#I need to draw less intricate things for a while now

[ellidena]

I made a character reference sheet! And some sketches for extra! This is a character design my friend made based on me some years ago, and it is the prettiest thing imaginable.  Link to the original: https://www.tumblr.com/ellidena/165797407623/caffeinechick-made-a-dd-oc-based-on-me-this-is?source=share

[luveline]

I love your KBD universe it is soo adorable!! All the kids are written so cutely! I relate to Avery so much! I was thinking about what if mom is super pregnant and she always wants to be near Steve, like she almost doesn’t even want him out her line of sight. Always wanting to touch him and get kisses from him. Love your blog!!

kisses before dinner ♡ you're pregnant and steve is lovely

There is a silver lining to being eight months pregnant (that isn't the baby at the end) —your husband. 

Steve gets soft. When the physical evidence of your pregnancy becomes unignorable, and then glaringly obvious, he treats you with exceptional care, love and tenderness. You can't get enough of it or him. 

And you're like a lost puppy when he's not near. “Steve,” you say, feeling rather morose about the whole thing, “where are you?” 

“In the kitchen! Do you want something?” 

No, you think, just you. “What are you doing?” 

“Babe, I'm making you and Ave your drinks!” A telltale plink of ice cubes knocking against glass follows. “Don't get up, okay?” 

You squeeze Avery's hand where it's held in yours. “Does he think I'll explode?” 

She giggles, her almond eyes lit with her laughter. “Maybe, mom.” 

“Do you think I'll explode?” 

“No way. You didn't explode before.” 

“‘Xactly.” You'd offer to carry her, or simply scoop her up without asking, but being so pregnant actually does feel like you're going to explode sometimes and you figure it's a bad idea. “Let's go see what he's doing.” 

You and Avery pick over Dove's tea party, abandoned sadly in the middle of the living room, and make your way into the kitchen, which is less hecticly messy but a tad grimy after a long week. Grease clings to the stove top and there's a cherry red stain down the front of the refrigerator. Death of a stolen popsicle. 

Steve sighs when he sees you, too much love around his eyes for any believability when he chides, “You can't sit down. It's impossible.” 

You push yourself back against the counter next to his hip. Avery does the same immediately, giving him a similar look, you're sure. 

He tries to hide his smile with a sip of Avery's too full drink. “Here,” he says when it's at a safer level, “apple juice for you. And ice, princess.” 

“Thank you,” she says, eyes wide as her open palms. She takes it and drinks at it greedily, the sweet taste of concentrated sugar enough to steal her attention. She walks out of the kitchen calling for Beth. “Come have some juice!” 

“That's adorable,” Steve says. 

“You tend to make them that way.” 

He throws an arm against his forehead, slouching beside you, the other wrapping behind your back. “I know. It's exhausting.” 

You spy your youngest under the kitchen table. The girls are fascinated with alcoves and small spaces. If they can fit into a nook, they will, and if they can't, they'll squeeze in anyhow. She breathes through her mouth over a pad of paper with a shard of a crayon in hand, drawing rather intricate things, considering her age. 

“Are those flowers?” you whisper. 

“Think so…” Steve lifts his head high to kiss the top of yours, his arm moving up to your shoulders. He rubs at them like he's trying to relieve a pressure you haven't announced. “You really need to stop getting up all the time. You're at risk–” 

“No, the doctor said if I'm not careful I'd put myself at risk.”

“And what are you doing?” he asks, voice like velvet, smooth and soft as he looks behind your ear. He must see something, petting away a flyaway or a loose strand or something, his touch as tender as his voice. 

You tilt your head away from him. After as long in love with one another as you have been, he knows you're asking for something rather than moving away, and he leans in again to kiss your cheek, rubbing behind your ear all the while. 

“Let's go sit down,” he suggests. 

“In a second.” 

You're terrible lately but it's all his fault. You crave his affection both big and small, all the time, and in every place. You'll be off work any day now and you're sure you'll spend that time soaking him in while he runs ragged trying to get things ready. You've done it before. Steve in the grocery store looking for a hundred different things while you draw stars into the backs of his hand, or trying to fix the baby gate onto the wall while you sit on the stairs making googly eyes at him. 

“My boy,” you say stupidly, wrapping your arms around his neck. Regrettably, he can't continue to dote on you like that, but it prompts him to hug you as close as he can manage. “I love you.” You lay your cheek on his shoulder. “You smell really nice.” 

“I love you too.” Pine, today. Fresh. “I see what's happening.” 

“What's happening?” 

You think he's going to put you down. The baby hormones are making you clingy, he might say, but he doesn't. “You've realised how hot I am. You're late, but I'll forgive you. You know, ‘cos of your predicament.” 

“Thank you,” you say, kissing his neck gently. 

You leave a series of butterfly kisses down the column of his neck before squishing yourself into the curve of it, resting too much weight on him. He takes it all without complaint, hugging you tighter, the distension of your bump a beach ball between you that makes you unfortunately shorter, bending as you are. 

His breath is a pleased sound in your ear, but he doesn't say anything. You hug until you have a strange pain in your neck; he encourages you away from him like he can sense it. 

“You okay?” he asks, thumb under your eye, a millionth sweet touch to add to the mountain. 

“I'm great.” 

“Yeah?” He holds you in place and kisses you. “Love you,” he says, his bottom lip jutting against yours. He kisses you again, and then he pulls away completely, a hand between you both the only tether. “Time to sit down. I'm gonna take your blood pressure.” 

There's no need. If anything, the way he's looking at you might give an inaccurate reading, but you think of the fawning and fretting and the rough of his fingertips digging into the top of your arm and smile, giddy. “‘Kay.” 

“Come on, Dovey, let's go be mommy's doctor,” he calls to Dove. 

In a rather uncharacteristic episode of actually listening, she abandons her crayons and takes his offered hand. He shoots you a quick smirk, as if to say, Yeah, I did that. It's stupid and it makes you laugh, because you couldn't love him much more than this. 

[somanywips]

Silly headcanons I have for Sanji and other strawhats:

Sanji has Terrible handwriting. He writes solely in cursive and he writes as if he has milk on the stove (aka really fucking fast) so his handwriting is almost unreadable. Robin is the only one who can read it, mostly because her own handwriting also fucking sucks.

Nami has the prettiest handwriting you've ever seen, but she writes So Fucking Slow and that's because she draws her letters.

Ussop's favorite art media is actually gouache paint, but he doesn't use them much because the humidity made them basically melt so he mostly uses acrylics and oil paints, as well as pastels.

Everyone has touch related sensory issues, with the exception of Franky. However, most foods just have really icky texture to him, and he didn't manage to fix it when he became a cyborg, but he's always down to work with Sanji to try out new foods so his diet isn't just burgers and cola.

Zoro is, for whatever reason, really good at embroidery. Like, he can make really intricate stuff but usually gets bored halfway through and goes back to training. It comes in handy when he's injured tho!

Sanji has this really really thick North Blue accent (either Spanish or Polish) when he's just woken up and not even because He's originally from the North, but because Zeff is, and Zeff has the heaviest accent in the world. It's kinda funny cause his accent sounds Nothing like the one from Germa (French)

Robin's the one who speaks the most languages out of all the Strawhats, having a good understanding of about 10 different languages and being fluent in other 6. Nami and Sanji tie in second place being fluent in four languages each, English, German, Polish and the common language in OP (aka Japanese) for Nami and French, Spanish (from Spain), Portuguese (from Angola) and the common language for Sanji, Franky's in third with 3 languages (English, Spanish [mexican]) with the other members only knowing 2 (Yoruba for Ussop, Russian for Chopper, Portuguese [Brazilian] for Luffy, Korean for Zoro, German for Brook and Swahili for Jimbe, all of them speak the common Japanese as well).

Zoro helps Nami with the accounting of the ship. They're both scarily good at maths (not even like basic maths, no, they both be doing integrals and shit). Ussop and Franky are also very good at it, but on a more practical sense, Franky is also really good at physics, while Ussop should be getting a masters in chemistry. Chopper is obviously very good at biology and (organic) chemistry.

Sanji is Not good at maths. He knows the basics, enough to do what he need to do, but put anything more than a simple equation (the ax+b one) and he's gone -> he actually didn't get any formal education besides the one from Germa, but he couldn't keep up with his brothers (aka they were teaching a toddler in the same pace they would adults, and the Vinsmoke children are basically copy machines) and his time in the rock severely impacted his development. Zeff taught him what he could, but he himself also didn't get any formal education. They both never really needed it, so it wasn't really an issue. They both know a Lot about nutrition and anatomy, tho (they just don't use technical terms).

Nami also didn't have any formal education, but she taught herself a lot of things from books and sheer stubbornness. All her knowledge of climate, weather patterns, and navigation are 100% self-taught

Sanji is a walking fish encyclopedia

Zoro is a walking Sword encyclopedia

Ussop can solve rubiks cubes in less than 1 minute and refuses to tell Luffy and Chopper how he does it

Luffy has a really good nose, he can pick out individual smells really easily so he always knows when Sanji bought more meat and what kind of meat he bought

Robin is Really bad at dancing, like really really bad, but she makes up for it with enthusiasm

Okay that's it for now kswkoqql. I have a lot more, especially for Sanji but that's because he's my wife

[pollenallergie]

I previously discussed Koner going to a brothel to lose his virginity and then immediately falling for you, the whore he loses his virginity to, the minute you say hello to him (like far before he’s even gotten his cock out). He comes to visit you at the brothel all the time. Whatever money he used to spend getting drunk at taverns is now spent on time with you. Whenever he’s tasked with accompanying a noble on their travels so that he can keep them safe, Koner buys little trinkets and gifts for you. They’re not luxurious or extravagant by any means, just moderately priced little bits and bobs that he can actually afford to waste money on.

The first time he ever buys you anything is only a few months after you’d “made him a man” (his words, not mine). Presently, you’re still a mystery to him; he’s only spoken to you twice — only stuck his cock in you twice, as well. So, he has no idea what to get you; he just knows that he wants to get you something while he’s away traveling. His first instinct is to get you something he likes, but, then, he worries that you might not like the same things as him. Instead, Koner opts to get something that he thinks someone more fair and delicate and less labor-hardened might like. (Of course, you’re no stranger to labor; he knows that. However, at least your kind of labor doesn’t leave you with callused hands and achy shoulders). So, Koner gets you some rouge. You’re polite enough when you accept the gift, but even an idiot could tell that you don’t actually like it all that much. So, of course, Koner, an idiot, can tell that you don’t really like it all that much.

That night, after he’s given you your gift and after you’ve pleasured him, Koner pays for more of your time - something he can only afford to do because he’d been paid handsomely for traveling with the noble - so he can talk to you. He learns much more about you that night. He learns that you can read. Of course, you don’t tell him how, where, or when you learned to read. However, you do confess to him that you can read and that you quite enjoy reading, and you even show him the two books that you’ve collected over the years. One is a book on alchemy that a soldier from King’s Landing had given you after you gave him three orgasms in one night. The other, your favorite, is a diary from some noble, not one important enough for it to matter, but one who evidently had the time to write in one. At first, the diary may seem like nothing special, but, you confess to him that it’s your favorite because it talks quite a lot about the noble’s adventures and even includes drawings of the animals and plants he saw on these adventures.

Three days later, even though he hasn’t traveled anywhere, Koner returns with what he hopes will be a better present. In the days between when he’d last seen you and now, he’d been wracking his brain trying to think of something to get you, something to atone for the misguided gift he’d brought you earlier (not that he needed to atone for that, in your eyes). It finally dawned on him what he should get you, what you might enjoy, just yesterday and, today, he’s brought it with him. Koner brandishes it to you nervously, eager for your approval. It’s a rock, not all that special on its own, but because it has the intricately patterned wings and thin body of a beautiful dragonfly carved into it, imprinted through the natural fossilization process. The dragonfly is evidently the kind of creature that would never dare fly so far north, so it’s something new and never before seen for both of you. He’d brought the fossil back with him from Casterly Rock simply because he liked it, but, now, he can’t think of anything he’d rather do with it than give it to you. That night, Koner learns even more about you; he learns what your beautiful face looks like when it lights up with true, pure joy, he learns about your ever-growing rock collection and how you hope to add sea shells to it one day (you’ve never actually seen them in person, but you’ve seen drawings of them in the noble’s diary), and he learns that the fossil he gave you is easily one of the best gifts you’ve ever gotten (with your other favorite gift being the noble’s diary, which had been given to you by the person who taught you how to read).

[yeahcurrahhe-e]

𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒

〚 𝐋. 𝐍𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ language, mentions of injury

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 ➛ anonymous: Could I please request Lewis Nixon + Angst 13/Happy 10? — prompts used: “because i care about you, okay?!", “I have no idea what this is about"" bullshit, you know what you did", “i've done a lot of things - i need to know which one you found out about”

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ➛ @inglourious-imagines @im-chinese-believe-it-or-not @iceman-kazansky @coco-bean-1218

𝐂𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 as she traipsed down its corridor and to the doorway into where Easy’s CO’s had transformed the elegant dining room into something of a poker joint.

Cards of Aces, Queens, and Jokers made a constellation across the mahogany table, miscellaneous poker chips and discarded European money behaving as encompassing stars around them. And a tipsy Lieutenant Speirs had slurred about how a sulking Nixon had put out a metaphorical calling card for her, with Speirs being the begrudging messenger.

Winters had cast a sideward glimpse at her, pen cradled in hand as he trudged through a pile of reports, his bright eyes almost asking ‘what have you done now?’

And, inquisitive to as what the answer was, she had meandered her way down the hallway; one that suited more of the description of a tunnel of refined, chiseled wood that danced with shadows not disturbed by the lamplight projecting from her destination.

Her entrance is much anticipated by Easy’s intelligence officer, as he may as well have leapt from behind the door and held a knife to her jugular with the curt manner that he approached her with as she hardly amounted any distance into the room. His doe eyes were accusatory, the implicit judgment carving a war path across his defined features haloed by the lamp in the corner.

“You beckoned?” In a direct — perhaps deliberate — challenge to his potent approach, she retorted with a hubristically-edged humor.

The half-consumed Vat 69 is the only thing that pardoned the glass in her friend’s clasp as it flared white with exasperation; if it had been barren, the intricately cut glass would have been a mound of shards on the wood beneath their feet. And it’s that very amber beverage that is blistering his nerves with liquid courage that clashed in a ugly brawl with his natural temper, her being the chosen audience for this emotional strife.

“You know why you’re here,” his tone compares in restraint to his teetering control over the grip on his glass — everything, all at once, is swaying on a tight rope she doesn’t quite know the reasoning for.

“I have no idea what this is about,” her response is a gray pool of awareness; some itch in her brain resonates that she knows, while some murmur from an image-less corner draws blank to his words.

Lewis Nixon stood at a stature that was a foot taller than her, at least from what her mind assessed in a once-over glance as he stepped impossibly closer to her. The auric illumination of the light permeating the room seemed to have the wherewithal in its inhuman existence to know where to strike its impression across his stern features.

His dark eyes were crisp in a narrowed state, “Bullshit, you know what you did.”

Y/N’s reputation in Easy Company existed in a penumbra of contradictions; some judged her as expendable, perhaps nothing better than an insect on the sole of their boot; the others swore, hand on heart or Bible, that there was no other Paratrooper they’d more readily trust their lives with….she was loyal, even if it would kill her.

And the one in the midst of this tug-of-war between misogynists and friends? She opted for a path of humbleness and even an ounce of passivity; grateful for the opportunity to be more than a USO girl in a frilly, inappropriately tailored skirt and poppy-red lipstick, yet not an entertainer of caustic words from a miserable man with a glass ego.

Lewis Nixon seemed to have made comfortable residence within a contradictory pattern of behavior towards her, as well. There was the respect of her rank, her leadership, and her presence within the military — all of which were non-congruent with the majority of women in global society. Then there was the scattered judgment of the choices conceived by her, how they’d dance with the charm of recklessness more so than the dullness of common sense.…how these brash decisions beneath the cacophony of artillery and screams would save lives, yet set her own on the line without thought if there’d be something to pull her back from the tide of death.

“I’ve done a lot of things - I need to know which one you found out about,” her tone was smoothed with an evenness that drew a blade of irritation over his indignant nerves, the distant smirk poised on her lips twisting that blade into each one. Regardless that he was practically towering over her, she was nevertheless reposed into a stature that didn’t speak to any intimidation. It was a nonchalance he may have admired if the crooning buzz of Vat 69 and the news of her latest reckless exploit weren’t swarming in an abyss of frustration in him.

“Heard through the Dick Winters grapevine about your little tussle with a German sniper yesterday,” there’s a smirk on his lips, charmed with the tightness of unadulterated exasperation, and he gulped down the remnants of alcohol in his glass before continuing, “How you — not a trained sniper — challenged him as the rest of your patrol fled after you ordered them to.”

Y/N blinked, a subtle indication of internal recognition of the reasoning inciting his tirade of angsty behavior, and the gesture is accompanied by a fleeting sidelong glance before her eyes inevitably leveled with his again, “And I still killed him, despite my lack of skill and proper weapon…oh, and all those men I sent away lived.”

Her indifference is essentially a kindled match against the tips of his nerves that splayed out like the ends of dynamite; she could decipher as much by the clench that solidified in his cocked jaw.

“This undying loyalty to being some invincible war hero is gonna get others killed…maybe even you,” he huffed out through gritted teeth, aggravation extending to the force he placed his empty glass aside with.

“And in the case of my indirectly, self-inflicted demise….what would it be to you besides some paperwork?” She laughed, a sound that didn’t clatter against their tension with an air of humor, rather its imbued with dryness and a stealthy beckoning of challenge.

“Because I care about you, okay?!”

His exclamation lays ample waste to the mischievous beckoning of her laughter…to her entire ‘spare me the dramatics’ facade that had been at the forefront of their interaction since she had stepped inside the room. Her smirk is struck into the smallest form of an ‘o’, crinkles by her previously amused eyes as churns of too many emotions flail and morass in her mind.

“That’s not what I meant to say…no, you just were never meant to hear that,” he’s prompt to scramble out some remedy for the awkwardness that plagues the air with a suffocating girdle, panic blown in his pupils and his hands on her biceps; his clasp beckons a plea his ego could never tolerate — “don’t hate me”.

Her hands settled onto his wrists that indistinctly trembled, brandishing an affable smile in a semblance of reassurance, “Find me when you’re sober, Nix.”

She swiftly squeezed against the crook of his wrists and stepped back through the doorway, reluctant to depart yet inevitably does, leaving just him, the lambent lamplight, and a pretense of hope.

[has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong]

Hi, how about a short bit about Nobukatsu maybe drawing/sketching something (like an environment drawing study of sorts?) and getting really focused on getting it right, only to be surprised by Archer Nobu coming up from behind and complimenting his work?

Nobukatsu would be totally embarrassed/shy about the quality, but Nobu wouldn't be having it at all and insist it's good lol

Hello, thank you for the awesome request idea, it is very unique and fun. Thank you as well for waiting so long. I hope that you will enjoy this (it is my first time writing both Nobukatsu and Nobunaga).

I wish you all the very best and hope you have a great day!

Archer Nobunaga Catching Nobukatsu Drawing (And She LOVES it!)

ꕥ Ah, nature. With the fresh, crisp air and clear blue sky; Nobukatsu's mind was free to drift away... not that it'd stop him from thinking about his sister, of course.

ꕥ However, this time, he wanted to try something new, to bolster his skills. Despite currently viewing himself as a good-for-nothing, it'd be good to do something new, something a bit different than his regular negotiation, political strategy and goods acquirement skills. Something more fun, maybe more spontaneous. Seeing as his sister was always up for trying new things, wouldn't it be nice if he could as well?

ꕥ '...But I'm not sure if I'm talented enough...' No matter what, he wouldn't let such thoughts stop him this time. Whipping out an ink brush and some washi paper from the GUDAGUDA Boiler Room (thank the gods for its vast resources), Nobukatsu awkwardly sticks out his tongue, as he tries to work out what to draw for his very first study piece.

ꕥ Now...all that was left was to think on a topic. What should he draw? Flames? Nope, there were none to be seen. Someone in Chaldea? Nope, for he'd likely pick his sister or her other forms as a muse. Himself? Nope, he didn't quite have the confidence to sketch himself as of yet. Scouring his eyes across the surrounding planes, narrowing into any and all forms of nature; Nobukatsu eventually yields and decides to stick to inking the grass and flowers (or weeds) laying before him.

ꕥ He could relate to these facets of nature, viewing them as tiny little things that would be overshadowed by the greatness of a much bigger flower than themselves. Slightly amused by that thought, he finally absorbs himself into his work; as all extraneous thoughts fade away, with only the sound of twittering birds and the billowing breeze providing the accompaniment to his deeds on such a beautiful day.

ꕥ By the time he's finished, the sun is already settling into the horizon, the world around him dappled within a pulsating reddish-gold shade. The view before him was beautiful.

ꕥ "So this is how it feels to try something different-" For the first time in a while, Nobukatsu felt a bit of pride regarding his work today.

ꕥ But before he could fully congratulate himself for his accomplishments, a smug yet appreciative "Hm, so this is what has been occupying your attention this eve? It's a fine work, if I do say so myself!" catches him entirely off guard, Nobukatsu's body leaping into the air in horror, as he slowly turns to face the intruding voice that had caught him in such a vulnerable state.

ꕥ It was none other than Nobunaga. His dear sister. His precious sister. Hand perched upon his shoulder, looking over at his messy yet incredibly detailed and intricate ink painting, her red eyes sparkling with glee. His sister was showing direct interest in the works of a nobody like himself!!!!!

ꕥ Squawking with embarrassment, Nobukatsu immediately tries to hide his artwork from her sharp gaze, but alas it is too late! A crimson blush envelopes his features as he stutters out a small, "S-sister....your lofty gaze need not witness such pathetic art as mines..." If only he could burn into flames right now!!!

ꕥ However, Nobunaga is less than impressed by such a humble response, placing her hands on her hips as she frowns at her younger brother. "You shouldn't give up on yourself so soon! I can tell that you've put great effort into this piece. I cannot help but praise such devotion to your natural surroundings!!!" Patting him on the shoulder, Nobunaga declares her pride in his art, and states that it is the ultimate cumulation of hard work and effort.

ꕥ Overwhelmed by such praise, Nobukatsu is reduced to a stuttering mess, unsure on how to handle such praise, especially from the sister that he admires so greatly. "....I-is that so...?" Finally giving his art another peek, he too begins to realise just how amazing he was to produce something of his own.

ꕥ Gleeful, Nobunaga grins so wide that her teeth glimmer omniously. "That's exactly so! To create something with your own hands, and see it through to the very end... that is a feat worthy of pride and joy! I hope to see more works from you in the future. I wonder what you'll make next!"

ꕥ As an enquiring mind that loves all sorts of creations (especially the new and unusual), Nobunaga sensed a certain potential within her younger brother's art.

ꕥ What started off as a mere way for Nobukatsu to try challenging something new had now eclipsed into a newfound sense of confidence; burning softly within his heart. With a slight twinge of determination, Nobukatsu made a small vow to try creating more things from now on!

[magnorious]

Review: The Last Airbender Episodes 2 & 3

I still need to watch this show in a pitch-black room to see anything on screen during night scenes. Did you not learn from Game of Thrones?

Jet’s here! He shouldn’t be, but he is! Teo’s here! He shouldn’t be, but he is! And they’re both fantastic. Azula, Ozai, Mai, and Ty Lee are here! Wait a second….

—

Something I didn’t touch too much on the last episode that I’m going to now: This crippling addiction Hollywood has to ~reimagining~ beloved cartoons in live action consistently has the same flaw: It’s so *boring*. 

On the one hand, yes, I love the live action costumes. I love all the detail that can now be added since it doesn’t take tediously intricate details drawn frame by frame. However, cartoons, especially anime-inspired cartoons, take full advantage of the medium and frequently don’t draw *realistic* humans, they emphasize the features that matter like caricature.

ALTA not only uses caricature but the slapstick, rubbery physics of a cartoon world to hand-wave away the consequences of elemental fisticuffs. The expressions the characters make, their peak character designs, the exactness of every frame, even the less-detailed background shots of little gummy people with undefined details, these define the show.

So while the casting has been great so far, Gyatso, Iroh, Bumi, Zuko, Sokka, Gran Gran, through no fault of their own or the fault of the medium, lack the cartoonishness of the original characters. The cartoonishness that makes this show so beloved so the live action scenes feel… lesser. 

Also, because it’s anime-inspired, the fight scenes storyboarded and drawn in anime are incredibly dynamic. The way the camera sits and follows the action is beholden to no real-world physics because it’s all drawn and anime is particularly good at making spectacular, intense fight scenes. This show’s fight scenes, while well-choreographed, aren’t filmed like a live-action anime, and that also makes it feel lesser.

—

I can’t be the only one disappointed that every episode doesn’t begin with Katara’s narration, can I? They went through the trouble of CGI-ing the whole thing, so why not?

I was holding out hope that they’d still find the avatar statue room, because it was so well-animated and hauntingly beautiful with the buildup and all the eyes glowing. They kept tiny versions of the statues, it just lacked the oomph.

Or the foamy-mouth guy and all the kids enamored with Aang on Kyoshi Island, and Aang reveling in the praise and attention. That dude has become his own meme. He’s hilarious.

Still not satisfied with Iroh’s voice (not the actor’s fault), or Zuko’s, for that matter. He doesn’t quite hit the “I’m an angsty 16 year old stuck with an uncle whom I do not respect or take seriously in any way and refuse to admit that I care about” vibe. Zhao also doesn’t sound intimidating (though he tries and his physical acting is great). When casting all these roles, I wish they would have paid as much attention to the voices of the live-action actors, as much as their faces. There’s zero grit in anyone’s voices, even Gran Gran’s. Zhao sounds his best when his voice lowers as he narrates his letter to Ozai.

Humor-wise, this show sits in a weird spot where it’s trying to be funny only with one-liners (like Marvel) and zero situational humor. Sokka is the best attempt the show makes at being funny and sometimes it lands, I just wish there was more of it. It’s like this show is afraid to lose its “gritty” badge if any scene dares to be legitimately funny.

I do like the nod to the cartoon’s title sequence with Aang air-scootering into that statue. That’s the situational humor I’m talking about.

—

Kyoshi island (and their costumes) was good, lacking humor and giant koi notwithstanding. Kyoshi herself making an appearance giving Aang some sagely wisdom 50-odd episodes early is a treat, even if he’s suddenly excellent at handling the Spirit World with zero effort. They didn’t turn the Kyoshi warriors into insufferable girlbosses, remaining incredibly competent warriors that happen to be women.

In attempt to make it more adult, they’re starting to fudge some backstories and motivations, like Aang now having too much power to the point where the other kids were afraid of him, and the Sokka/Suki romance being far less subtle, and a lot more physical. It’s less sweet and more “wow, these teenagers are horny”. Katara did not witness Kya getting burned alive, her mother would never have let that happen. She’d left the tent to find her dad, and by the time she came back, Kya was already gone. It was tragic already, why make it worse?

**Side note, Momo is a lemure, not a monkey, please don’t give him generic monkey noises. They already gave you plenty of sound design for Momo, just use it.

Aang fumbling around in the Spirit World at the worst possible moment is so true to form, it would be hilarious if it wasn’t so serious. Him ending that trip by manifesting into Kyoshi totally kneecaps the moment during the Winter Solstice where he becomes Roku, even if it looked cool.

The Ozai reveal, though. Why? Just why? Did Daniel Dae Kim have X amount of minutes contractually obligated? Ozai wasn’t revealed for two entire seasons, not his face. They waited and waited and waited, leaving him silhouetted by flames and shadows, only drawing him from behind or from the neck down. This was a *reveal* because we didn’t know what to expect. Would he be as ugly as his soul? Handsome? Pretty? Scarred himself, like his son?

Oh. Azula’s here, too.

The writers of this show and Percy Jackson went to the same school of “Mystery be damned, let’s shoot our load right f’ing now!”

Also, Mr. Kim should have been Zhao, not Ozai. He would have made a fantastic Zhao.

—

The more Ozai is on screen, even if his scenes are good, misses the whole point of why he was barely a character. I’m trying not to use “the cartoon did X better” too much, but the cartoon did it better and here’s why:

Ozai is basically a non-character. Who *he* is doesn’t matter, he’s a bad guy doing bad things because he’s an evil narcissist. His actions and his orders are felt across the globe, though. So the Gaang doesn’t meet him (some ever) until the finale, but they still feel the impact of his actions the entire series.

Who’s Ozai? The guy who burned and banished his son and sent him on a wild goose chase.The guy who’s admiral murdered the moon spirit. Who continues to lay siege to the Earth Kingdom and whose daughter orchestrates its downfall. We don’t need to see who he is for him to be one scary dude. He doesn’t need all these extra scenes to prove how terrifying he is.

The original perfected “less is more” and Ozai (and Azula, and Mai and Ty Lee) just don’t need to be here. Not yet.

With that said, Azula’s great, what little we see of her. Ozai is great. They really seem to be having fun with their roles.

Episode three leaves me curious if all the kids watched the original and wanted so badly to make this show funny, and all the adults told them to tone it down. They’re trying so hard. Props to everyone doing their best with an IP as beloved as this one, and the massive shoes they all have to fill.

More missing humor: Bonzu Pipinpadaloxicopolis! But at least they kept the cabbage merchant.

Episode three decided to combine the Northern Air Temple with Omashu and Jet for reasons. These were two entirely separate plots and locations, but Teo and the Mechanist are incredibly entertaining even if they’re early. They filmed only eight episodes and I feel like a broken record when I say: If you hadn’t given us the wrong filler, you could have properly adapted the missing content. You can skip the Great Divide, though. I hope you skip the Great Divide.

The filler is entertaining. I like the easter egg of the Yu Yan archers training in the background with Azula, implying that she’s as good as they are. I don’t think Azula would bother mastering archery when she’s a firebending prodigy, but the scene is nice. The original Omashu and Northern Air Temple would have been nicer.

Can’t say I miss the original Jet episode and the second I saw this scruffy boy with emo hair in his eyes on that wagon, I thought, “This is Jet, right? It’s gotta be Jet. He’d make a perfect Jet.”

And I was right!

Wrong time, wrong place, but this is the first character who, upon seeing them completely out of their episode, even if he looks nothing like his cartoon version, he fits that character’s vibe perfectly. Excellent casting.

“Omashu” is so far divorced from the original, it might as well be its own thing and it’s buckwild, but it combines elements from three independent episodes and it works incredibly well, even if the plots still feel disjointed from each other, each stays their welcome as long as they need to.

The freedom fighters are amazing. Their costumes are amazing. As each one showed up on screen I was grinning from ear-to-ear. My only detractor is the slight-fanservicey nature of it all once Jet starts naming his team. No notes on Jet dropping his disguise and the slow-mo of the reveal of his hook-swords. One more re-write and it would have been flawless. Can’t wait to see this guy ambiguously pass away beneath Lake Laogai. He’ll be great.

—

I’m liking Iroh less and less every time I see him. He’s just not Iroh. He doesn’t act like him, doesn’t talk like him, doesn’t wax poetic like him, which is a shame because, behind Zuko, I’m pretty sure Iroh is the fan-favorite character. He was an entire generation’s mentor and this just isn’t him.

Zuko’s dickishness was also tempered by him being an awkward turtleduck. Here he’s just aggressive with zero moments for second-hand embarrassment. He doesn’t get bullied by Sokka in the premier, doesn’t bicker with Iroh, he just yells and screams. He’s not endearing in the slightest.

The VFX as well – I know the underpaid and overworked artists did their best but it’s very distracting when they’re so obviously standing in front of a greenscreen.

This show still does not need to exist, make no mistake, and I can see why the original writers left. There’s scenes I’ve legit fast-forwarded through because they just won’t end and I am bored – the massacre of the Air Nomads? Skipped.

With that said, it’s not the worst adaptation in the world, and everyone still showed up to do their best with the script they were given. Does every line land? Heck no. Are the fight scenes cool? Ehhhh, kind of? Is it funny? No, not really, not compared to the original. Is it for kids? I think no less than 20 people have been burned alive at this point so, no, not really. Not like the original was for all ages.

Once again we have a “but was it better than the first attempt?” bar two feet into the topsoil. Yes, so far, it is. At least it’s not like that other horrible adaptation that forgot it was an action-adventure story.

But Jet was awesome. If he carries this review solely on how awesome he was, so be it.

[mochigobrrrrrrr]

Qin Kha Ottile Srivastava / A workaholic machinist

This character hasn’t always been exclusive to XIV, if anything I always liked making him in different game’s character customizations. Before I only had drawings and placed him in different universes or anything I was obsessed with at the time. Qin’s been more or less a muse for my art work and imaginary best friend since I was 13 yrs old. (I’m weird lemme alone.)

Full Name Qin Kha Ottile-Srivastava Species Au Ra / Hyur Birth Date / Age 3rd Sun of the 6th Astral Moon / 38 yrs Guardian Nophica, The Matron Clan Xaela Gender Male Height / Weight 6'10" / 260lbs Body Type Lean / Mesomorph Hair Color Dirty Blonde Eye Color Chartreuse (left) Hazel (right) With Gold Limbal Ring Distinguishing Features Sparse Facial and Body Scales / Pointed Ears / Tattoos / Intricate Scars / Magitek Tail Birthplace / Current Home Azim Steppe / Empyreum Profession Engineer / Gunsmith Sexual Orientation Bisexual Relationship Status Married - Rajani Srivastava Kith and Kin Shal're Kha (mother) / Lian Ottile (father) Sarnai Kha (non-bio sister) (deceased, age 8) Personality Easygoing / Subdued

Qin has always been a tad introvert and selective about it, only coming out of his shell and outgoing with people he warms up too. Now of late he lives more carefree and opens up more easily, feeling less forced about putting himself into a public setting. He always carries a sarcastic and rowdy demeanor. When the time calls for it, Qin can be serious and strict.

Notable

His early work depended heavily on where he stayed, but he never stayed in one place for too long. Using what skills he had acquired from Azim Steppe, such as hunting and long distance combat, Qin became useful for bounty boards and quick jobs. Soon enough he found himself falling into the life of a mercenary and ran a small company for several years; Qin used it as a means to ship goods from Azim to Limisa and sell hired swords.

One day he found a passion for firearms. The once talented archer became enamored with them; to the point of commissioning his first firearm, He commissioned a custom-built Wander from the Skysteel Manufactory. Since then, it has become his passion to collect and care for each arm he acquired throughout the years. Today, he owns a total of five firearms that he himself modified, not counting his multi tool.

His Magitek tail is one of the many interesting features but how he gained the prosthetic though, is less interesting. Perhaps it’s one story kept between him and the multi-tool responsible. His multi-tool is an ever-expanding arsenal equipped with a: drill cannon, air anchor, chainsaw, and a grenade launcher. The last one was more or less the cause; a simple weapons test involving homemade explosives went horribly wrong. While the initial blast did not cause the majority of his injuries, shrapnel and infection did. Walking around with a stump for a tail didn’t bother him, but it did impact his quality of life. His stump caused balance issues in day-to-day life. A collaborative effort with colleagues and himself soon took off, where they began researching magitek and utilizing their engineering knowledge to fashion a prosthetic tail.

Likes

Traveling

Working (Seriously. You have to make him stop or he won't.)

Drinking (Whiskey served neat.)

Smoking

Solitude

Dressing nice

Dislikes

Alcohol that tastes like piss water.

Pointing at his ears.

Inability to let things go.

Asking him what happened to his tail.

Backstory

Qin Ottile spent most of his childhood raised on the outskirts of the Azim Steppe, growing up in a small Kha village that accepted both Xaela and other races alike. It was there Qin’s mother met his father, a Midlander who traded in Reunion. During the war and unrest caused by the Imperial invasion, a rebellion of pirates from the Ruby Sea managed to broker a trade agreement with the Qestir, whom allowed them to trade fish for much-needed medical supplies. Qin’s father was among the few chosen to trade in Reunion, where he met her. A young Kha woman with dark skin and golden eyes, with scales black as a beautiful midnight. Her lovely smile stole his heart and he would never want to leave this place again. As time went on and trading continued, Qin’s father spent more time with her, even staying for nights on end. Eventually he would never return to the Ruby Sea again.

After living together in the Steppe for a time, the Kha woman would welcome a new life into the world; Half Xaela, Half Hyur. In spite of their love and preparation, nothing they could teach would steel Qin for the lifetime of bullying and bigotry that awaited him. Not fully Xaela. Not fully Hyur. He was stuck in between, constantly struggling to find the place where he fit among them. How do you teach your child to protect themselves from a word they shouldn't have to understand? Discrimination. In spite of being shunned by most of the Xaela, his mother taught him the ways of their people while his father, the pirate, would teach Qin how to defend himself. Even if it meant fighting dirty.

For years he endured, strengthened by the lessons of his parents…And of their people. His people. Qin became an excellent hunter, quite skilled with the bow handed down to him from his grandfather, using his prowess to bring home game for his parents to trade in Reunion. He held his own, proving that not only had he survived but that he thrived, able to protect himself and provide for his family. Amongst Xaela who prided strength above most else, he had at least earned a measure of respect. However, Qin would find his adventuring heart longing to experience the lands his father had spoken of until he, like his father, would leave the land he had known in search of more.

Current

Nowadays, Qin spends his life in Ishgard, working diligently as an engineer for the Skysteel Manufactory, residing within the newly built Empyreum. With old comrades and new, they run a new company where Qin happily spends his days crafting firearms and any invention that comes to mind.

How he found himself where he is now is shrouded in a haze of fractured memories. Bits and pieces of his past life as a mercenary, familiar faces forever blurred, a life in Limsa Lominsa running a company with a forgotten name with freelance adventurers and dear friends alike, all lost in the recesses of Qin’s mind to never recover no matter how much he has tried.

But as old memories fade, new ones arise with just as much curiosity…

The sting of ice and the stench of blood fill Qin’s senses as he stands alone in the alleyways of the Brume.

Or so he thought…

The flutter of wings and a bright turquoise light radiates around him, a memory that shines bright in his mind. A small colorful hummingbird, an uncanny resemblance to the tattoo, perches on his right shoulder. He remembered the voice, a warm voice that brought peace to his very soul. An assurance that even through all of his heartbreak, through all of this fear and doubt and darkness, that there was light, that there was a bright future ahead. Since that day, he came to know this small creature as Sorianna, his guardian, his friend.

One shot "Time was still"

Time was still, yet the signs of an unhurried morning slowly peaked it’s sleeping head out from the horizon. It was dark, still, and the silence deafened any and all ears, though slight movement could be heard from the single occupant within the small confines which the man, who sat at his desk, called an office. With whiskey on his breath, and the embers dancing to their death in a dying fireplace, there was life in this abyss of an office, yes….but it was as if time itself had ceased to be.

A striking eye of gold pierced through the ebony darkness, a feature that always caught anyone’s attention as it shimmered alongside it’s brother eye of chartreuse green, the two scanning the room. From a desk of elder wood and hanging uniforms with tattered, patched holes, to retired guns and a beaten down bow that out-ages it’s current master, there was history in this room. His mind leapt into wandering as his eyes reminisced, memories flooding his mind as he downcast his gaze to the hands that sat before him, one of which held his favorite beverage, whilst the other held something more…

An azure crystal that filled its surroundings with radiance, the crystal was held together by a tattered leather string, decorated with beads to match. A thumb caressed the crystal with affection, this object, this crystal, it meant something to him. His hand gripped and clutched his precious possession…

An abrupt sound of glass broke the eerie silence.

Red, crimson liquid dripped from the halfling’s grasp as shards of the once bottle of whiskey embedded into a callous hand. Overwhelming feelings washed over the small half-Xaela, with tears forming slowly whilst mouth gaping for a scream that never came. Frustration, a clutched bloodied hand raised up, only to crash down onto the elder wood of the desk. The desk was stained with blood, tears, and emotions….yet time was still.

Comfort never came. The only solace Qin could find was rocking his body, back and forth, back and forth, a rhythm that his body knew too well. Over and over, as if a babe in its crib. Doubt filled his heart as the golden eye never left the glisten of the crystal. It was his anchor, his strength, and yet….the darkness, the bastard who went unseen, ate at him, as if a wolf starved of elk, ripping and tearing at his corpse with no end in sight. His heart, soul, his body felt numb. Hues of pink and orange hinted from the outside world, a new dawn was approaching.

Fear, his worst enemy. Failure, doubt, the willingness to believe in himself…it was shattering every fiber in his being, chipping away at the little hope that remained.

Yet time was still.

Qin and Sarnai Kha

Sarnai and Qin had formed an unbreakable friendship as children. You would think they were bothers and sisters, given how close they were. Growing up and living next door to each other, their families practically did everything together. It would have fooled anyone into thinking they were just one big family.

The pair would always start their day doing morning chores together before running off and playing. Sarnai and Qin were so inseparable that their own mothers used to tease them, asking if Qin would be the next Khagan and Sarnai his Nhaama. This obviously embarrassed the two, but everyone knew if fate had kept on its path, they would have ended up together as a bonded pair.

Sadly, that day never came. Sarnai had returned to the lifestream at the tender age of 8 after a tragic hunting accident on Qin's 10th birthday. The young boy had cornered a small game animal, but the commotion had attracted a baras, which had attacked him and Sarnai. It had left Qin with only minor injuries, but his sister... While it was never entirely his fault, he still carried her death in his heart. He was foolish and naive, only wanting to prove his worth. His ego and desire to constantly fit in had led to his sister's fate.

[talentforlying]

inspection/needs ( combo i cannot pick )

[ inspection ] sender holds receiver's face while inspecting an injury they got [ needs ] sender asks receiver what they need

there's something in him that fucking burns.

part of him always thought it would go away with time, with just the right amount of something — like balancing scales, like robbing fire of oxygen by smothering it. alcohol, cigarettes, people. FIGHTS.

tonight has been a burning night, where the pyre in him roars so loud it drowns all common sense; where one taunt becomes ten, becomes twenty, and suddenly he's the eye of a maelstrom made of fists and fury, laughing into the sticky floor as he goes down again and again and again. still grinning as chas hauls him out the back door by the scruff of his coat and shoves him into the back of the cab, snarls at him to wipe that fucking smirk off your face as if a part of him didn't feel the rush, too. as if the things that burn in him don't sear up chas as well.

he knows it's meant to be punishment, bringing him to the house. to lilly. it's because he loves her, see. because chas knows he's always been shit-scared of showing the people he loves all the real worst parts of him, underneath the magic and the mayhem and the mystery. of course, he loves chas, too, but that's different. chas has always known these things about him. it's why they're friends. it's why chas sticks around.

she opens the door, and all there is is a sigh, slow and long, and her eyes are more tired than they are afraid or angry or sad, and . . . yeah. it's a punishment.

he's still burning later in the kitchen, seated on the counter with bruised fingers locked rigid around the edges of the tile, while she stands between his legs and presses wet cloth to every stinging place, every sun spot and solar flare. her other hand is gentle on his hip, but the line of her mouth is hard like diamond and he's close enough to see every time she bites the inside of her cheek, chewing something into silence. every instinct says to flay the secret out for the fire to eat, to make this HURT, to layer fresh hits over barely-old ones, but he knows it won't do any good; they're too intertwined, these days. so intricately bound that a fight would only draw them closer together in their attempts to fix it later — would only make the scars left by their sharp edges something to map in the dark, when it mattered a little less.

he's so lost in the inferno that he hardly notices when the cloth goes away and her fingers come back empty, pushing sweat-damp hair away from his forehead and carding all the way down to the nape of his neck, where they scratch, softly, like petting a cat. the sensation pools in his chest like a good stiff drink, sizzles along the surface of the blaze and cuts through the buzz still rattling along his back teeth; he has to close his eyes against the sudden, heady rush of stillness, chin bowing to his chest, her touch suffusing every limb. he is so heavy. how can she stand beneath the weight.

it could be days, or months, or years before her knuckles trail a path along his aching jaw and tip his chin back up, coaxing his gaze along with it. she still looks tired, tracing every new contusion and fresh abrasion, pressing light to test their depth and sending frissons of sharp and sore spidering through his skull like sickness. how long has it been since she left the house, lately? how long since she smiled at him and there wasn't something masked behind her eyes? the burning in him eats the meaning in little things, like time between and time apart, but he still remembers every one, and when it ought to matter more. remembers that they've been trying this for so, so long and they can never seem to get it right. he can never seem to get it right.

her fingers mold to the curve of his cheek and she's looking right into him, now, with understanding. she's been burning too, he knows, in ways he can't begin to fathom, and she still takes this time to try and save him from his pyre. does she know he'd steal the kindling out of hers, if he had the strength to carry it all? does she know he'd drink the petrol if the blaze would keep her warm? or does she only know he'd fail, in the end, to make any sort of difference at all, except in the degree to which he scorches her when she tries to keep him close?

' what do you need, john? ' half a question, half a platitude. like she doesn't think she'll ever like the answer. like she doesn't think he'll ever really know.

( there's something eating him up like a poison and he thinks it's his father. )

his head tips to trap her fingers between cheek and shoulder, bloody lip leaving smears where he kisses the fate line of her palm. the tendons flex, then still; he curls his fingers around her wrist, her pulse like a bird he's trapped, kisses his toxin off of every inch of skin and buries his face in the well of mercy that he is steadily filling up with red and raw and burning shame.

i'm sorry, i'm too old for this.

i'm sorry, i don't want to be this way.

i'm sorry, i don't mean to keep hurting you.

i'm sorry, i keep trying to get rid of it and it won't go away, i'm pulling him out of me shard by shard and it's not doing any good, i didn't think it would still ache this fucking badly, i'm sorry —

( please, please, please forgive me. keep forgiving me. just this once. just over and over again. )

' hold me. ' his voice splinters like fractal lines in crystal, and her fingers curl against his bruises with a scrape of nail on stubble that warns but doesn't retreat, and there are purple-blue-black universes warping his skin but none are so kind and so undeserved as her eyes.

@asteritm / NON-VERBAL ANGST PROMPTS ( always accepting )

[achitka]

Butterflies

Chapter 31: Butterflies

So it's day 31...Can't believe I managed to write something every day...was a good challenge. Gonna miss that. Also my thanks to everyone that participated. I've enjoyed writing, reading and looking at so many wonderful works of art here on tumblr. Extra, extra thanks for the crew running the event. @encantober-official I've had a blast writing all month. I feel a lotta bit of inspiration to work on my other fic. . That said off we go...day 31 Is Camilo that much of a jerk...

Mirabel and Camilo were together in Camilo’s room learning to make small boats out of paper. The book they were using was very beat up. It had survived two house fires and many a re-read. Camilo flipped through the pages, fascinated by the pictures of people inside. The came from a faraway place called ‘The Orient’ and their face shapes were new to him.

“Hey,” Mirabel said, “Go back to the directions for a sec, I think I missed a step.”

Camilo set the book on the floor and turned back to the page. Mirabel scanned the page and half way down she frowned, “Yep…” she sighed and tossed the incomplete boat behind her and got another piece of paper. Camilo flipped toward the end of the book and nudged his prima. Mirabel looked at it and smiled.

“You think we can make it? I mean we’re struggling to make a boat.”

“You’re struggling to make a boat,” Camilo said, “I am not being helpful, sans no struggling…see how this works out for me?”

“Whatever,” Mirabel said, “Let me read this.”

Camilo leaned back against his bed and thought about the drawing of the people in the books. He felt his face shift but didn’t get up to look at it. He was pretty sure it matched the face on page 93.

“What are you doing?” Mirabel asked. She was holding a razor blade and Camilo shifted back to himself.

“What are you doing?” Camilo asked back.

“Wow, short attention span much? I need you to hold the paper while I cut out the shapes,” she said and pushed the paper over to him. There were three different colors, purple, blue and yellow. “I’m going to try and cut them all at the same time.”

“How long is that going to take?”

“I don’t know, it’s pretty intricate.”

“Longer than five minutes?

“Why did you agree to help if you’re not going to help?”

“Fair point, but how long?”

“You know what, never mind. I’ll finish it myself,” Mirabel said as she gathered up the paper, string and glue. Camilo went to reach for the book and Mirabel snapped it shut and picked that up as well. “I need this,” she said and was up and out the door.

Camilo looked at the door for a while trying to decide if he should go after her. Truth was, he didn’t want to help make any gifts for Abuela and he couldn’t understand why Mirabel would want to. They way she talked to her, the just mean things she would say…as far as he was concerned, she didn’t deserve them. Antonio’s fifth birthday was less than six months away and his parents and little brother were already stressing out about it. While he wanted Antonio to get a Gift, he also did not.

Camilo got up and pulled on his ruana and shoes. He walked outside and around the house to the back garden. Mira was right where he knew she would be. She always came here when she was mad at him. He heard her let out a curse as the page she was working on ripped.

“Need some help?” he asked. Mirabel looked up from what she was doing and shook her head as she pulled out another piece of paper. Camilo glanced at the pages that had already been discarded and smiled. Only one was ripped, the rest looked fine…but not perfect and Mira needed them to be.

“Mind if I help, anyway?” he asked as he sat down next to her and put his hands on the edges. He wasn’t going to try and talk sense into her. She wouldn’t listen anyway.  She’d keep chasing the light of that candle ‘til it killed her. Waiting for a miracle that was too late in coming.

Mirabel was humming now, a clear sign she was completely focused on what she was doing and would finish this up pretty quickly. After a few minutes, she made the last cut and removed the pieces of cut paper. She tapped his hand and he lifted the page up. He noticed the butterfly she’d cut out was shining on the table where the sun shone through and was hitting the table.

“Pretty nice, Mira,” he said lifting the others.

“Thanks, and thanks for helping…it was not going well by myself.”

“Mind if I keep the scraps,” he asked indicating her abandon attempts.

“Sure, can’t use them for this anyway.”

“Great, I’ll see ya later,” he said and gathered up the papers, “Gotta go into town and be useful for a few hours.”

“Okay, thanks again, I’ll save you seconds.”

“Gonna need ‘em,” he said and went back to his room. He reached under his bed and pulled out a box. He took off the lid. Inside was a jumble of half-finished projects that Mira had decided were not perfect enough. He put the butterfly cut outs in it and reached around and picked up the incomplete boat placing it in there as well. Lately there had been a lot of them. If she kept it up, he was going to need a bigger box. Maybe he’d show it to her one day…he wondered if he would have to wait for Abuela to die before he did.

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

Notes:

[my-shields-are-down]

Not sure if you saw, but what do you think about OG The Rookie moving to Tuesdays directly against the OG FBI?

Feds is now against FBI International.

I did see that.

I am torn. I don’t know enough about the economics behind a show or the strategies that come into play when a network moves a show from one day/slot to another. So here we go..

On one hand FEDS was just renewed and it’s dying on the vine after 6 episodes.

Roughly 75% of it’s views are coming AFTER it airs - on Hulu or replays what-have-you. So while yes, when you include the after plays in your numbers, FEDS is doing ok. 6 million viewers roughly? Not bad.

But for it to be worth ABC’s wallet’s while, those first run numbers need to go way up for ABC to make money on the show (advertisers revenue). And one surefire way to do that, is to have the OG show be the lead in. I definitely think there might be some run-off, from the Rookie into FEDS if they were shown 1-2.

That strategy clearly works - just look at FBI Tuesdays, CHICAGO Wednesdays, LAW & ORDER Thursdays or GREY’S ANATOMY Thursdays. I just don’t know if the OG Rookie show is solid enough to be that for ABC on Tuesdays. Plus, the Rookie was bumped from Tuesday to Sunday because THEIR ratings were getting killed by CBS.

Plus Dick Wolf is a master of serial tv. His shows have dynamic casts, intricate, believable story lines, well paced episodes.

The Rookie on the other hand is not that. We’ve all bitched and moaned about the un-evenness of the writing, about too many unfocused stories or too few interesting ones. Blatantly promoting one character over another. You don’t hear those kinds of complaints about SVU which is in it’s 24th season and Mariska Hagerty - who is related to Hollywood royalty- hogging screen time. Mainly, I think because SVU focuses on the stories they tell, and less on the actors. If John Nolan was a dynamic, fun, sexy and charismatic character who had insane chemistry with his love interest, I for one wouldn’t bemoan his character having more screen or stupid story lines than all the actors with those characteristics. He’s just not written that way and I love Jenna Dewan, but I am not a fan of Bailey or Jailey. But maybe that won’t matter if John is blown up in the next episode.

So while the move should bump up FEDS, I think it could be detrimental to the OG Rookie show. Last week I was reading about the Rookie being a cash cow on Sunday nights. Granted they get bumped often because award shows or sporting events run long, but the show is making ABC some serious cash. Plus they are killing it in the ratings - being #1 against an NCSI show? No small feat. And, and there was mention of an early renewal for Season 6 - which is fantastic. But neither of those things are guaranteed to continue with a move back to Tuesday. Especially, when going up against the #1 show of the night (OG FBI) which draws in 7 million viewers.

I am working on being optimistic. But a little part of me thinks this move is a bad idea and could be a slap in the face to ABC. Then I think of all the effort ABC is making in support of FEDS with sucky up front views, that maybe The Rookie will survive a hit to their ratings.

Does the change happen in January? With the mid season finale conclusion? If so, how are they going to top blowing up John Nolan for the mid-season story?

======

OH WAIT - HOT OFF THE PRESSES, looks like ABC just sold The Rookie’s Sunday night slot to a (hopefully national) news show for $$$$$.

So the move has nothing to do with The Rookie, per se. in that case moving to Tuesday night makes sense.

I just hope it’s not conservative Clear Channel Communications bullshit spewing forth instead. Good thing I don’t watch the news .

[webchargers6]

The Benefits of Local SEO: 3 Ways Best SEO Company In India Helps

Local SEO gives firms a competitive edge through higher search engine rankings, expands brand recognition, and reaches target consumers. You're craving a burrito at 11 p.m. You tell yourself that you should really be sleeping, but you know that thinking about burritos while lying in bed will not help you count sheep. What then do you do? Using your phone, you open Google and enter "burrito store open near me." While there won't be any sparkling dust or rabbits springing out of hats, local search engine optimization (SEO) magic has already happened from the time you begin your search. This kind of magic lives in worlds far more exotic and intricate than Hogwarts or Middle Earth, according to people familiar with magical literature. The Internet is a rapidly expanding and fast-paced environment where local SEO magic occurs with the help of the Best SEO Company in India. This essay will look at the value of local SEO and how it affects the commercial environment. For more information, keep reading!

3 major benefits of local SEO

Here are three exciting benefits of local SEO:

1. Local SEO increases local brand awareness

First things first: Getting customers into your business is one of the most important steps towards making a profit. You don't need to hold a Master's degree in business administration to understand that the more goods and services you offer, the more customers visit your store.

Let us now examine the less obvious: what is your strategy for drawing customers into your store? That MBA would be really helpful right now. You have to be known to the world before someone physically enters your business or even clicks on your website.

Here's when local SEO becomes useful. You may position your company to be more visible to potential clients by optimizing your web presence for local search intent. Put otherwise, if you concentrate on boosting your web presence in a particular region, you'll draw in more local customers who are interested in your offerings. An efficient local SEO strategy tries to direct web traffic towards nearby companies, just like a billboard on a highway directs vehicles to businesses located along the side of the road. Search engines' preference for companies that have used local SEO techniques with the best SEO company in India including location-based keywords, location-based content, and optimized online local citations makes this feasible.

To appear more favorably in their search results, a company can also predict the intention of a nearby searcher. For a moment, let's revisit our amiable burrito vendor. To improve its ranking for searches including these keywords, this company may incorporate location-based keywords into its website.

The seller of burritos, for instance, may use location-based keywords strategically on their website, blog posts, and local listings if they are located in Chicago. This would allow a hungry Chicagoan to find the vendor on Google when they search for "burritos in Chicago."

What distinguishes local SEO, though, from other marketing strategies? After all, in theory, you might get some local exposure by placing an advertisement in the newspaper, right?

In comparison to other, more conventional forms of advertising, local SEO is more effective at raising brand awareness because it answers users' questions—such as "Where can I buy a burrito near me?" or "What burrito places are open at 11 p.m. in Chicago?"—and matches those queries with relevant product listings, meeting their needs. With location-based searches accounting for over 50% of all Google searches, your business has a prospective clientele sitting right in front of you, waiting for just one click on their phone.

Local SEO marketing addresses demand and provides a response, which drives customers straight to companies with the help of the best SEO company in India. A successful local SEO campaign will put your company in front of searchers, increasing the likelihood that they will visit your store later on in the day.

2. Local SEO creates a connection with your target audience

Regretfully, it's not always sufficient to just put your company in front of potential clients in order to encourage sales. In addition to merely getting seen, a successful local SEO plan will seek to establish a relationship with your target demographic.

The last stage of a connection between a buyer and a seller is a completed purchase. This link may be developed or reduced by acts performed by either partner, just like in any relationship, romantic or platonic. As a business, the bond you establish with prospective clients prior to their final purchase determines how strong the relationship will be in the long run.

Comparable to speed dating, that is. Simply because they were the first to take a seat, you wouldn't get married to the person across from you. In a similar vein, a customer may decide not to buy from a company just because they were the first pick in the Google search results.

On the other hand, if you click with the person sitting across from you during speed dating, you'll probably be more successful in securing a second date than if you go with someone who seems dull.

From the standpoint of local SEO, there are several strategies to improve this relationship. By accumulating reviews, you may use local SEO services from the best SEO company in India to enhance the perception of your company. Because reviews are published by actual consumers, which gives them greater credibility with search engines, they are helpful in fortifying a relationship. A prospective client is more inclined to collaborate with you if they read more glowing testimonials about your company. Additionally, by developing local backlinks—links from other websites pointing to your website—you might be able to gain the confidence of search engines and establish your trustworthiness. These backlinks demonstrate to search engines the reliability of your website, which raises the position of your company listings in search results.

3. Local SEO gives you a leg up over the competition

The good news is that you've captured the interest of potential clients. Unfortunately, several of your rivals are also vying for their attention. So, how can you "steal the hearts" of potential clients and get a competitive edge? By implementing an effective local SEO strategy, you may be able to appear higher in local search results and above the competition in the Local Pack (the top three local search results on Google for a location-based query). Like any kind of marketing, one of the main objectives of local SEO optimization is to help your company stand out from the competition in the eyes of consumers with the help of the best SEO company in India. In addition to boosting customer confidence in your company, local SEO tactics like review creation may highlight your advantages over rivals. For instance, if your primary rival only has 100 five-star reviews compared to your 400 five-star reviews on your Google Business Profile profile, searchers would conclude that you are the better option for business due to your huge number of positive reviews.

Additionally, by constructing citations and backlinks, visitors may find your company outside of your website or social media accounts, increasing brand exposure.

For instance, a consumer using Angie's List or YellowBook may come across your optimized citation and decide to select you over a rival due to familiarity with your brand and the ease with which you can provide your services.

Learn more about the benefits of local SEO

A well-crafted local SEO strategy with WebChargers helps people who are looking for reliable information online as well as the businesses using it, regardless of whether you're selling or consuming burritos. Visit our blog to learn more about the value of local SEO and how it can help companies like yours!

[samthecatgirl]

Random bit of writing because I need practice so why not write (totally not procrastinating on drawing, what, why would you even imply such a thing, how dare you)

Darkness. It was what had consumed the world in the past decade. They had let it progress this far, and now it was too far gone to fix. At least... That was what everyone kept saying. But she wasn't about to give up on it.

A flash of light and a burst of magic, and the next door slid open. God, her spells had gotten so difficult--Ever since the sun had died, magic had become harder to wield by the day. But while she still had it... She had to do *something,* right? It was better than sitting with her grandmother, reminiscing about the days when the sun shone its brilliant, vibrant light upon the land.

Then again... Was it?

She had no time for that train of thought, so she discarded it. For now, her energy had to be focused elsewhere. And even as she refocused her mind, she could feel it. She'd come into this crypt with nothing but a battered sword, her spellbook, and a pack of supplies, and she'd hardly had to use any of it. Child's play, really, it'd been so far. But now... There was a presence with her, and she was immediately aware of her surroundings. The room she'd broken into was a large burial chamber, exactly the room she'd been looking for. Beautiful art lined the walls, silver and gold dancing among cloth tapestries with fine inks and paints along their surfaces. The stone floor, carved into intricate patterns that ran the course of the room.

But... What was that thing here with her? Almost as though of its own accord, her left hand raised, firing off a pulse of magic just as an arrow flew from the darkness. It ripped it to pieces, turning the wood and steel to dust in an instant. Such was the way of magic, really; Her surprise was less at the arrow simply vanishing into the blast and more at how quickly she'd reacted. All those hours training under Hector had clearly paid off.

"Who's there?" She asked, holding both hands out. Purple energy wove between her fingers, but already she could feel the strain of just that simple display. Sure, sure... She could vaporize steel, but God forbid she make a light show, right? And so the magic fizzled out almost as soon as it had begun, a figure emerging from the dark.

A black robe, underneath which scarlet eyes shone. Once, the Vampires of the world were starving beasts, desperate for their next meal. Nowadays, though, they fed easily, and their senses had long since returned. Not to mention this slow death of magic had reduced their hunger. It had been years since the last person had died to a vampire attack. But still, something about those eyes... It terrified her.

It did not respond, however, raising the bow that it clutched in its hands. Another arrow was pointed at her, readied to release. And slowly, its voice rasped out what sounded almost like words, almost like the desperate attempts of a damned soul to take another breath.

[valgeristik]

Entering the manic pixie dream girl OC design era, Anyway, this is Juta! (they/them) (pronounced kinda like yuta)

My 193cm (6′4″) tall quarter-elf aasimar who glows and has horns (and also, as i decided after finishing this art, wings. eventually.)

Anyway, they are actually the child of another one of my ocs that i have NOT made an intro post for yet, but TLDR Senna went thru the adventurer to baroness to queen pipeline and ALSO he married an angel (long story), and so that is how Juta was born :)

The giant centipede’s name is Honeybunch! She’s actually Senna’s magical companion, whom he sent to keep an eye on his baby once they decided to embark on an Adventure like their papa<3 Honeybunch has been Juta’s babysitter since childhood, and they even used to ride this giant bug like some kids do with big dogs. One of Juta’s character traits is that they ABSOLUTELY cannot blend in. anywhere. especially in the dark

[sukirichi]

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy 

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places.  “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

[reidsnose]

doodles

overview: reader doodles on her hands a lot and spencer has to give into the temptation of coloring it in

genre: flufffffff

a/n: sorry ive havent posted a fic in like a week, ive been in quite a slump but i had this idea well after midnight but i just had to write it so lmk what u guys think of this one :)

masterlist

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doodling on your hands: a once nervous habit that had seeped into your everyday life and now is just a regular habit. nearly everyday you would come to work with clean hands and get home with a mini art gallery on your non dominant one.

Spencer admired this from the moment he noticed it. at first he thought you had a tattoo but when you came back the next day with it completely gone, he was a tad confused, only to catch you doodling on that very same hand a couple hours later on the jet. he thought maybe it was an occasional thing, a habit you'd quit once you got better situated into the team, but after nearly a year you still left work almost everyday with some cutesy sketches drawn on your hand.

Spencer found himself looking forward to your doodles, imagining in his head what you might draw each day, and thinking of all the colors you would add if you had the time. being the great profiler that he is, he noticed a pattern: you subconsciously correlated your doodles with your mood.

after especially hard cases or just bad days you always drew roses.

when you were very happy you drew all sorts of fruits.

anxiousness bore little swampy creatures and lily pads.

tired days filled your hands with random, intricate designs that you didn't even have to try hard to make.

and content was anything else.

he was so impressed and absolutely adored your little coping mechanism. watching you concentrate on making those teeny pieces of art simply for your own pleasure was definitely a sight to see. the way your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poked out a bit was absolutely positively adorable. and soon he had noticed that he was looking forward less to the doodles and more to watching you draw them. and after that he began looking forward to just you.

you were sat on the jet with your back to the corner of the last seat on the plane, creating a pattern of roses on the back of your hand. Spencer plopped down in the seat next to you, growing tired of watching from so far away.

"that bad, huh?" he asked, noticing the type of flower you were gracing your hand with.

"hm?" you looked up, confused.

"you only doodle roses on bad days." he explained, pointing to your hand.

"what? no i don't!" you defended, " i just think roses are neat."

to be fair, you were having a bad day but he could've profiled that without the doodle. he cant be right, can he? there was no way you had a mood system for your doodles! unless there was.

"repetitive strokes are therapeutic, so roses being rough days make sense. the spiral in the middle followed by however many layered petals you want is a perfectly repetitive while still interesting enough to doodle."

"if i didn't know any better i'd say you've been spying on me, Dr. Reid," you teased, enjoying the slight rouge that appeared on his cheeks.

"what! no! i'm- i'm a profiler i notice patterns! i just- spying sounds creepy." he stammered.

"ok. how about admiring." you jabbed, turning a little red yourself.

"fine. but you know coloring helps too." he flipped back to the old topic of conversation.

"unfortunately i only have the standard blue, black and red ink."

"roses are red." he chuckled.

"interesting point," you bent down and reached into your bag, pulling out a red pen and handing it to him, "knock yourself out."

"what?" he looked at you slightly bewildered.

"coloring is therapeutic, you said it yourself. and you and i both know that you need something to relax you after a case like that. we all do." you explained, trying to be as nonchalant as you could knowing his skin would touch yours.

he grabbed the pen and clicked it open, coloring smoothly and slowly inside the lines you had already made in black, careful not to go over them and smudge the ink. you and him both tried your best to ignore the warmth shooting through your bodies from every place your hands touched. his fingertips lightly grazing your knuckles as he worked.you worked your way up your arm, giving you both space to work and by the time you landed, you had a half sleeve garden of surprisingly well colored (and somehow shaded) red roses.

you went home that night and bought a pack of colorful (washable) pens, hoping this little rose garden with him wasn't a one time thing. and even if it was, you would want to add your own pop of color to your doodles.

thankfully it wasn't.

you and Spencer found yourselves drawing and coloring on your hand a lot. he would catch you doing it and pop in over your shoulder just to add a touch of color where he thought it fit. and you began to feel sad washing off what the two of you had created that day, feeling nostalgic for time that has hardly passed.

and sometimes on the jet you would get tired of your own skin, so you would draw little doodles on his hand, often times leaving a little heart at the base of his thumb. these little hearts he avoided washing off for as long as he possibly could because they felt like a part of you was always with him. he started doing the same thing to your hand, a sort of signature the two of you shared.

most days, the doodles on your hands were pretty much fully colored in.

but now Spencer began to worry. what if you get ink poisoning because of his coloring? sure, the risk was statistically low, improbable even; but never zero. so one night after work he went out and bought a little sketchbook and on the front he scrawled,

"y/n's super duper special sketchbook"

upon receiving it, after giving him a hug he never wanted to let go of, you took a sharpie and started editing the title he had given it. so it now read:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook"

the two of you used up a whole page that day, front and back filled with all types of fruits. Spencer smiled to himself, knowing this had made you very happy. you took a second to take a step back and admire him doing the very thing he admired you for. and you understood why; he just looked so precious and you suddenly realized you craved the feeling of his hand touching yours. so you leaned over and drew a little black heart at the base of his thumb. he looked up at you, smiling widely before returning a red heart to the base of your thumb.

and you guys tore through that book, using a page a day and filling it cover to cover in no time. your own personal handmade coloring book. it turned out to be both of your most prized possessions, a pang of sadness filling your chests as you finished the last page.

you felt bad taking it home with you that night, wondering if maybe Spencer wanted to keep it. maybe you should keep it at work so you can both have it. thats the fair thing to do. you looked down, smiling sadly at the little red heart on your hand.

he did want to keep it. but he had a better idea in mind. he looked down, smiling excitedly at the little black heart on his hand.

the next day when you arrived to work all your worries were solved. on your desk laid a new sketch book entitled:

"y/n and Spencer's super duper special sketchbook: volume ii"

you laughed as you read a small lilac post it note that said, "i want to keep this one please" signed with a little red heart in the corner.

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