched your shirt graze past your stomach, past your breasts, up over your head. Your eyes met his as your shirt fell to the floor. One of your bra straps slipped off your shoulder. Hyunjin reached out and grabbed it, pulling the strap back up.

“Let’s get started.” He turned toward his supplies, unwrapping fresh, unused brushes and paints. You nodded your head and lay flat on your back, plastic crinkling underneath you as you adjusted and moved.

The first brush stroke across your lower abdomen felt exactly as you remembered. The cool paint countered your hot skin. You try your best to steady your breathing, letting out small I’m sorry’s every so often. It was different then the first time, however. Now you could see his face. His eyebrows pressing together in concentration, slightly biting his bottom lip, tilting his head to get the best perspective. You felt heat building in your core as his paintbrush traced lower and lower down your stomach. Your thighs clenched together involuntarily. You willed your body to stop. To not give away the awful, dirty thoughts that were going on inside your mind. You heard Hyunjin clear his throat and set his brush down, maybe to grab a different one. You closed your eyes and tightened your mouth into a thin line. You braced yourself for the soft bristles again, only this time there were no soft bristles. There was skin, fingers dipped softly into watercolor. You would know those fingers anywhere. A thumb ran down your outer thigh, a long streak of paint followed along with it. Then an index finger drew another long, thick line down your thigh. You bit your lip hard, so hard you feared it may bleed. You squeezed your eyes together tightly.

Hold it together. He’s just using a different medium. Don’t get off to this.

Unfortunately, your body was not listening to your brain. Your body wasn’t listening to anything except the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingers against your skin. He ran another paint soaked finger from your knee up to your inner thigh, causing your legs to open in response. You bucked your hips slightly at the sensation of Hyunjin being so close to your core.

“Hyunjinnie…” you moaned softly. A wet spot already forming on your panties.

Hyunjin hooked his paint covered fingers around the hem of your panties, coloring them in purples and blues. He lowered them delicately, exposing just the top of your cunt. He lowered his head and kissed gently, but hungerly. Like that first kiss was going to save him, he bowed his head like praying for a holy light and he had finally found it. 

“I want to taste it.” He spoke deep into your clothed cunt. He wanted to enter the gates of heaven, not just paint the Sistine Chapel.

You lifted your hips and helped pull your panties down the rest of the way, the plastic sheets still crinkling beneath you. Hyunjin grabbed both of your legs simultaneously, bringing them to his chest, so your open, wet cunt was exposed and displayed for him. You watched his eyes, and there it was. That concentrated and intense look that left you vulnerable and unable to move.

He kissed your wet core like the way he used a paint brush. His tongue was innocent at first, giving small licks, waiting for you to open up for him like a flower. The muscle moving like music, so very conscious of every reaction that your body gave him. Then you bloomed for him. You pushed your hips into his face sparingly, not wanting to overwhelm him. This was so new, so fresh. The first push of your hips jarred him slightly, his eyes met yours from between your legs. You could see his smirk again from under your thighs. He drove his face further into you, making you arch your back, the plastic sheet slipping from under your elbows. 

Hyunjin let his eyes roll back as his tongue continued its holy work. Lapping and licking every inch of you. Your lips now swollen at the marvel of his mouth.Your hips were thrusting at a faster speed now, climbing toward your own release. 

“Come inside my mouth.” Hyunjin muffled from inside of you. His breath was hot with each word.

Both of your bodies wet from sweat, you carded your fingers through Hyunjin’s hair and gripped tightly, giving yourself leverage and momentum to ride his tongue harder. The paint on your stomach still wet, dripping down onto the floor. Grinding, grinding, grinding into Hyunjin’s open mouth, you could feel the tense bundle of nerves reaching their climax, you were starting to see stars, you were no longer on this earth, in this solar system, you were something entirely new. 

Your climax held there in the air for a moment. Like you were both floating, just inches off the ground. Paint had spilled everywhere. Hyunijn lifted his head back up, panting and out of breath. Saliva fell from his open mouth, dripping down his swollen lips and chin. He smiles wildly.

“So…” you huffed in between panting breaths, “anywhere else you want to paint me?”

[dulcewrites]

ewan in the saltburn trailer is j sooo giving private school filthy rich aemond i love it

AND YES HE NEEDS HIS POC GF

I have been feeling…. less than inspired lately about hotd tbh but hopefully this will spark something. I know no one asked for this lol. This was inspired by Beyoncé’s Upgrade U. Honestly, I don't think Aemond would be much of a loser in a modern setting. He would be far too elusive and people would find him interesting simply based on that. But I am combining/changing some lore here so he is a #loser in this like I am assuming Ewan's character is Saltburn is.

Upgrade You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x rich!reader (wc: 2k)

Summary: You have always enjoyed having a project to build or fix up and Aemond Targaryen is no different

You flick a spoolie brush over your brows as you finished up your makeup. The lights from your vanity mirror illuminating you as you put the last touches on your face.

"I don't get it," Melanie sighed as she hugged one of your pillows to her chest. She sat crossed legged on your California king bed. "You're like the smartest person I know. Why do you need to be tutored?"

"Everyone can improve themselves, no matter what someone's specialty may be. Remember that."

Melanie nodded enthusiastically. Sweet girl, you think. A little daft at times but nothing some time under your guidance cannot fix.

She tilts her head curiously. "You are pretty dressed up for a library meeting too."

"Another lesson," you fluff your curls then turn from the mirror to her. "Do not let anyone tell you that you are overdressed. Does the library have a dress code?"

Melanie shakes her head slowly.

"So, who is going to tell me to change?"

"... No one?"

"Exactly."

Melanie chews on her lip in thought as if she is taking mental notes in her head. Though she is not wrong you are quite dressed up just to be studying. But your advice was also not wrong; any moment to be noticed should be taken and made the most of. If are to come into contact with any of your peers, why not make the best impression possible. You also do not have in it in you to tell your new pupil about the real reason as to why you were making this little trip. Best move through life with your cards close to your chest as your mother tells you. You can only imagine how wide Melanie's hazel eyes would get if you told her what you had up your sleeve.

Much like how you help the girls around you cultivate their futures, you must look out for your own as well. Your phone dings, and you smile when you check the notification.

Aemond Targaryen.

Archaic, some would say. Sending the feminist movement back 50 years, many could argue. Being realistic is more how you would put it. You have money, sure. Your parents have afforded you all the opportunities they wanted you to have, and for that you are grateful. But you are not naive; this is still very much a man's world. No matter how much money you have, there will be people who will look at you and hate you for having the gall to want more. For having ideas and wanting to express them. For looking the way, you do - for using the way you look against them.

You may not be able to have a seat at the table... but you can have someone build another for you.

Your family may have resources and money. But they do not have 'my father can use company family buy his way into politics; my mom has ancestry that traces back to French royalty' reach.

Luckily for you, there is someone who does have that access.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing some TLC cannot fix. It was one of your best traits: finding the diamonds in the rough and polishing them off so they shine brighter than before.

You go over to your closet and open the double doors. As your eyes search over the different handbags, you call out back to Melanie.

"Watercolor Dior saddle or creme Bottega Jodie?"

"Dior," she calls back.

You check yourself in the mirror before existing the closet.

"Well," you twirl for Melanie. You run hand over your midi turtleneck dress. You knee length boots clanked around as you moved in a circle.

"Perfect," she beams.

She sees you out to your car. With the window rolled down, she waves you off like a mother seeing their child off for kindergarten.

"Happy studying!"

Sweet and simple, just how you like em.

———

You always thought the best thing about Oxford was how it looked in the fall. The leaves begun to change, sprite green to a blend of red, orange, purple, and brown. Made the most picturesque background. But it seemed like how gently the leaves fell from the trees was the only thing that was coming easily.

Maybe it was naivety on your part, but you thought when you showed up in four-inch patent leather Aquazzura heels and literally no books, Aemond would have got the hint. And yet, here you were talking about the components of stockholder’s equity, as if you cared.

"So," you interrupt him mid rant. "Any fun plans for Winter break? I know it is a while away, but everyone is already taking about what they are doing."

He wrinkles his nose, his glasses being pushes up in the process. "Probably just dinner with the family."

Right. The compound. At least that is what the Targaryen main home looks like. You of course needed to your research.

"Well, there is this crazy Christmas that happens before everyone leaves," you shuffle closer to him, and you hope he gets a whiff of your perfume. "Maybe we can go together?"

Aemond snorts and looks down bit sheepishly. "Highly doubt, I am invited."

You fight the urge to sigh wistfully. Cute, smart, wealthy as fuck... and apparently awfully insecure. Everyone throwing the party should be falling at their knees to have him around. But you have since understood during your time at Oxford that many students here do not understand the opportunities in front of them.

If Aemond had any real confidence, he'd say fuck it because he could buy everyone going if he wanted to. They ignore him because he allows them to. And then you realize he is one of those people; the delusional 'I want to get by on my merit not my name' kind of people.

Oh sweet, silly boy.

"That doesn't matter," you wave him off. "Besides, if anyone says anything, you can just say you're with me. Consider it a thank you for doing this for me."

You let your hand slip on his thigh and squeeze slightly.

"Better yet, let's call it a date."

Rhaenyra would think for the amount of money her family has; they would be able to afford stronger liquor. But she has a feeling that it has nothing to do with money, and more about the 'champagne only' rule Alicent liked.

The expansive backyard was decorated impeccably, as it always is for the annual holiday party that they throw. Twinkly lights in the trees, red and green everywhere, and even a frankly nouveau riche ice sculpture. The affair was black tie, and Rhaenyra could feel the eyes of some guess when she showed up in a red fitted suit. Taking small sips from her glass, she looks around the area. She swears the more years go on, the less she recognizes who is invited to things like this.

"Don't tell me step-mommy has put you in timeout."

She rolls her eyes when she hears a familiar voice. Daemon comes to stand next to her, with a small glass in his hand.

"No, you fucker," Rhaenyra then frowns. "Where did you get the scotch?"

"Why do you think I am in timeout?"

Her uncle always found a way around the rules. Rhaenyra blows air out of her cheeks in annoyance. She looks down at her watch; another rule is that they were required to stay at 2 hours. Only 45 minutes has passed since she arrived.

"Heard you are going to the company retreat this year," Daemon downs the rest of the drink and winces at the burning.

"Someone has to represent the family with dad," she shrugs, a small amount of smugness seeping into her tone. "He asked me to go."

"Hmmm," Daemon smirks at her smugness. "You and Aemond."

Rhaenyra blinks confused. "What?"

"Yup," he leans against the wall. "I suppose Viserys found a new muse."

Rhaenyra snorts at his words but then licks her lips nervously. It sounds cruel to think, but it was never something she ever really worried about - her father preferring her siblings over her. At least not something she worried about in her adulthood. Sure, as a girl, newly off the passing of her mother, seeing her father marry a woman only six years her senior rattled her. Aegon being born shortly after only made things more tense. But, and to his own detriment really, Viserys had made sure she came first.

"I did not know Aemond had an interest in the company in the first place."

"He didn't," Daemon's mouth pinches a little. "Not until... recently."

Rhaenyra follows her uncle's gaze out to where Aemond was standing. He always managed to look more grow up than his sibling, more than Helaena and Aegon. A mimicry that Rhaenyra thinks he picked up from his mother, but something seemed different now.

New haircut, no glasses, new suit. Armani? No, Tom Ford. With a Cartier tie clip and sparking cuff links to match. He is surrounded by some of the lawyers that work at the company.

"Looks like university has done him well," Rhaenyra tries to sound as even keeled as possible. "Good for him."

"No," Daemon sounds bored with her strained pleasantries. "That is what pussy does someone who has never got any before."

Rhaenyra blanches. The last thing she wants to think about is her younger brother having sex. She sets her champagne down in disgust.

"Don't be gross."

Daemon huffs before directing his attention towards the other side of the courtyard. His eyes zero in on Alicent, who tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder as she laughs with a young woman. A pretty young woman.

"Only met this semester and managed to get a holiday party invite, and a seat next to mother dearest. She must some charmer."

"You know," Rhaenyra starts. "Not every woman that is around this family is some sort of ruthless social climber."

"Of course, not every woman. Only the smart ones."

She sighs. That was not just pointed at the girl, but at Alicent too. Even though Alicent grew up with an even cushier life than they did. A type of old money that even the Targaryens had to give credence to. Strangely enough, Daemon seemed to take Viserys remarrying worse than Rhaenyra did. Even Rhaenyra over the years has grown to accept the fate that is their blended family. Accepted it enough to be cordial, albeit sometimes still awkward, with Alicent. They have forever been bonded in having to deal with the moods that come with Viserys Targaryen. But Daemon... it seems like he has never forgiven his brother for the act of moving on. He seemed to only grow more jaded since the divorce from Laena.

"How do you even know this?"

"Aemond told Aegon who told Helaena who told Rhaena who told Baela who told me."

Rhaenyra breaks her gaze from the two women. "Keeping tabs on your nephew that you barely speak to?"

Daemon gave her an empty smile. Almost a little cruel like he would crush her like a bug if it would not so pitiful. "You naive little thing. When you figure things out, let me know."

Rhaenyra wants to ask him what he means by that, but Daemon pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against to leave Rhaenyra alone.

Alone was a feeling she was used to. Rhaenyra often found solace in the loneliness that she found herself stuck in. If she did not find comfort in it, it would swallow her whole. Jaw unhinged and bloodthirsty.

Her eyes went back to the where Alicent and the girl were sitting, but Helaena seemed to replace the girl's place to speak with her mother. Instead of getting chummy with Alicent, the mystery woman had gone over to Aemond. Rhaenyra felt a little queasy watching them. Like watching two little dolls or those silly little cake toppers people get. Picture perfect like the stock photos that came in picture frames.

She shook her head at herself with an internal laugh. Here she was picking apart her baby brother's seemingly first real relationship; she was no better than Daemon if she did that. It was she told herself when she watched one of the wives of the company's lawyers come up to the girl and give her kiss on the cheek. Like they were old family friends.

Rhaenyra suddenly finds herself straightening out her jacket and her heels moving across the outdoor area. Might as well introduce herself... as a kind sister figure, of course.

She has a funny feeling she will be seeing this girl around more often.

[ageofevermore]

SO SCARLET IT WAS

REQUEST — can you do a blurb of Wanda and reader? where reader has been sending wanda love letters anonymously. in the end it's revealed it was reader and wanda asks why they would do that when they are already married

WARNINGS — mentions of canon age of ultron events, mentions of canon civil war events, mentions of natasha’s death in endgame although very brief for my own sanity more then yours, parent clint and nat although it’s more nat focused, fluff to the max

AUTHORS NOTE — i don’t wanna talk about how this was supposed to be a blurb. also, for the sake of this timeline, wandavision is genuine not a scripted reality. wanda and reader did everything the right way and found a life together in westview

AGE OF ULTRON

You shouldn't have fallen in love so easily, especially not with her, you were a trained Avenger for thors sake, love was supposed to be at the bottom of your priorities barrel. That was easier said than done, because from the very first time that your eyes met across the battlefield, everything inside of you froze, skipped, and stuttered all at once. You should’ve been alert enough to detonate the blast before it could wound Clint, usually you were steps ahead of it, but her eyes were absorbing all the explosions around you and the soft watercolor green was alight with fireworks so beautiful you couldn’t look away. After that, you stood no chance of ever clearing her from your head. Even if she was supposed to be the enemy, even if you’d never experienced love before. Nat and Clint gave you the benefit of the doubt at first. You never missed your mark on a mission, but the cold temperatures and the fact that Helen said your heart rate was alarmingly high for your average bpm had given them the slightest indication that something was bothering you. That maybe, you hadn’t been so recovered from your history with Hydra as they thought. So, they sent you back to therapy.

Truthfully, therapy distracted you from her for a while, revisiting your past could distract you from anything for a short amount of time, but then you started having dreams. Not the nightmares that tickled your belly and drenched you in sweat and had you knocking on Natashas bedroom door at three in the morning looking for evidence that you really had been saved, but dreams of what ifs that all included her. Dreams where Natasha and Clint weren't the ones who found you barely clinging to life in an abandoned facility in Russia, dreams where it was her. That should’ve been the second indicator that you were never going to escape the curse she laid upon your heart without a single word. But you still tried to convince yourself that you could get over this, that you could see straight with clear judgment.

When she got inside of Natasha’s head the second time you crossed paths, you should’ve been enraged. You should’ve been cured of any delusion you harbored in your heart, but the attack only made you hurt for her. If things had played out differently, if Natasha and Clint had found her like they’d found you, maybe she wouldn’t be the enemy. If Natasha and Clint hadn’t found you, maybe you’d have ended up in her shoes, afraid to go against the only orders you knew. In moments like these, where Natasha’s half unconscious lost in her mind, and Clint is rolling in panic, and Tony is enraged and defeated, you seem to be the only one aware enough to recognize that maybe this is all she knows. That maybe, she’s just trying to not to get hurt again.

Natasha sees your feelings for what they are a few hours after landing at the farm. You had been sorting through your small selection of clothes that Laura organized in the back of the guest room closet while Natasha took a shower. You wanted to find something loose that didn’t irritate the healing wounds on your side from the first mission, but you were so far in your head you’d looked at the same shirt four times without realizing. Natasha had watched the entire event unfold, and like she never could when it came to you, fought feelings of rage and pride. You are the closest thing she’s ever going to have to a daughter, and watching you fall in love with someone so dangerous, she doesn’t know what the appropriate reaction is.

“You like her.” The assassin's tone was even, not giving away if she felt one way or another about the predicament you’ve landed in, but keeping her posture open so you wouldn’t shut down like you had a habit of doing. She and Clint knew you like the back of their hand, how had it taken them this long to realize you weren’t just reeling at the confrontation of your past, but falling in love with the enemy. You hadn’t even noticed she was still in the room with you, and that the shower water hadn’t been running at all. Every muscle in your body tensed, you were caught, and this could only go so many ways.

“I'm sorry.” With wide eyes, you faced your mentor who had become like a mother to you in the last decade. You weren’t a kid with heavy PTSD anymore, you had overcome most of it, not without extensive work and self-reflection, but for the most part, you were just an ordinary teenage girl who saved the world on occasion. That’s what Clint and Natasha saw when they looked at you. That wasn’t the girl Natasha was looking at now. She was staring eye to eye with a child tortured by Hydra. A child without family and without confidence in herself. A child who thought she was about to be hurt.

In that moment, Natasha abandoned the rage she was clinging onto in her belly. At that moment, Natasha decided to lean into her pride, to just be your mother instead of your mentor. You had found somebody you cared about, and as your mother, she would be elated to help you recognize that feeling without holding onto the shame you were undoubtedly forcing yourself to remember. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Malyshka.”

“She’s the enemy! She hurt you, she-she could’ve killed Clint!” You spluttered, trying to reason with yourself that this wasn’t a good thing. That you were insane for trying to redeem a girl who had almost torn apart the only family you have.

Natasha forced herself to see the situation from your shoes, something she admittedly should’ve done from the get. She forced herself to remember that you had been with Hydra for six years of your life, that had she and Clint not found you, you might’ve ended up on the same field with Wanda playing against them. She never wanted to think about that possibility, never wanted to think about how little her life would mean without you, but in another universe, she’s sure that's how it played out. “She’s just a kid who doesn’t want to get hurt. But you didn’t fall in love with the enhanced, did you?” Natasha asked, and your cheeks flushed so violently scarlet they were almost maroon, almost the same deep shade as the magic tendrils that danced between your crushes fingers. “When the blast hit Clint, you were frozen. I thought you were stuck in a flashback, that the cold had brought you back to that abandoned base, that wasn’t it, was it? You were looking at her. You were seeing her as a person, not a weapon. Something we all should’ve done a lot sooner.”

“She has the greenest eyes, Nat. But-but after the blast hit Clint, she-she was so scared. She’s just trying not to get hurt. Something happened to her, I think she’s still scared because of it.” You admitted, tears welling in your eyes at the possibility of her getting hurt at your hands, because at the end of the day, you would never sacrifice Clint and Nat for her. At the end of the day, your side was with the people who raised you.

“Whatever you choose, Clint and I support you.” Natasha hated that her voice shook with tears, she hated that you were growing up, she hated that you were being shoved into a corner where you had to pick between finding out who you were as a person, or being an Avenger.

At the mention of your mentor who was like a father, your chest grew tighter. She almost killed him. She almost took him away from you, from his kids, from his wife. How would he ever forgive you for choosing her? “She almost killed him, Nat.”

“You will never, never lose us. Get that thought out of your head, right now.”

You sniffled, shuffling your feet against the carpeted floors to feel something other than stabs of aching pain in your chest. How did you end up here? “I don’t blame Clint if he doesn’t forgive her. If it comes down to his life or hers. I don’t blame him if he chooses to live.”

“Malyshka, I could’ve shot him the first day I met him. There is not an ounce of self-preservation in his bones. He sees the good in people too easily to just give up on them. Just like you. If it comes down to him or her, he’s choosing the both of them. You know that as well as I do.”

“Nat?” You asked softly after silence had fallen over the two of you for a beat, her words circling your head and your heart on a loop. When your mentor hummed, you spoke again, this time admitting what you’d been trying to deny. “I think I love her.”

CIVIL WAR

You didn’t want to believe what you were hearing. You didn’t want to believe that half of your team and mentors had signed the accords, that they had agreed with Secretary Ross to an extent and therefore fed into the bullshit propaganda that the enhanced were dangerous. You were almost enhanced. If Hydra had succeeded, you would’ve been all the same as Wanda and the new vigilante Spiderman. Had they forgotten that? Did they really only see Wanda for her powers? Not for the teenage girl that had lost her parents and her brother and been manipulated and abused and used as a test-subject? Had they just let that slip their mind so easily?

You hadn’t left Wanda’s side since Natasha broke the news to you. Almost a year had grown between now and the events of Ultron, and the former was trying her best to fit in, to make up for all the red in her ledger at the hands of Hydra. She was making leaps of improvement, but that still wasn’t enough. She was still just another enemy in the eyes of Secretary Ross, and he had asked you to do the impossible. Choose a side. Why was everyone making you choose a side?

Wanda tried not to let you see how much this was upsetting her, but from the moment you saw her across the battlefield you’d been able to read her like she was your favorite book. When she held you at night, you could feel how tense she was. When she walked around the compound, you could see how uncomfortable she felt and how she wanted to just melt away and not exist. It broke your heart, but once again, you’d been put in a situation where you couldn’t do anything to help. A situation where the majority saw you as just a kid unfortunate enough to have no real family.

“Let's run away.” You suggest one night when you’re wrapped up in nothing but a thin blanket and Wanda’s arms, far far away from reality and for this one single moment in time, it’s just the two of you. Just Wanda and Y/N. There aren’t any superpowers, or any Avengers level threats, or United States government officials trying to control them like objects the same way Hydra had. It’s just them. Just two teenagers broken by life and in love.

“To where.” Wanda hummed, her lips flush against your neck as she fought sleep to instead spend this moment with you. The vibration of her voice tickled your belly in the sweetest way you had ever experienced, and a flush spread across your cheeks so scarlet in color it was almost maroon.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Ohio. I hear it’s the best place to create your own reality.” You admit shyly, picking up the cold hand that's draped across your midsection, and beginning to play with her fingers and pull at her knuckles to hear them crack the way she loves, especially after training sessions with Natasha where their main focus had been working on controlling her magic. Secretly, you love the way her muscles contract after her knuckles pop and how she involuntarily squeezes your hand in hers. Secretly, its not a secret at all.

Wanda lets you play your game, knowing your intention but having never shared her knowledge with you. She finds it cute how eager you are to feel her, even in ways as innocent as this moment. And secretly, although it's no secret to you, she loves feeling you all the same. She loves coming up behind you and hugging you tightly, she loves when you just lay against her and shudder every time her breath tickles your neck, she loves when it's just the two of you in a moment as nothing more than girlfriends. “What would we be in this reality?”

“Fiances.”

Wanda snorts, laughing so hard the muscles in her belly tighten and her face goes scarlet. “We’re a little young for that, detka.”

“Childhood lovers. We would’ve been best friends since Kindergarten. You would’ve asked me to be your girlfriend in the fifth grade, after I failed a spelling test and wouldn’t stop crying. I would have said yes without a pause. We would’ve never broken up, and our parents would have loved it. Pietro would’ve teased us, but he would be happy for you. And when we graduated high school, you would’ve gotten down on one knee right then and there. We wouldn’t waste a single moment. And Nat and Clint would be elated. Your parents would call me their daughter. It would be perfect, our life in Ohio. Nobody would bat an eye at how young we are, because love doesn’t know numbers, it just knows feelings.”

Wanda sniffled, wondering how she could get so lucky to have you. “Would we have kids?”

“Two. Twins. I would think they were girls the entire time, and I would ask that we name them Natalia and Lauren, but you would know that they were boys. You never told me that, but when they were born you’d tell me you dreamt it. Two boys, William and Thomas. We’d call them Billy and Tommy. They’d be just like you. Stubborn and silly, but the sweetest angels. Our life would be complete.”

“And we’d raise them in Ohio?”

You shook your head, twisting in Wanda’s arms so you could see her watercolor eyes. Even without explosives lighting up the room, there are fireworks in them. “I would find us the perfect plot in New Jersey. We would build a home for them, where they could just be kids, and we could be the cool moms who host sleepovers and invite the entire town to birthday parties. Nat and Clint would visit on holidays, and they’d be sad that we moved away, but they’d be so happy for us. We would be so happy.”

ENDGAME

How could this be happening? How could you spend five years without the woman you love, and the second you have hope of getting her back, lose the woman who was the closest thing you had to a mother? How could you gain the weight of hope, and lose it in seconds. Five years without Wanda was agonizing, but you never feared for a second that you wouldn’t get her back. You had lost too much to give up, and when Tony had come to the compound, saying he found a way to get everyone back, how did you not know that you would lose everything all over again? How had you let his words sound like a fairytale? Why was the world always sacrificing the things that completed you? Why did you think for a second you could ever be completely happy?

WANDAVISION (wandayn sounded wrong)

“This is the sixth letter I’ve found since Monday!” Wanda was exasperated, coming into the kitchen with her arms full of babies and letters. Her messy red hair was tied back, away from her face, no doubt due to the fact that Billy and Tommy had just entered a phase where they loved to grab and yank at your hair if you left it down and in reach.

“Oh? What’s this one say?” You quizzed, brushing flour off of your hands and grabbing the dishrag. The kitchen was a disaster as you attempted to bake a cake for the twins first birthday, but you couldn’t care less about the mess as you took in the sight of your wife. She looked absolutely ethereal, with hair so red it was almost maroon and love in her eyes so exuberant it was like a never ending firework show.

“Something about how I complete them!” She was completely at her end with these letters, and the anonymous slash at the bottom that gave away nothing about who it could be from. The both of you had come a long way since mourning Natasha and finding a life for yourself in New Jersey, and the last thing Wanda wanted was somebody tearing apart everything that was finally good. That was finally easy. You both deserved this more than anybody else.

Your eyes sparkled mischievously, a glint of something chaotic catching Wanda’s attention. “They’re from you, aren’t they!” She gasped, handing you Tommy when he started to fuss, and adjusting Billy now that her other arm was free. You giggled, looking for an escape route but your moment was short lived as Wanda came closer and her hips pinned you to the island. “Why!”

“I’m in love with you. I thought you should know.” You answered simply, although it was so much more than that. Losing Natasha hadn’t been easy for either of you, leaving the Avengers was almost harder, because it was the last piece of Nat you had left, but you knew that she would’ve wanted this for you. She would’ve wanted you to be happy, to have a family, to find everything she wasn’t able to find because of her past. The life you lived now, as much as it was for yourself and for Wanda, it was for her and all that she had given to you.

“We’re married!” Wanda beamed, “I already knew you loved me!”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss her sweet scarlet lips, but a baby hand kept you from kissing her. “Do you want a kiss, Tommy? Do you want some love?” You giggled, showing his tiny palm in kisses before moving on to do the same thing to Billy, wondering how you had come so far from battlefields in only a decade.

[rainybubbles]

Draw me, love me- Soap x reader

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

"Will you ever draw me, Johnny?" 

His eyes fixed on me. With his pencil suspended, he stopped drawing.

"I don't think so, it's merely a pastime," he responded, his tone almost aloof.

"But you've drawn Lizzie, haven't you?"

"That's different."

My lips tightened, my gaze dropping to the ground. A knot of bitterness formed in my throat. If there was one lesson I had gleaned from Johnny, it was that he would never sketch me.

(Never would he love me.)

—-------------------------

-It's quite ironic that our friendship began amidst charcoal and erasers, in a small village lost in Scotland, the only art class for miles around.

-We were the only two students of Madame McGuire, a housewife desperately seeking occupation. Looking back, she was a failed artist. But my parents wanted to cultivate a passion in me, and when my rugby endeavors left me with more broken bones than joy, they finally realized that sports weren't my ally.

-So, at the tender age of 8, I entered that house feeling anxious, and there he was, covered in charcoal up to his nose.

-Seeing him laugh kicked off our sketches.

A stroke of pencil led by questions, followed by a few strokes of erasers as we got to know each other, and slowly our friendship sketch took shape in that decrepit house. Sheet after sheet, our sketches brought us together, his energy was indomitable.

"Hey, will you ever be an artist?" he asked.

It was the first time I was asked the question without disdain. No implication, no 'but think of something else.'

"I don't know," I replied.

That was a lie.

I knew.

I wanted to be, but I didn't dare to dream about it.

"I think you should try; you've got cute pigtails like artists," he said.

"Do all artists have pigtails?" I asked.

"They have quirky hair, my mom says so."

I paused, releasing my marker.

"In that case, my dad can never be one," I admitted sadly.

"Why?" John asked, curious.

"He's bald."

He handed me his favorite marker and resumed his coloring.

"Oh, that's sad for him," he sighed.

"At least he can look like Mr. Clean."

"Is he cool?" he asked.

"...not really," I replied.

"Mine isn't cool either," he said.

"Oh yeah?" I asked.

"When I was born, he left. And now he tries to knock on the door, but my mom won't let him."

"What do you do then?" I asked.

"I threw a bucket of glitter at him," he said.

"Did it work?" I asked.

"Yeah, but now I'm out of glitter for next time," he replied.

"Try charcoal, it stains. Last time, I was covered, and my mom screamed."

"I'll try that," he said.

They were ridiculous sketches, full of stick figures, houses with square windows, and purple-skinned people. But it was our art, our relationship.

_______________________

Slowly, during high school, I found myself gravitating towards the art club, which was slightly larger than Madame McGuire's classes, with a modest increase from one classmate to three. Admittedly, a four-person club crammed into the janitor's closet didn't boast much, but it held a special place in my heart.

Deep down, I harbored a hope that John would join us.

Yet, he opted for the rugby club, and gradually, we drifted apart. While my sketches remained monochrome, his days overflowed with vibrant social interactions.

I felt like a dull canvas, yearning for a splash of color. Meanwhile, he effortlessly embodied a lively watercolor.

Attempts to reconnect faltered. Our conversations in the hallway, the offering of sketchbooks, the inquiry about his artistic pursuits—all met with fleeting gestures, mere nods. In hindsight, I should have recognized my insignificance compared to his bustling world.

Thus, I embarked on a solitary journey from sketches to hues.

It was a daunting, lonely, and unattractive endeavor.

Progress eluded me.

My phone remained silent, notifications reduced to mindless spam, and evenings lingered in the quiet company of my parents.

Weekends became my sanctuary for artistic expression, while weekdays served as a means to evade familial interactions. The cycle persisted.

I found myself trapped in a cycle of sketching, erasing, and doodling, endlessly switching between pencils in a desperate attempt to breathe life into my ideas. Meanwhile, he effortlessly thrived, seamlessly integrated into his vibrant world.

I resented him.

(I resented myself.)

__________________________________

In our second year, Johnny left the rugby club.

No one quite knew why the golden boy, the one so highly touted to future recruiters, would do such a thing, but he did.

That was Johnny now.

No longer the tentative, hesitant charcoal sketch, but a permanent ink drawing.

So, one evening, when I caught sight of his silhouette at the art club, I realized he was back for good.

I didn't know how to take the news.

Embarrassed, I tucked my sketchbook under my arm.

"John," I greeted as I settled in.

"I wanted to apologize, y/n I- I didn't behave well."

"No, no. You've evolved, and that's normal, we can't always stay with the same people."

That's what I kept telling myself.

Adults say stuff like that.

My mom says it when my dad comes home too late, ignoring the scent of perfume on his jacket and the divorce papers in the drawer.

"But still, I missed you. I loved making you laugh and our moments together, and I let all that get to my head."

"...okay," I finally said.

Johnny smiled and handed me a blank page.

"For a fresh start."

"It's your history evaluation, but I appreciate the metaphor."

He apologized and offered another sheet.

That evening, I could finally sketch in peace, with him standing behind me, ink in hand.

Sure, I remained a hesitant pencil, but at least Johnny was there to catch every one of my missed strokes.

Finally back, I felt relieved.

_____________________________

In our final year, something shifted.

Johnny abruptly traded his black ink for bold strokes of red oil paint.

Nothing but red.

His once vibrant gaze darkened, leaving me puzzled by the change.

His aspirations for college faded into whispers, his focus elsewhere, perhaps lost in that obsessive red.

"You're painting a lot in red these days."

"It's my preference."

"Why not... try something else?"

"Are you really the one suggesting that to me?"

I hesitated, unsure of what more to add.

Sure, I remained within the comfortable confines of our village, with pencils, sketches, good grades, the compliant, quiet person, destined for college, but—

I knew.

My life wasn't a venture but a dreary routine.

Yet, why did he feel the need to emphasize it? To dismiss my art like that, to belittle it?

Tears threatened to spill, and I bit down on my lip.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. I—things have changed."

"You said that last time too."

"But it's true, I— I'm enlisting, y/n."

Only later did I discover the passing of his military uncle. That's what had altered everything. Johnny sought to shield others, to mold his painting into a formidable barrier.

"I understand."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Would you prefer I voice my thoughts? About turning young lives into cannon fodder for people seated in diplomatic chairs? It's not wise, John."

"Y/n, it's not—"

"We don't see eye to eye on this, John. And we never will. So, best of luck, I suppose."

"Thank you."

It marked the first time I expressed my opinion without trembling, without yielding, without erasing it.

For once, I had wielded black ink too.

_________________________

Madame McGuire threw a massive party, a couple of years after we graduated. John kept texting me for New Year's, Christmas, and my birthday. I replied, and that was about it. Everything turned cold after he left. Despite the confidence I gained, I struggled to channel it into my drawings, which were buried at the bottom of my drawers beneath my college coursework. I had given up on art.

"Hey, y/n."

Or so I thought. But seeing him standing there, smiling at me, my only thought was to capture him on canvas so I could observe him every day.

"John."

I couldn't finish my sentence before he enveloped me in a hug. His arms had definitely tripled in size, and his hair was styled in a ridiculous egghead cut, a far cry from the mullet he once dreamed of.

"I'm trying to imitate your dad, it seems," he said, referring to his haircut.

"I bet you cried when they shaved it off," I teased.

"Maybe," he grinned.

It was funny; our exchanges seemed fluid again, our pigments blending once more in the waters of friendship.

"Are you... doing okay?"

Awkward.

He had a smile on his face, he hugged me, and yet, I knew the answer.

"I- yeah," he replied uncomfortably.

Maybe not so fluid after all.

"Are you still doing art? I mean, I heard someone from our village got into an art college on a scholarship, and it has to be you."

My smile faded.

No.

In reality, in high school, you were the art prodigy.

One stroke and everyone praised you, one hand movement and everyone was in awe.

But as you grow older, you're not alone anymore. You're not interesting anymore.

You're just an artist among hundreds of others.

I observed him, wanting to lie, to throw pigments in his eyes, to force-feed him acrylics as lies, but—

"No, y/n isn't frivolous, they chose a history degree," my father interjected.

Frivolous.

What burned with desire, with passion for a decade, the thousands of pages in my drawers, of pencils, of hours spent studying, of sleepless nights smiling.

My father summed it up in one word in the harsh reality of the working world.

A sheepish smile appeared on John's face.

"But you loved it," he said.

"Not so much anymore," I lied.

Because how do you admit to cowardly abandoning your only reason for living?

My heart clenched, my eyes avoided his gaze.

John was like me; he knew what art was, what it meant to be an artist.

I felt his hands on my shoulder.

My heart trembled, scared of the passion John could reignite.

"I refuse to believe that," he said.

"John."

"I kept going, you know, I— I still draw."

"Really?"

"In my journal, at least, I draw. If I don't stop, don't you either, y/n, please, promise me."

His promise was there, my feet at the edge of this canvas of friendship.

And without too much thought, I jumped right in.

"Okay."

________________________________

He sent me his sketches whenever he could. Forced to stick with pencil, his art lost its vibrancy. So, I compensated by using colors, paint. Slowly, confidence crept in, only to be shattered by doubt. But every day, I sent him a photo. And whenever he could, he complimented my art. I think that's what made me fall.

My art... it was me.

It was the essence of who I was — the part of me that didn't need words, that I could shape and mold into something beautiful. It wasn't about my body or my face. My art was my soul. So, his compliments, slowly, I took them for more. Our late-night conversations, from opposite ends of the world, I cherished them a bit too much. His laughter, the way he said my name, his hugs, everything was... him. He appreciated my art. So, I thought he appreciated me.

(It's false, I knew he didn't)

"You know, right now I'm in a desert."

"You told me that six months ago, John," I chuckled over the phone.

"In a different one."

"You should have been an archaeologist at this rate."

"I thought about it, you know, but no, I don't want to be chased by a mummy."

"I don't think that's likely, John."

"You haven't seen enough movies, y/n."

"Yes, actually."

A silence stretched.

"I'm getting promoted."

"Good for you," I smiled.

But the silence persisted.

"But I want to specialize first."

"...what do you mean?"

"I... I've always been good at math."

"Yes, but you don't kill people with equations, John."

"Yes."

"No, I don't— oh. Oh."

"I want to try bombs."

"So you're telling me you want to become Einstein at 4 a.m. in a desert over the phone?"

"My mom would have a fit, and I wanted your opinion."

"No, you don't want that, John, and you know it."

He didn't say a word before finally speaking.

"...it's true, I just needed to talk about it."

I was angry. Why tell me? I hated his job, his sacrifice.

"Damn it, human cannon fodder exploding, you—"

I stopped myself. John had made his choice, no matter my arguments. I was his friend.

"Are you happy?"

"Yes. Really."

"Then... go ahead," I murmured, already regretting it.

"Thank you, y/n."

Suddenly, I wanted to shove my sketches down his throat. To convince him. Being a simple soldier meant he remained accessible, but a promotion... A promotion left me alone, surrounded by his sketches of battles and soldiers.

__________________________________

"Sergeant Soap, looking ridiculous," I smiled.

In his uniform, he had just returned from the ceremony. His family couldn't make it, much to his mother's dismay, who had been calling every five minutes to apologize and had asked me for a hundred photos of her son in uniform.

"Soap is cool."

"Soap? Nah."

He grinned, beer in hand in my apartment.

"You must be charming a lot of people in uniform like that," I joked.

"I admit to my little success," he joked back. "But... there's one, at the moment."

"Thomas?"

"How did you know?" he exclaimed, sitting up.

I laughed.

"You send me sketches of him non-stop, it's your trademark, McTavish. You sketch the people you like."

"...in more ways than one," he added with a smirk.

"Ewww!"

He continued his story about Thomas, our laughter fading in my apartment.

Maybe at that moment, I should have remembered that John had never drawn me.

______________________________

In reality, experiencing unrequited love is quite peaceful.

Nothing pulls you in, life just goes on.

Everything feels dull.

And suddenly, you catch sight of your crush and everything changes.

Then everything goes back to normal.

After Thomas, I caught sight of the sketches of Valentine, Ymir, Julio, Shirley.

Their features all blurred together in my mind, their smiles.

Every evening, I observed myself, searching for a resemblance, hoping to attract him, to be captured by his pencil.

But nothing.

So I continued to sketch him without being sketched in return.

And when I finally asked him the question.

"Will you ever draw me, Johnny?"

"I don't think so, it's just to distract myself," he replied in an almost detached tone.

"But you drew Lizzie, didn't you?"

"That's different."

I understood that he would never love me.

_______________________

- You don't talk to John anymore?

I was at my mother's for the weekend.

In truth, I had stopped sending my sketches (my feelings).

John, on the other hand, continued with his (his friendship).

- Not much anymore. The distance makes it hard, you know?

No, it had never been a challenge for us.

- I see. I... you know, I thought he would help you.

- Help me with what?

- Art.

I paused in the kitchen, setting the bowl on the table before turning to her.

- Mom, it's not—

- I know that—I never said anything. I never opposed your father, but seeing you pursue a history doctorate while every evening, I watched your fingertips, gray with charcoal, I can't help but think what a waste it is.

- Dad has nothing to do with this. I needed a legitimate degree, it's not—

- T/p.

Her voice turned cold.

I met her gaze.

- Stop hiding, please. she murmured, tears in her eyes as she hugged me.

I couldn't move.

- Speak up, address the world. I'm sorry for asking you to remain silent for so long. I should have... I should have spoken up, pushed you further. Go ahead.

It was as if a wave suddenly crashed over me.

I collapsed, tears streaming, into her embrace.

- I'm sorry. I whispered.

I didn't know why I was apologizing.

- It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay. she reassured, tears streaming down her face

Tears flowed, my breathing grew ragged, my nose stuffed, my vision blurred. I felt numb. Dissolving into her arms, all I could do was sob.

- I thought I could handle it. I murmured.

Pretend.

Pretend to be happy in a career I don't want.

Pretend to be happy when he doesn't love me.

Pretend to be happy when I'm not there mentally.

_____________________

Three years had flown by.

Sketching was no longer just a step; I dove in without hesitation. It had been tough—financially, socially. I had no connections in the field, retreating back to my parents' home. Rejection after rejection, unpaid internships barely covering my food expenses. Student loans weighed heavily on my shoulders. The other students seemed younger, more talented. But I held onto my diploma, earned through hard work, even if it meant slaving away at a fast-food joint. I kept applying, day in and day out, until one day, I landed a job as an assistant for a small comic book company.

Back in the village for Christmas, I had done the grocery shopping my mother asked for.

"John," I greeted him, having lost touch with him. In fact, I had blocked him. I needed to move forward. So, I sent him a message, asking him not to contact me anymore because I didn't want that friendship anymore. It was pathetic, I know. I was a jerk. But I needed it, strangely.

"You... you look radiant," he remarked.

"Thank you," I replied.

"I... your message, that—"

"I'm sorry. I needed space at that time. I shouldn't have... done that like that," I apologized.

"I see," he said.

"Still... Sergeant?" I asked, noting his mullet.

"Yeah, I... I'm still drawing," he replied.

"I see, that's cool. I... I'm full-time into it now," I admitted.

His eyes widened. "Damn, you made it!"

"I... it's an assistant job for an adult comic, calm down," I clarified.

"Still, you make a living out of it," he pointed out.

"You could say that, yeah," I said with a smile.

"Can I hug you?" he asked.

I couldn't answer before he did. Instantly, I knew I was back to having a crush on him. This man who always loved my stick figures, smiling and loving. His scent was like paint fumes, comforting yet toxic.

"I missed you," he said.

"You too," I admitted, stepping back.

The silence returned. I don't know why I ended up admitting that. I guess I was trying to fill the void. To panic about the silence. So, this confession slipped out stealthily from my lips, hoping to break the silence.

"I loved you, you know," I confessed.

"I knew," he replied.

Damn joke. I bit my lip when I saw him rummaging in his bag. A sketchbook, barely presentable, lay there, the year of our high school was written on it.

"This... I never showed you because we weren't talking during that year, but yeah, you... you were my muse," he explained.

I eagerly opened the sketchbook. And there they were. Sketch after sketch, painting after painting of me. Smiling, in the hallways, in class, angry, sometimes from memory. There was... only me. And John drew people he loved.

"Damn irony, huh. We don't love each other at the same time. It's... sad," I murmured.

"Oh well, you know... art is timeless, right?" he tried to lighten the mood.

I furrowed my brows.

"Tell that to the art restorers who bust their ass on Leonardo da Vinci's paintings," I retorted.

"Y/n, I'm not talking about that," he clarified.

My eyes met his.

"I... I don't know if this is a good idea," I admitted.

"I think it is," he said.

"John, I—"

"I can love hard enough for both of us, give me a chance. Let me draw you again," he pleaded.

"What if... it fails?" I voiced my fear.

"Then it fails, but I'm a pro at bombs, and you're one, so no risk," he said with a wink.

A silence settled.

"...that was horrible flirting," I finally said, breaking the silence.

"It worked, didn't it?" he replied with a smile.

"Okay," I murmured, feeling a glimmer of hope.

And for once, that evening, our two faces appeared at the same time in our sketchbooks.

If you want more : my masterlist

[lovelybeesthings]

Playboy

Theodore nott x reader (3rd person)

Word count: idk (there's really not like enemies to lovers in this one maybe if I do a part 2?)

Warnings: underage drinking? Swearing not that much glass breaking

A/n: hello update on my life my mom is OKAY THANK THE LORD I change fandoms but I’ll still right Coriolanus fics if you send requests!

Summary: I was thinking about that one scene in Euphoria in the 1 ep in season 2 where Fez slashes the bottle into Nate’s head saying happy new years and was like this would make a nice fic (IM SORRY IF THIS IS PURE DOG SHIT)

-

Y/n L/n and Theodore Nott were both famously known in their house Gryffindor and Slytherin each had their reputation Y/n was nice and caring, Sweet a surprise she wasn't in Hufflepuff The thing that made her a Gryffindor was how bold she was and acting before thinking she had sent a lot of females to the hospital wing while Theodore was smart looks slick like a snake and in one word a Playboy doesn't matter what kind of girl she could be seeing someone he didn't give fuck.

Something they both have in common is that they have a feud Theodore has a new girl each week or even days before leaving them heartbroken and Y/n is there to heal it for them but Theo likes seeing how their hearts fall to his empty promises his empty words leaving like a ghost.

Theodore originally dated Y/ns closet friends and when he left her friend brokenhearted it sent her friend into a spiral of depression so bad that the poor girl transferred wizarding schools.

But currently, Y/n has found herself at a house party celebrating new years it had Hufflepuffs, Ravencloths, Slytherins, and Gryffindor.

Y/n had arrived earlier at the party with a few of her friends and she had on a black Minnie skirt paired with a black belt and black boots with a white off-the-shoulder top and access jewelry pretty makeup for the occasion and her (c/n) hair was in curls with the help of her friend.

Y/n took a sip of the beer she held with one hand she laid her head softly on the nearest wall her friends ditched her to go hang out with some Ravencloth boys.

The music was being blasted loudly not being to hear any small talk so she roamed the room seeing a few boys high passing a joint she was able to pinpoint one of the guys Mattheo riddle so that must mean his counter part is close by y/looked around once more spotting Theodore..

Her eyes studied him his dark brown curls his tall build and shoving his tongue down his next victim Y/n was taking her time trying to see who it was then to her horror she knew God she was going to murder him.

The girl was a fifth-year one year below them but that wasn't even the worst part she knew this girl she was a sweet Hufflepuff girl whom she tutored a bit and who she protected against a few Slytherin girls whom She had landed big hits just enough to send them a message and to the hospital wing in return the sweet girl made her baked good for a while month.

Y/n soon snapped back to reality once Theodore Watercolor's eyes met here it was honestly disgusting to seem to stare at her as he French kissed a fifth year her face scrunched up disgusted by his sick act as she finished her drink leaving to go to the kitchen for another bottle maybe something stronger to forget what she saw.

(TIME SKIP BC IDK 😣)

For a while now Y/n has been engaging in a conversation with Pansy she was the only member of Theodore's friend group she could stand and they were talking about Theodore be exact.

“It's truly disgusting I mean I've seen him bring back a lot of girls and it's been disgusting to see to make out with them in the common room but French kissing a fifth year?!”

Pansy says as she takes a big sip of her cup Y/n nods in response to her words “Does he have any fucking bloody lines!” she says scoffing as she drinks her beer.

Blind to her in the corner of the kitchen was the little sweet fifth-year “I'm going to go save the princess” Y/n remarks as Pansy grins letting out a giggle “Truly heroic!” she says clapping as Y/n makes her way into the kitchen looking down in the girl crying knees to her chest.

“Hey there my badger” y/n says as she slides down next to the girl handing her a tissue “You look beautiful tonight” The girl's eyes soften once they meet Y/ns “Hello Again..n” she lets out as she sniffs.

“What happened I saw you with him a couple of minutes ago and now I'm sitting on the kitchen tiles with you,” Y/n says trying to comfort the teary eye girl “As Theodore was kissing me he broke out of the kiss and said he spotted an old friend and I said to go say hi!” she says a small smile her cheeks stained with tears.

“After I while I was getting worried I didn't anyone here..e so I began to look for him,” she says as her voice cracks Y/n sighs “And you found him making out with this old friend right?”

Y/n places an arm I've the girl which makes her scoot closer to Y/ns embrace “You're not the first girl sadly that this has happened to” Y/n sighs as she can feel her blood boil she's going to give Theodore a night to remember for sure.

“I'll be right back just need to go to the bathroom okay?” Y/n says as she brings her beer with gets up as the fifth-year nods.

Y/n makes her way around the party and soon finds Theo he can feel the presence of Y/n behind him and slowly breaks away from his hot make-out session “Bambina leave me be for a few minutes” he says to his hookup.

“But the balls going to drop soon and I wanted you to be my first kiss off the-” she's immediately cut off “Ore” says in a stern matter with a cold state she soon backs up scoffing walking away.

“Sorry about that,” Theodore says as he wipes his mouth with a nearby napkin, and a smirk is printed on his good-looking face.

Y/n arms are crossed over my chest as she smiles stabbing her nails into her arm to try and control her anger “The balls gon a drop soon!” someone shouts his watercolor eye locked into her (e/c) eyes .

“So what did you need to talk about? You finally fell in love with me?” Theodore says cockyness in his tone “God no” Y/n says scoffing as a smile is on her face.

“Last time we were together you said you wanted to kill me,” He says smirking and arching his eyebrow staring at me waiting for a reaction “4, 3, 2,1” everyone shouts as they kiss, drink as Y/n lifts her beer “Yea well, New year playboy” she says as she smashes the glass into his he as knocking him out.

“OMG Y/n JUST KNOCKED OUT THEODORE! Everyone is stunned by the sound and the news.

PART 2??? Idk

[lixzey]

the start of everything

note: starts in 2016, where they are both 14.

1: young half bloods 

2: newbie

3: luke castellan learns a valuable lesson (he gets distracted, most of the time)

4: Annabeth attends a fashion show (and realizes it isn’t for her)

5: capture the flag (and her attention, if possible)

6: strawberry fields, wildflowers, and annoying boys

7: prank wars and unsuspecting victims

8: punishments and prayers

9: luke, the big stupid idiot

10: Oh, I don't know why she's just my type

11: Stay away from me. Don’t look at me. Don’t even breathe the same air as me.

12: I can't believe that I have to put up with your annoying face all year.

13: snowball fight, cabin ten versus cabin eleven

14: the more you hate, the more you love

15: capture the flag: luke led us to victory!

16: smores and chores

17: cheeseburgers and barbies

18: to charm the charmer

19: luke tries forging, gardening, and poetry (failing miserably)

20: pleas, bargains, and bets

21: She doesn’t like surprises. Do you really want another black eye?

becoming friends and more

22: a letter from dear old daddy

23: daddy issues ft mommy issues

24: hide and seek with the harpies

25: your house is haunted

26: somehow, he knew

27: nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter

28: christmas getaways, new york city, and secret glances

29: new years, new beginnings

30: back to camp

31:  sparring, smiles, and sweet talks

32: a field trip to olympus and look alikes

33: my girl

34: moonlight rendezvous

35: steal my girl

36: a picnic and eavesdropping siblings

37: grouchy 

38: she is beauty, she is grace, and she will punch you in the face

39: Maya starts junior year

40: you?

41: popcorn, movies, and slushies 

42: I’m a feminist, obviously. But, I wouldn’t really mind him savin’ me and I know that I’m fine without a man but I think I would like his protection.

43: sweet sixteen

44: with you I'd dance in a storm, in my best dress, fearless

45: hot cocoa, longing glances, and mistletoes

46: wanna bet?

47: school is boring, wanna go somewhere?

48: camp

49: rumor has it

50: the best swordsman at camp and a furious maya williams

51: i’ve never heard silence quite this loud

52: capture the flag: a great way to destress - cabin five, probably

53: thin white lies

54: that brainless idiot

55: jealousy, jealousy

56: patience wearing thin

57: oblivious idiots and chris gets twenty drachmas richer 

58: confrontation drama 

59: You are in love!

60: stupid cupid, stop picking on me!

61: everyone wants him, that was my crime

62: I'm so in love with you and I hope you know

63: give me something that’ll haunt me when you’re not around

64: interventions, stubborn idiots, and annoying siblings

65: somebody to you

66: don’t take it personal, but personally you’d be better with somebody like me

67: i think it’s time i lay my heart out on the line

established relationship: 

68: i once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

69: in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

70: you with the dark curls, you with the watercolor eyes

71: take a look at my girlfriend, she’s the only one i got 

72: to be young and in love in new york city

73: fight so dirty, but you love so sweet.

74: Luke, the lovesick idiot

75: your hand fits in mine like it’s made just for me

76: promises sealed with a kiss under the velvet sky

77: golden apples and worries

78: pain of words

79: quest blues

80: iris messages and nightmares

81: stupid quest, stupid apples, stupid dragon

82: birthday blues and special surprises

83: i fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter

84: darkness inside 

85: christmas traditions

86: i want to wear his initial on a chain ‘round my neck

87: devil in disguise

88: all of the city lights never shine as bright as your eyes

89: i love the way you’re screaming my name

90: valentines day

91: some days, you're the best thing in my life. sometimes when I look at you, i see my wife

92: love languages

93: demigod pick up service

94: across my memory

95: monsters

96: four walls and a roof

97: closets and radios

98: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cookies, and kool aid

99: pent up anger

100: dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you

101: on with the quest

102: Drew

103: all i did is try my best, this the kind of thanks i get? 

104: only an angel, never a god

105: and in the middle of my chaos, there was you

106: touch her and i’ll break your neck

107: if anybody hurts you, i’m going to prison for life

108: legal age, baby!

109: I can't keep my hands to myself. I mean I could, but why would I want to?

110: prom dances and birthday cakes

111: I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

112: big blue house 

113: great to be back

114: peace and quiet

115: orders from the pit

116: makeshift prom

117: Can I have this dance?

118:  handsome, you’re a mansion with a view

119: cockblockers—nope, I mean kids.

120: amorous activities in the armory

121: suspiciously quiet

122: Happy birthday! You can finally get arrested!

123: the winter solstice

124: meddling cocky son of a bitch

125: don’t be suspicious. 

126: nightmares

127: if you’re tired, you can lay your head on my lap

128: lazy day, cuddles, and kisses

129: she looks so perfect

130: until we’re gray and old

131:  just normal days

132: A prophecy

taglist:

@mischiefmoons @lilmaymayy @iliketopgun @pleasingregulus

[exist4me]

Kӧnig x Flower!Shop Owner Reader (part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

cw: Kӧnig being cute, fluff surprise kinky Kӧnig.

Date part 1

Author’s note: I took longer than usual because of uni work. Let me know what you guys think about this.

Kӧnig was being very secretive about your date. He doesn't tell you where or what you're doing. He just lets you know to dress casually and be ready at a certain time. 

You woke up to a good morning text from Kӧnig saying ‘Good morning, Schatz. I hope you've slept well. I'm looking forward to our date today. Be ready at 3. Dress casually. See you soon, love.’

You sighed dreamily. You replied ‘Good morning, teddy. I can’t wait to see you, I'm so excited.’ You were so ecstatic about your date that you started getting ready 5 hours before the time. The flower shop was closed for the day because you couldn't focus. 

You spent about 2 hours trying to figure out your "casual" outfit. You've gone through your entire closet to settle on a short, thigh-length sundress. Your room was a mess but it was worth it. You did bare/minimal makeup and paired your dress with some comfy sandals and a handbag.

Even though you started getting dressed earlier you were ready at exactly 3. You heard the doorbell ring. You answered the door to be greeted by Kӧnig, he was wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. In his hand, he was holding a book.

You smiled brightly, greeting him. "Hi!" Kӧnig returns a small nervous smile at you. "Um, hey. Y-y-you look...stunning. I-i-i brought you this." He hands you the book. You opened it to see it was a watercolor paint book of different flowers, inside there was a bookmark that had flower-pressed in it. "Aww, teddy thank you, you look so handsome." You wrap your arms around his waist hugging him. "I thought maybe we could paint together someday." He nervously scratches the back of his neck.

 "I got something for you too...I don't know if you'd like it but....here." you handed him a wallet-sized picture of you and the teddy bear he gifted you. " I bought a polaroid camera recently so... I thought maybe when you get shipped off to God's know-where and you miss me, you got this to remember me by."

" You look beautiful." He looks at the small picture affectionately, placing it in his wallet. "Come on, let's go on our date.” You guys walk towards  Kӧnig's car, and he opens the door for you like a gentleman.

" The location is a surprise so I bought a blindfold for you. So turn around please." Closing your eyes, his hands are at your waist to turn you around. You can feel Kӧnig's warm breath against your neck leaving goosebumps on your skin. The soft satin blindfold covers your eyes as he ties it behind your head. " Kӧnig, I didn't know you were into this kinky stuff...it's always the quiet ones they say." You giggled, teasing him

Kӧnig firmly held your chin, looking at your face he gently said " You'd be surprised by the things I'm into Schatz." Your jaw drops surprised by his statement, as your face heats up. " Come now, let's go." He takes your hand leading you into the front seat. He gets in and drives off to your date destination.

[daisynik7]

Hello, I hope you've been doing well! When you have the time, could you please write about Nanami with a s/o who's creative and kind of hippiesque? I'm making that a word now haha but this is very much a self insert and I felt comfortable enough to ask you ☺

I've been tapping into my creative side more lately and even experimented with clay for the first time! I typically alternate between writing and sewing, sometimes I doodle. When it comes to clothes and just overall aesthetic - think thrifting, knick knacks, flowly/light fabrics, and things like that. I'm tempted to call it romantic but idk about that lol. Anyway, here's flowers and tea for you 💐🍵💓

p.s.: the idea of making him a bag for his work things 😭

Author’s Note: Hello friend! I’m so sorry this took SO LONG to complete, I know it’s been months since you requested, so I appreciate your patience on this! I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

Nanami wasn’t always reserved and rigid. Growing up and joining the workforce unfortunately led him to this mundane lifestyle, often following the same routines day-by-day, with little-to-no color in his life. He often reminisces about his high school days, when he used to sneak off from class to listen to punk rock music with his best friend Yu Haibara, who always used to radiate bright energy, enough to warm even Nanami. When his friend passed away, it seemed that the void he left would never be filled again.

That is, until he meets you. 

You are vastly different from Nanami, but that’s what he loves so much about you. Where he lacks in creativity, you do more to cover the both of you. Most of your décor and accessories are homemade, crafted from your very own hands. The pieces displayed on the walls of your shared apartment are all original artworks. Watercolors, acrylics, charcoal, pen and ink. You like to experience with different medias, creating a variety of scenes, depending on an image that captivates you that day. Flowers you see on your daily walks to the park, a golden sunset you watch together on the beach, Nanami sitting on the couch resting his eyes after a long week at work. It’s simple in the grand scheme of things, but when it’s captured forever on canvas or paper, it becomes something special. 

It takes a while for Nanami to get used to being the main focus in your artwork. He’s never liked standing out. When you show him one of your first sketches of him just standing in the kitchen, he’s surprised. Not only at your talent, but at how accurately you were able to portray his personality with a couple strokes of your pencil. That’s when he knows he should appreciate this for all that it’s worth.

His outfits soon become accessorized by your crafts. A knitted red scarf he uses when it’s cold out, with a beanie to match. Sewn mittens for his hands, keeping him warm throughout the train ride to work. He even replaces his briefcase with the bag you crochet for him, insisting that it’s perfect for all his belongings, even if there are a few places on it where his papers stick out. He gets used to the little trinkets and figurines you collect from various flea markets or thrift shops. Half the closet is his muted natural colors while yours is a rainbow that brings him joy every morning he has to get dressed for work. 

Nanami absolutely loves how much of you bleeds into him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. His daily routine now sparks with something special, all thanks to you.  

[cassicpei4]

 ↺⟳  CARGANDO GRÁFICOS                           user: @𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐈𝟒                                             📁 ↳ CÓDIGO #8212: PLAYERS PROTECTION PROGRAM.

[asherbakugou]

Mirror - We are born of love; love is our mother

Morro had always believed – or rather, he'd thought he'd known – that he'd been abandoned by his parents, but he'd pushed that aside in his need for survival. And then Sensei Wu had found him and things had changed for a short while. He'd had a home, where his belly was always full, a room that was all his own, and a closet of clothes just for him.

But he'd been abandoned – no, that wasn't right, he'd abandoned Wu, in his pursuit to be the Green Ninja, but he'd thought it an indisputible fact. His parents, or maybe just one, had abandoned him in the streets of Jamanakai Village. And now . . .

When Morro had first looked at that picture, it hadn't seemed all that special, but when he had looked closer to see the Master of Wind . . . She had looked nothing like he imagined, all things considered. When he'd imagined the previous Masters of Wind, they hadn't looked so . . . kind, or gentle. They'd always looked mean, or stone-faced, in his imagination.

Eteri – his mother, the one he'd thought had abandoned him – had looked so kind, more like Lloyd with his bleeding heart, rather than Morro. Rather, he looked more like Aryan, the Master of Smoke, with his downturned brow, and sharp, angular features.

He couldn't take it, so he fled, but he only found himself in a wing of the Monastery that had more drawings of the previous Elemental Alliance. Not all were of them in their GI's, and he found hinself staring at one in particular.

Eteri was sitting against a cherry blossom tree, cradling a baby in her arms, looking down with a smile and adoration in her eyes. The picture was done in watercolor, and he wondered what his mother would have looked like in real life.

Her hair was the same inky black as his, with pale green streaks the color of jade – which were darker than his own emerald streaks –, falling around her face in slight waves. Her eyes were grey – no, green or . . . They looked like river stones covered in dark green moss, so different from his green-black eyes of rotting undergrowth.

Her skin was a beautiful shade of light brown with a reddish undertone the near opposite of his own sickly white pallor. In all, he didn't think he looked anything like her and his heart burned as if he was being dragged beneath the waves of Stiix again.

Biting his lip in his efforts to keep himself from crying, he didn't notice the blood beading or Garmadon coming around the bend. Morro's entire body tensed when the man came to stand at his side, looking at the picture with an exhaustion and an ache.

"You look so much like her, I am surprised I did not realize who you were sooner," Garmadon admitted, seemingly not noticing how his words – those simple words – had Morro's lungs freezing.

"I think you've gone blind!" Morro snarled, forcing hinself to speak past the lump in his throat. "I don't look anything like her!"

Garmadon turned to look at him, dark brown eyes glinting with a dark red sheen that seemed more threatening than ever, "I fought alongside Eteri for nearly 23 years, spent more time than I can remember training with her or simply spending time in her company. You look very similar to Eteri."

Morro drew himself up . . . to what? Yell and scream? When had had that helped? When had it become so much harder to be angry?

"How? How do I look like her?"

"Your eyes are the same," Garmadon began, smiling slightly at the sneer he recieved. "I do not mean color. Eteri was the gentlest of us all, until she was pushed and then all bets were off. You could always see every emotion going through her mind in her eyes, just as I can with you."

Morro reeled back, confused, before he remembered all the times Lloyd would stare into his eyes and then, he would either push harder or back off, as if he knew which one he needed.

"You are taller than she was, but otherwise you could be siblings. I have no doubt in my mind that she's smacking Aryan around for making her son so tall," Garmadon laughed to himself.

"What happened?"

That took the mirth out of Garmadon.

"The Emporer sent an army, and we attacked to keep them away from the Monastery but we didn't realize it was a trap. He had some of his soldiers sneak into the Monastery in the hopes of taking away the two babies that lay within. You and Lily. They only succeeded in taking you, and for that they suffered."

"Never had I seen Eteri so angry. Jiang was as well. Together they summonded a storm so powerful that no soldier from his army survived that day. The rivers were dies red for days from the massacre but we succeeded in weakening the Emporer. Over half of his force had been apart of that army and we began to prevail."

"Aryan and Eteri worked tirelessly to find you . . . And that was their downfall. I do not know all the details, but I know they were outmatched and exhausted but they won. It came at the cost of their lives. When we found them, Aryan – Aryan was already gone, and Eteri begged Keahi to find you, for her."

"He died searching for you."

Morro frowned as the image of red, bloodstained and cracked armor flashed in his memories. "He– Did he wear a necklace with a jade amulet?"

"Yes. How did you–"

"He got me to Jamanakai but he died from his injuries," Morro said, giving a bitter laugh. "I thought he was just someone I'd dreamed of but . . ."

"Keahi was your godfather, and he loved you as his own."

"Yeah, lot of good that did him." Once again, Morro stalked off.

Instead of wandering in the Monastery, he left, unable to be in this place that had once hosted his parents, his family.

[pierrotsmoon]

Love (and Logic)

Chapter 1- Temple of Love

(crossposted from my Ao3)

Going to Miskatonic as an art student is tough enough; the pretentious boy in Y/N's anatomy course is somehow making it worse.

A/N: I researched bone structure for this, any skeletal enthusiasts feel free to make corrections. Also character's thoughts will be italicized.

Herbert West x Fem! Reader

Warnings!- Enemies to lovers, harrasment, dr. Hill being creepy, first day of classes, budding friendships, DAN AND HERB RESPECT WOMEN!!! tell me if I missed anything!

Going to Miskatonic as an art student was what Y/N had wanted for her entire life. The prestigious institution allowed her a full-ride scholarship, probably because they needed more fine arts students to keep getting grant money. Best not to dwell on negatives! As Y/N opened up her backpack, she shoved in her sketchbook, textbook, pencil case, and field watercolor kit. Swinging the pack over her back, she broke open her apartment door and sauntered out.

Y/N opened up the pink class schedule she had written, anatomy, wonderful. The medical students at Miskatonic seemed good at first, but tended to look down upon the arts, especially during classes often shared by both majors. As soon as she walked through the door, the eyes of the few students inside turned to her. The instructor came up to her.

"Good morning. I’m Doctor Carl Hill, and I'm pleased to meet you."

The doctor smiled at her, and Y/N felt a chill climb up her spine. This man did not leave a good taste in her mouth, and she didn't like how he placed his hand on her shoulder. She quickly found a seat next to a young man who was glaring at the doctor.

“He’s such a creep around girls.”

The man whispered to himself loudly enough for only them to hear. Y/N looked down at her watch; it was 20 minutes until class  started. The brunette in scrubs turned around to look at the young woman, giving her a (far less creepy) smile. He wore gloves on his hands and appeared frazzled, with messy hair and untied shoelaces. 

"My name is Dan, and I'm a medical student; what are you studying?"

Dan gave her a boyish smile, and the young woman smiled back. 

“I’m Y/N, I study visual and fine arts.”

The boy looked momentarily amazed, like he had stars in his eyes. He looked at her casual clothing, sweater, a skirt, and Mary Janes—and he knew he had finally found a friend in his least favorite class. The two of them began making small talk as the sound of footsteps broke the conversation.

“Good morning doctor, is the skull functions quiz today?”

The professor visibly tensed.

“Dr. West, a pleasure as always.”

Y/N turned her head around to meet the eyes of a scrutinizing figure, almost glaring at her with lips that slowly sunk into a frown. 

She immediately looked away, annoyed by his insistence on looking at her like she was Satan.

“Is she even in proper scrubs?”

The eyes of the entire room, which was now rather packed, turned to Y/N. She looked back at him with fire in her eyes.

“I’m just a spectator from the arts department, I hope that doesn't bother you too much.” 

He gave off this perturbed hmph before sitting down in the only chair left, right between Y/N and Dan.

“Come on, Herbert, she’s nice!”

Herbert pointedly turned his head away from his roommate’s incessant whining. He didn't need to become friends with art students. What would they ever do for him? The girl would just be another squeamish failure; why should he tolerate that? He turned forward to see the skeleton model come out of the industrial closet, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl rapidly flip to a clean page in her sketchbook. ‘So unprepared.’ Herbert was aware that the few art students in the class would leave after this semester, when the lessons on bone structure and anatomy concluded. He'll be glad that his routine will be back to normal.

“Does the femur support more than the leg bones and knees?”

Herbert looked to his side again, polished shoes tapping impatiently on the white linoleum. ‘ Why was she asking such easy and insufferable questions?’ 

The professor animatedly stepped closer, leaning over her shoulder and answering intently. Herbert sighed ‘a plagiarist and a creep.’ He was getting ready to go back to his own clipboard, until he saw the professor's hands begin to get closer and closer to her hip, horror filling her already scared eyes.

“Professor! Could you assess these notes on the pelvic joints?”

It disgusted Herbert to see how he looked genuinely disappointed at the prospect of not getting to harass a young woman who looked close to tears. Dan noticed the spectacle, looking around one more time to see that everyone else was focused on their work. He gave Herbert a pointed glance, a non-verbal good job.

   ★

The students all gave their half attention to the professor when he opened up a filing cabinet, grabbing a manila folder and opening it. He handed out a copy to each student. 

“Alright then! A new semester with new students allows for another project. Since our new students hail from the arts sector, I’ve planned an art project for the class.”

‘Oh God, why?’ Herbert was well aware that he didn't have a good reputation with Dr. Hill, but failing a project would result in a significant drop in his grade; after all, art had never been his strong suit.

Dr. Hill began listing off all of the pairings, most of whom were rather excited to get to know one another.

“ And Y/N with Herbert.”

The two young adults turned around and stared at one another, shortly before Dan broke the silence.

“Just make sure you two keep it quiet.”

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

the future chapters are gonna be better

[dear-ex-person]

Dear Ex-friend,

If I'm being completely honest I don't remember most of our time together, but I do remember that you were a jerk to me and my little brother.

You were the one who came over every day, but when I came over to your house for the third time that week you asked if I was using you for your trampoline.

You tried to make me and my brother think the sun was smaller than the earth, then tried to prove it by saying you dad was an astronaut.

You convinced Liz to pretend to have kissed my crush. (It might've been her idea I don't know)

And then the breaking point.

The reason we aren't friends anymore.

It was small but everything was building up to it,

The watercolor.

You got watercolor all over my closet door and refused to admit you did it for half of the argument, then when you did you were acting like it wasn't a big deal, it probably wasn't in your eyes, but in my eyes it was huge in my eyes.

Even after I made it clear we weren't friends anymore you tried to get Liz to convince me to hang out with you again, and I'm glad it didn't work.

You are probably a nicer person now, i hope you are doing well, but if i could go back in time and change anything it would be to never go to the park that day.

I saw you at the park a last week, that's what started me digging into these thoughts and then a few days ago I saw you riding your bike and then had a meltdown,

I truly hope you are doing well, but I don't want to talk to you ever again

.

[lost-technology]

Wired A very old, massive acrylic painting on watercolor paper that I did ages ago. Based mainly on the '98 anime, although I may have had some manga-reference. I think I did it in like, 2008? Somewhere around then. It's supposed to be Rem doing ship-repairs. [IMG ID: A young, pale-complexioned woman with long black hair and brown eyes and wearing a teal and white space-suit with gold trim sits on a metallic platform surrounded by computer parts and pipes. There is a rusty "42" on a background panel and a tiny white mouse in the corner. There are insulated wires and cables everywhere. /END IMG ID] I remember scanning this in pieces and having to meld the sections. The actual piece is huge and is in a glass frame stuck in my closet because I don't have a place to hang it.

[almalinked]

Profiles - AlmaLinked OCs - Pt.1

Raymundo Ortiz - ♥️🐇 Reluctant(?) Protagonist

"If you hit a bat with a broom, it's obvious it'll turn into your classmate in a poof of smoke. Dead in your living room. Yup. I've finally gone insane!"

A university art student who left home to study under a scholarship. As he works day shifts at a café, most of his classes are during the night: his classmates are…unique.  Turns out most humans aren’t supposed to see—or even be drawn to—the night class offers, yet he remains oblivious of this fact for months. Perhaps, this started from the moment he got that scholarship... Raymundo’s passionate and emotionally driven, owner of a fiery temperament and an intimidating glare that often keeps people away. Old habits die hard and he’s too used to being on the defensive to save himself pain, but even so his heart constantly peeks out his sleeve (literally, if you count the birthmark on his wrist).  If you talk to him for more than a couple minutes, you’d find a friendly guy who’s just too worried and overly conscious about being judged by others. His closest friends, Marina and Niko, are all the way back home and while Ray tells himself he can well survive as a loner, he longs to connect to others. Now, if his classmate Angelo would stop being a jerk, they might even become friends…?

Age: 20/21 years old Pronouns: he/him Languages: Spanish (native), English (second) Occupation: art college student, cafe barista/waiter Family: -Dad (died in an accident) -Mom, Stepmom -Grandma -Younger sister, Rosario (17 y/o) -Two older siblings -Back home, they have a rabbit (Canela), a couple fishes, a dog (Batata) Likes: art (drawing, painting, sculpting he manages different mediums); rock/metal music, pop occasionally; bunnies, cute things in general; running, exercise Dislikes: pineapple on pizza; horror movies; feeling lonely; pointless violence; awkward silences/completely silent rooms Appearance: -Short brown hair, longer bangs at the sides which he usually braids (the tips are dyed orange); when drawing or working, he pushes it back with a bandana so it's not in the way -1,65 cm tall, strong torso and arms, balanced build -Has freckles across his cheeks, shoulders and back; dark green eyes; hands often have smudges (pencil, oil, paint), skin is a bit rough, faint scarring around knuckles and one more notable starting between his index and middle finger and ending before his wrist -Has a 'birthmark' on his right wrist curiously shaped like a heart ♥ -Wears earrings and piercings on both ears -Day to day he wears comfortable shirts and jeans or overalls; has a set of overalls specifically for when he paints that have accumulated plenty of oil, watercolor, carbon etc smudges. Back in high school, he used to dress mostly in black, and while these days he's incorporated color, he still enjoys a bit of goth/emo fashion (he'll usually wear those clothes for band concerts). Misc: -Bi, demisexual; has limited romantic experience. -Wears socks with cute patterns (paws, animals, etc) -Doesn't handle horror well--back home, Marina would make him and Niko watch horror movies all the time but he never warmed up to them. He prefers to watch comedy or tear jerkers. Despite how he tries to appear, he's a big sentimental guy. -Focuses better with music in the background -He's a scrappy fighter, with a bit of technique he picked up for self defense. He WILL fight back if provoked.

Angelo Valentini - ♠️🃏 Self Proclaimed Cryptid

"I'm not dead, you fool. Now, could you take me out of this closet? It's quite cramped..."

(Do vampires count as cryptids? Angelo would say that yes). He's Ray's classmate in some of his classes, and assistant to the head of university; one of the few people who gets to see them in person. His main interest lies in fashion but he enjoys studying a large range of subjects to make up for lost time (and now he has immortality worth of it). No one knows where he goes during the day, or where he lives, or really—much about him.  He’s a man with past regrets, and a future he doesn’t knows what to do with. Upon a first impression, Angelo appears as someone of few words, serious and distant; he’s blunt and to the point and this often causes him to come off as rude (sometimes on purpose, sometimes not, but he doesn’t usually care). Logical and calculating, he leaves little room for emotion. It all betrays a secret playful side, and a softer, caring personality reserved for a select few. At first, he and Ray don’t see eye to eye and clash often. But with time, some snacks, close encounters with vampires—and one Christmas where Ray hit him with a broom, they start to become friends. He's also Danielle's ex. But that is a far longer story.

Age: 22/23 at time of turning; as a vampire, ? Pronouns: he/him Languages: Italian (Native), English (Second), some Spanish and a little French Occupation: student; assistant in university (bookkeeper, helps manage the library, various duties). Family (as human): -Mother (died of sickness when he was 14; she was a nurse) -Biological Father (unknown status, didn’t meet him→someone his mother had an affair with) -Step Father (in name only, never liked Angelo) -Younger sister, Luchia (the person he did everything for while alive) Likes: fashion, fashion history, making clothes; languages; fruits, pineapple on pizza; mystery and suspense, undiscovered things, cryptids, legends and myths Dislikes: pushy/meddling people; romcoms; asking for help Appearance: -Long, pale hair, often loose or braid or ponytail. -Long lashes, slender hands; naturally slender body but a little too thin at times due to lack of eating; in the past, his hands would have scattered bandages or bandaids from manual work/lack of care and resources for it. Having become a vampire, his complexion actually got better in some aspects (wounds heal faster) but if you take a close look, his body retains the memory of his habits as a human (and he still sucks at taking care of himself). -Tallish, around 1,70cm, long legs -Day to day, he usually wears dress pants, shirt and vest (no tie, but sometimes a cravat), which makes him stand out amidst more casually dressed students (Ray joked once he dressed LIKE a vampire). He enjoys a wide range of fashion, though, particularly long elegant dresses (one of his favorite pieces to make, as well). -As a human (disguise or past self),aquamarine/emerald green eyes, otherwise red; large bat ears/fangs/etc. -In bat mode, he’s an albino fruit bat. Misc: -Gay, demiromantic; he's slept with multiple people across his mortal and immortal life, but only loved one (so far). If not for him, he may not have become a vampire... -Back in the day, he learned to sew and often crafted clothes for himself or his sister due to lack of money. However he quite enjoys it. -Knowledgeable in Gambling/Cardgames: he learned many games and gambling techniques to make money. -Cryptid hunter: the truth is out there...

[r-chaics]

#𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁

who: any / volunteers / workers / kid’s parents etc ! ( assume connections )  where: hopeful light art shack when: after may 17th

wrapping up one of his free art classes, aang meticulously packs up his supplies. though "art class" was a generous term; there was no structured instruction for the children during his volunteering. he knows he's nothing but a glorified babysitter, and while he loves art he recognizes he is in no position to teach about it. in fact, his classes embraced the opposite philosophy. he often reiterated his personal mantras to the kids, “draw what you love! paint how you feel! scribble what doesn’t make sense to you!” consequently, the back wall was adorned with a vibrant menagerie of gifts they had made him, each piece drying and awaiting its place on the bulletin boards outside. like leaves on a fall branch, they swayed in disharmony on a fishing line of twine and whatever other resources the shack had.

he turns his attention to a box of watercolors and paint tubes, methodically sorting them by color to be stored in the closet. his mind begins to drift to taka and the pets, who would soon need his attention. perhaps he should hurry to surprise them with gifts on his way home?

however, a particular painting catches a stranger's eye—a more haunting piece that demands both of their focus. walking up to them, his footsteps reverberate through the little art shelter. irises glue themselves to the black and brown scotches on canvas paper. it’s a portrait inspired by a recent news report, depicting a creature with bat-like wings. aang bites his lip as he speaks about the painting. “scary, isn’t it?” a frown tugs at his lips. “a lot of detail, but kind of sad that they picked, you know… that subject.” he hesitates to name the creature, fearing that uttering it aloud might summon it, or worse, threaten his family back in winter wood. after a moment of silence, he asks, “do you think they’re real? or just figments of our imaginations?”