#Completed fic

[feyhunter78]

The Dreadful Need in the Devotee Masterlist - Completed

Summary - During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival, a thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together.

Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion has decided you need a sworn sword.

I’ve messed with canon and aged everyone up, so we start our story off with y/n being fifteen and Jon being sixteen, then go from there!

Ch 1: The Little Lion Ch 2: The Bastard Son Ch 3: Cyvassse Ch 4: Greensight Ch 5: The Tourney of the Hand Ch 6: The Chamber of the Little Lion Ch 7: Within Lannister Grasp Ch 8: Secrets Revealed Ch 9: Enter Stage Left: House Tyrell🔥 Ch 10: Aftermath Ch 11: Roseroad Ch 12: Weirwood Ch 13: The Queen's Nameday Ch 14: The Son of the Morning Ch 15: Duality of a Lioness Ch 16: The Young Wolf Ch 17: Northern War Camp Ch 18: The Fall of the Lannisters Ch 19: Post War Revelry Ch 20: The Lion and the Star🔥 Ch 21: As Time Unfurls🔥

[mikhardwheat]

I heard that's what young people like nowadays.

Pairing: Maxley (Max Goof/Bradley Uppercrust III)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Summary: Max says all the wrong things, and still gets the man.

Or, alternatively:

Bradley is bad at feelings, but Max somehow is even worse.

Status: Completed. 10k words, 3 chapters.

[rayan12sworld]

💚Once there was a Fox

By:TriviasFolly

Summary:

In a world where magic is in decline, huli jing Wei Wuxian's sole goal is repaying debt his family owes the Jiangs. Something he’d failed at so far. At least this time he can blame the Emperor himself.

Lan Tradition holds that Emperors cannot publicly appear until they’ve found their mate, so a kingdom wide search is held. And Wei Wuxian qualifies to be a candidate! Locked in the palace, Wei Wuxian must find a way to get kicked out before his one night with the Emperor. Something that would be easier if it wasn’t for the Captain of the Guard Lan Zhan foiling his every move.

Chapter:8/8

Words:85,390

Status:completed

Author's tumbr: @triviasfolly

[imbecamiel]

“Huh. Just when I thought this family couldn't get any weirder.” She shook her head. “I mean, good for you, but also I'm sorry? If I'd known I would've brought you a teething ring or something for a get-well present.” “Steph…” Tim sounded pained. “Yeah, Steph, be nice to Jason,” Dick said, most of his attention still on his phone. “Teething makes him grumpy. You know how it is.”

Or: After the Pit, Jason can re-grow teeth. Sometimes this comes in handy. Doesn't mean it's pleasant.

[itsphantasmagoria]

The final art for Follies, the school founders! I loved doing this one, look how cute they all are 😭

(read all of follies here!)

[reylo4ever2020]

It's finished!!!!

[perseidlion]

A Gift From Death - A Dead Boy Detectives Payneland Christmas Short

Every ghost in the world received a gift from Death of the Endless once a year. Most didn’t know who was responsible, and few would ever guess it came from her. The timing varied, but it was almost always associated with the most special time of the year for any particular ghost. 

For Charles and Edwin, it was the early hours of Christmas morning. Not for any religious reasons, but for the magic that surrounded the holiday and the way the whole of London was decked out in its festive best. 

They had found out about the gift by accident in the third year of the Agency. Since then, they’d developed a Christmas Eve routine as the minutes ticked closer to midnight. 

“Come on, mate! Get the tree plugged in. It’s almost time!” said Charles as he finished pouring rich, decadent hot chocolate into a pair of Christmas mugs. His had a jolly elf while Edwin’s had a 3D relief of a Christmas tree with stacked presents for a handle. They’d received them in payment for The Case of the Haunted Ceramic Frog during December of ‘91 and had been using them for their Christmas ritual ever since. 

Edwin dug around underneath the tree for the plug for the lights. He pushed it into the socket, but nothing happened. “Bollocks. What is it now?”

“Must be a dead light somewhere in the strand,” said Charles. 

They’d found a box of Christmas decorations when they set up the office. The strand of lights were easily from the 70s, if not older - which meant they were the sort where if a single bulb was burnt out, none of them would work. 

“I hate to say it, Charles. But I don’t think we’re going to have lights this year,” said Edwin with a sigh as he examined the tree with his hands perched on his hips.

“Hold on…” said Charles as he squinted at the fresh-cut tree decorated with ornaments they’d received as payment for cases over the years. It was an eclectic collection of handmade and artisanal ornaments mixed in with a box of glass orbs in blue and red that had been in the box with the lights. “I think I see a missing one up near the top.”

“How the devil did you spot that?” asked Edwin as he squinted at the tree. 

“I’ve got sharp eyes, don’t I?” said Charles with that charming, thousand-watt smile of his. Then he clapped and darted over to the cardboard box with ‘XMAS STUFF’ written on the side in Charles’ terrible handwriting.

While Charles searched for a box of spare bulbs, Edwin pulled over a footstool. 

“Hurry along! It’s nearly midnight,” said Edwin as he stepped up onto the stool. He took hold of the strand with one hand while he held the other out and down expectantly.

Charles found a small, nearly disintegrated plastic bag and then dug out a spare red bulb. He pressed the bulb into Edwin’s waiting hand. 

With a neat little flourish, Edwin lifted his hand and  twisted the bulb into the empty socket. The moment he did, all the lights flickered on and the tree lit up with the warm glow of multicoloured Christmas lights. The brilliant greens, golds, reds and blues bounced off their collection of ornaments and made each one sparkle. 

At that moment, the antique clock in the corner chimed to mark midnight. With each strike, Edwin and Charles gained new sensation.

With the first strike, they could suddenly smell the sharp scent of the pine Christmas tree.

With the second, they could feel heat radiating from the woodstove in the corner that was stoked for the occasion. 

The third brought breath to their lungs. The fourth, beating hearts in their chests. With each chime of the clock, they got closer to life until they were fully human once again.

Edwin was so distracted by life returning to his spectral form that he missed the sound of groaning wood. The stepstool which had no issue supporting a ghostly form couldn’t handle the weight of a living being. The leg gave way and he found himself toppling toward the floor with a very undignified squeak. 

Somehow, Charles managed to catch him before he hit the floor and gently guided him back to his feet. “Easy, easy! You all right?” On impulse, he reached up to touch Edwin’s cheek.

“I’m…I’m fine,” Edwin stammered.

They touched a dozen times a day in all sorts of casual ways. Or rather, Charles touched Edwin and Edwin allowed it. But something about this touch was different, and not just because he could feel the heat of his hand on his face.

Charles too, felt something shift in that moment. He held Edwin’s weight for a moment longer, then helped him regain his footing. He lingered close, gripping forearm to forearm with one hand, the other still touching his cheek. He stared into Edwin’s eyes and squeezed gently, caressing the muscle of his arm beneath the cotton shirt. His stomach tightened with nerves and anticipation and he felt his cheeks flush. 

Something that had begun with Edwin’s confessions on the steps of Hell had been lingering in the background of their relationship - unspoken and unremarked upon, but building like an ember on a bed of dry kindle. Nothing had changed on the surface, but with each passing day, and with each glance and casual touch, something shifted in Charles. 

Edwin returned the forearm grip and stared at Charles with his eyes wide and hopeful. With each moment they stood in silence, their brief time as corporeal beings drifted away. Their hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies sat nearby, steam rising from the mugs, adding a sweet tinge to the spruce and crackling fire in the air. 

Edwin closed his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of nuzzling Charles’ hand. He knew at any moment, he would withdraw the touch. 

Or so he thought.

Instead, Charles felt a revelation wash over him. He kept hold of Edwin’s arm and shifted closer until there was barely any air between them. He swallowed down the nerves in his stomach, then slid the hand from his forearm to loop around his waist. He splayed his hand across the small of his back beneath his blazer, tracing fingers over the knit of his sweater vest. He breathed in deep with his mouth slightly open. 

Edwin’s eyelids fluttered and his knees went weak, but the hand on his back kept him steady. He turned his face further against his hand and bumped his nose against his palm. Then he risked pressing the tiniest of kisses to the pulse point of his wrist.

That was all it took for Charles to find a well of courage he didn’t know he had. He leaned in and intercepted Edwin before he could kiss his wrist again. The first proper kiss was a gentle thing - a testing peck. But once he had a taste of Edwin’s lips in full sensory glory, he immediately craved more. He pecked him twice more, then leaned in for a proper, deep, romantic kiss.

Edwin clung to Charles for dear life as what he’d wished for for decades finally came to pass. In between the gentle pecks, he let out a shuddering sigh - a whimper and a sound of surprise in one. When the full kiss came, he leaned into it fully. A pair of tears slipped down his cheeks, tracing cool rivulets down his neck until they soaked into the collar of his shirt. He gripped the sides of Charles’ jacket with white-knuckled intensity and leaned his weight against him.

Charles and Edwin kissed each other sweetly and with unlocked longing as the minutes ticked on. Their bodies grew warmer and the lights of the Christmas tree danced off their skin and reflected in their eyes. 

But Death’s gift was fleeting. At five minutes past midnight, the sensations started to slide away like the dimming of a candle. At first, they lost the scent of the tree, then the warmth of the fire. The last to go was the warmth of each others’ bodies and the gentle moisture of their lips. 

Even as the numbness of a ghost’s existence settled back in, they continued to hold one another just as tightly. Slowly, they lifted off the floor until they floated midair in front of the Christmas tree. They rotated around in a stepless dance, drifting in a slow circle as they remained intertwined. 

“I…think I was waiting for tonight to do that,” said Charles after a long, long moment with no sound but the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of London traffic. “Not consciously, but…maybe I just wanted to feel the first time. Properly.” 

Edwin clung to Charles and rested his head against his shoulder. He didn’t care that he could no longer feel the warmth of his body or the thrum of his heartbeat. He knew he was holding him, and that’s what truly mattered. The memory of that kiss would replay in his mind with all the ghost kisses to come.

And there would be many to come.

“Happy Christmas, Charles,” Edwin whispered as if he was afraid speaking too loudly would break the spell of that moment.

“Happy Christmas, Edwin,” Charles replied. Then he kissed him again.

---

If you enjoyed this fic, I would appreciate it if you dropped a kudos and/or a comment on Ao3! I have lots more DBD fic, too.

Merry Christmas!

[tippenfunkaport]

"Hold out your hand," she said, and he did because he always trusted her, even now when everything was unfamiliar and new. She tipped whatever was in her hand into his and pressed his fingers closed around it. "Can you feel it?"  He nodded. Something tingled against his palm, the warmth slightly twitchy, like a living thing. When he glanced down, he saw golden light spilling out from between his fingertips. "What is it?"  Glimmer fit her hand over his, the two of them holding the glow together. "Ask it to do something. Anything."

Gorgeous art by the amazing and talented @dalila-nonsense for the final chapter of Going There called...

✨Glow✨

Read on AO3

[fuzzygoblin]

We All Scream for Ice Cream - 🎆 ✨ Now Complete!

✨ 🎆

Word count: 71271

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 18/18

We've made it to the end; Crowley's final big decision and a glimpse into their future together. Enjoy responsibly. Or irresponsibly, both work just fine in my opinion. 🍨 🍦 ☕

My eternal gratitude to u/ckocek who beta'd this crazy fic and improved my punctuation and laughed along in all the right places and called me out if I missed the mark. And thank you to @goodomensafterdark

[feyhunter78]

Final Chapter - You have wed and the guests have gone, but the Dragon Queen has stayed. Perhaps it is time to visit Dorne.

NSFW content below the cut

The Dragon Queen remains a guest of The Rock, moons after the other attendees have returned home. It is not unpleasant, but you find yourself on edge around her. She has been nothing but polite, kind even but Jon’s words ring in your head. How many times will he be asked to break his oath? How many times can House Lannister change sides until they are no longer trusted? King Stannis was stern yes, and dour, but he was not cruel, not like Joffrey or the stories you heard of the Mad King.

And Jon, gods above Jon distrusts her all the more. For it was her brother that stole his mother away, her father who burned his uncle and grandsire alive. He is polite as well, but avoids her. It is subtle, mostly, though there are times Jon will simply leave a room when Daenerys enters, Ghost trotting behind him. This leaves you torn between staying to make excuses on his behalf, or fleeing as well to soothe Jon’s storm of emotions.

You have yet to see the dragons, yet to hear them, and you are quite sure you would rather it stays that way, the tales you have been regaled with are terrifying enough. Though your father, who had loved dragons since he was a child, swore to you, they were in the vicinity, camped out on an island nearby. They could stay there, their mother could join them, you wanted no part in this, not when you had finally gotten all you desired.

You find Jon hunched over his writing desk, quill in hand, inkwell closed, the parchment blank before him. He has done this many times, and you are never quite sure what or who he is intending to write.

“You know, usually one must first wet the quill before attempting to write.” You say, as you lean against the desk, and remove the inkwell’s stopper.

He sets down his quill and sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk, his head falling back, his neck extended and exposed. “I was not truly going to write anything, I simply…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair.

���I know this has been difficult for you, perhaps we should visit your father in Starfell, put some distance between us and whatever fresh torture is brewing amongst the lords?” You suggest, replacing the stopper and putting away his quill.

Jon grabs your hand and brings it to his lips, his grown-out stubble tickles your skin. “Could we even do that? Would it be right?”

You slide between him and the desk to seat yourself in his lap, looping your arms around his neck. “What is right can be subjective at times.”

He gives you a confused look, his handsome face tanned from his time in the sun, his curls luxurious and scented with oils from Dorne. His broad chest well-fitted in fabrics you purposely did not tell him the price of, because you knew he would refuse to wear them on principle. He has thrived at The Rock, and satisfaction purrs within you at the sight.

“In the eyes of the realm it would not be right, you and I, together before your parentage was revealed, but it was right to us—or at least to me, I know you struggled with the idea.”

Jon’s hands settle on your waist as he listens intently, always so intently.

“If we had done what the realm thought was right, you and I would not be, and I cannot fathom a world where you and I apart is correct. So maybe it is wrong to leave, maybe it is not, all I care about is if I am with you, wrong or right.”

He kisses you gently, a brief fleeting thing, but no less filled with affection than his searing, lingering ones. “We could go, for a while, not too long, just a visit.”

You return the kiss, hands cradling his face, lifting it up towards you. “Not too long, not too short, we shall stay as long as you desire, Husband.”

He hums contentedly, pulling you closer, his lips against yours a slow languid movement, sweet and unhurried, caresses of unspoken affection and whispered promises.

Your head spins when you pull away for air, and Jon’s lips chase after yours, aching to recapture them as his hands begin to ghost over your sides, fingertips counting each inhale and exhale.

“Promise me we will do this in Starfell.” He says, his chest rising and falling as he catches his own breath.

“We shall do this and more if it pleases you.” You promise him, heart skipping a beat when his eyes darken.

A wolfish smile appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Aye, it would.”

Your back is cushioned by a mountain of pillows, all swathed in fabrics of red and orange, a golden stringed tassel caught in your grip as you dig your nails into a nearby pillow, desperately taking in air. “Jon, oh gods—”

He does not respond, his dark curls, his shoulders and strong arms are the only parts of him you can see. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you open and still, unable to squirm away as he devours you. His wondrous mouth on you, his tongue making you see stars, his fingers digging into your skin so tight you know there will be bruises, but you care not.

He nips at your inner thigh before wrapping his lips around your bud, his tongue moving in some nonsensical way that sends a bolt of lightning through you. Sparks of lust flying from your skin, a desperate yearning building within you again.

The sun is still high in the sky, streaming in through the large window, the scent of Orange Blossoms drifting on the breeze, accented voices and hurried footsteps come from below, but you pay no mind, and neither does Jon. His movements are unhurried, indulgent, groans of pleasure vibrating against your folds.

He is bare from the waist up, shoulders and back are marred with nail marks, your nail marks, reddened lines and half-moons. You tangle your free hand in his hair, yanking him impossibly closer, urging him to move faster, to release one of your thighs and coax your second release forward with his skilled fingers.

“So impatient.” He chuckles, lifting his head, his lips shiny with your arousal, as he does just what you desired, two long fingers slipping in with ease, stroking and curling until pleasure seizes you, driving all thought from your mind.

You whine in response, tugging harder on his curls. A flicker of pride going through you at the way Jon’s hips roll against the bed, a groan escaping him.

Jon returns to your core, tip of his tongue tracing shapes and symbols on your bud as his fingers coax you higher and higher. He slips in a third, and your walls clench around him, your breath catching in your throat.

Gods you want him to ravish you, to tear your flimsy Dornish gown from your body and pound into you until there is an imprint of your body in the pillows.

Then you shatter, coming undone into his strong grip, breathless and shaking, as you push up on your elbows to see Jon still desperate. His eyes meeting yours as he ruts against the bed, his head dropping forward, his forehead resting against your thigh, panting heavily as he finishes.

You lay there spent as he joins you on the bed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We have dinner with my father soon.”

“I am sure he does not mind waiting.” You smile, pulling him back in with a leg hooked around his hips.

A cry from the chamber next to yours sends you both sitting up in bed, the night dark, the moon a mere sliver amongst the clouds.

You arise first, wrapping a robe around yourself and trudging sleepily into the nursery. Lyon, your son, with his thick dark curls and vibrant green eyes, is wide awake, kicking up a fuss in his bassinet. Leaning down, you scoop him up, and hold him close to your chest, shushing him gently.

Jon joins you soon, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. “He is surely a lion with a cry like that.”

“I think he is more a wolf with all his howling.” You jest softly, stroking Lyon’s cheek.

He is beautiful, a perfect mixture of you and Jon, born in Starfell, while a third revolt took place in the rest of the kingdoms. Daenerys sat on the throne, your father, her hand. She had sent gifts, your father had come himself with them and dozens of his own gifts, with the contingency that you would receive the rest upon your return home. You would go soon, take your place within The Rock. To ensure your son would be as fine a Lannister as any could be, to begin to seek out an advantageous bride for him, and give him a sibling or three to play with. But for now, the realm could wait.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines, @sharknutz, @idohknow, @bdudette, @pluraldoggo, @legolastheleafyelf, @faerie-film, @wifiatthetrainstation, @duskypinki, @tartine-de-pain, @rebeccawinters, @taylorsfemalerage, @rax-raxus, @certainwonderlandperfection, @nymeriiiia, @burkgolden, @drewsivy

[rayan12sworld]

💙A Longing I Have [Never] Known

By:IamTheLemonLord

Summary:

Since recovering from a mysterious illness, Lan Wangji has felt something missing in his life. In hopes of reclaiming what he has lost, he is sent to travel the Jianghu, aiding those in need. Early in his journey, Lan Wangji crosses paths with the infamous Yiling Laozu. Neither of them knows what to expect from this encounter. For Lan Wangji, it certainly isn’t this mischievous man whose flirtations throw his heart and mind into turmoil. Wei Wuxian is equally confused by his own desire to spend time with someone who seems so indifferent to him. As they both struggle to decipher their growing feelings, Lan Wangji tries to keep his distance while Wei Wuxian refuses to let him… Why does this all seem so familiar?

Chapter:14/14

Words:44,970

Status,part one completed

Lan Wangji’s eyes fell on the ribbon in Wei Wuxian’s hand. Time felt like it stopped for a moment before his shock turned into rage, the glare paralyzing Wei Wuxian. “Let. It. Go,” Lan Wangi struggled to spit out each word, barely holding back his ire, his hands tightening around Wei Wuxian’s forearms. Dumbfounded, Wei Wuxian looked wide-eyed from Lan Wangji’s face to the ribbon in his hands then back again, considering his options. “No.” “WEI YING!”

~~

“Let go.” Lan Wangji repeated, a veiled threat in his tone. “No,” Wei Wuxian said. He felt particularly crazy at that moment. “It’s mine.” Lan Wangji bristled at that. “No, it is not!” “That’s too bad.” Their faces were close now, allowing Wei Wuxian to lift his head enough to press their foreheads together, Lan Wangji’s forehead ribbon between them. “Because I’m not giving it back!” Lan Wangji clenched his jaw at the audacity. Lan Wangji pushed further against his forehead. “You don’t even know its significance!” “Ha! And what gave you that impression?”

~~

Lan Wangji turned to see Wei Wuxian extend his hand out, offering the forehead ribbon. “Here.” Lan Wangji's face remained stoic but it felt like he was scowling. “I thought you said it was yours.” “It is but you need it to save face. We wouldn’t want the other Lans to think you give it away so frivolously. I’ll allow you to borrow it for now.” “How kind of you.” Lan Wangji reached out to take his ribbon only for Wei Wuxian to softly hold his hand. Once he took hold of the fabric, he was forced to drag his hand out of Wei Wuxian’s hold.

~~

He didn’t turn around. “Do you still wish to impress the one you love?” Now it was Wei Wuxian’s turn to be quiet. Finally, he laughed a small laugh. “I will never stop trying to impress him.” Lan Wangji felt tense, his stomach constricted in knots. “But at any point, have I?” Feeling composed enough to face him, he turns, robe in hand. “‘Have you,’ what?” “Impressed you?” Wei Wuxian looked at him head on, his cheeks dusted pink. Lan Wangji stilled, his heart picking up speed, the knots unwinding. He knew his ears were as pink as those cheeks.

He came up to the bed and sat beside Wei Wuxian. “You have. Many times.” Lan Wangji caressed his face and leaned his forehead against Wei Wuxian’s. “You won me over long ago.” The smile he received at that was brighter than the morning sun. “I’ll make sure to keep doing so.”

[imbecamiel]

“He’s dead,” Tim said, blankly. “Look at me.” Jason ducked his head to catch Tim’s eyes. “Hey, look at me. You didn’t kill him. You just shot him. No big deal, right? You’ve injured lots of people. Just part of the job. Doesn’t matter it was with a gun this time. Doesn’t change anything. I’m the one who killed him. You’re fine.”

Now complete with the final chapter. :)

[poolverineficrecs]

This is so good holy shit!! The domesticity of it all urggg i just love it when they are boyfriends

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61788160?view_full_work=true

21k Explicit

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

A Kinley Christmas Carol

buck/tommy | rated: T | complete at 24K | ao3

It's DONE!!!!!!! My BuckTommy Christmas Carol fic is finally complete - right on time for the the holidays. Please enjoy my little gift to the wonderful BuckTommy fandom. You've all been very good this year. ❤️😊😂💚

Summary: The universe has decided that Tommy and Buck need some help finding the right path for themselves and so it sends some help...in the form of a bunch of meddling ghosts. (A Christmas Carol AU)

Chapter One

The shift was dead, to begin with.

The kind of dead where Tommy was ready to stand in the middle of the hangar and scream the Q-word at the top of his lungs. He needed a call, any call, but preferably one that would take them into overtime.

Anything to stop him from having to pack up and leave when the clock struck eight pm.

He shook his head, giving himself a mental kick in the ass.

How pathetic could he be? Wishing for some stranger’s tragedy just so he could avoid going home? They didn’t deserve that. Neither did the rest of his crew who actually had people waiting for them, wanting to celebrate the festive fucking season.

It wasn’t their fault Tommy had screwed up his life so royally that he couldn’t bear to be alone with himself and yet, alone was all he was ever going to be.

[continue reading on ao3]

[howdoyoudefinelying]

Stiles licked his lips and dragged his thumbs over his beard. He wanted to say yes and give him what he wanted, but this wasn’t the place or time. “No,” he said. Derek whined and Stiles watched his face turn impossibly red in embarrassment. His gaze slipped off Stiles’s eyes, focusing instead somewhere on his throat. “But I’m ready.”  Stiles sat on the bed, hands still out and Derek obediently shuffled forward so his jaw was placed again in his palms. “I know you’re ready, that’s great. I love that for you. But I’m not.” 

Last chapter of calling out your name is now published 😳

[shadowsandlint]

The true last chapter of Your Scars on My Pulse has arrived!

Azriel and Eris are faced with the aftermath of betrayal. With Azriel's family close by, what choices will they have to make, and where will it leave them?

It feels incredible to finally have finished this fic, much thanks to my amazing betas @talibunny30 and @pippsmcgee. Now I can move ooon 😭

Head over to ao3 to read the final 6000 words, and then please leave me a nice comment? I've been losing sleep over this. And please also be kind about the pencil drawing used in the header. It's been a while since I've drawn much, and I am fragile.