#I should draw Anderson more

[marmsart]

[from the archives] 1 hr saga painting study i did for fun on a cabin trip this spring

[p1xiestar]

I love drawing random stuff

Dw guys it’s scarlet milk not blood. Hoon man spilt some and Cody fell down the stairs and became unconscious.😁👍🏽 (definitely)

[veronickaaa]

[rozahline]

i promise i still draw

[ampathy]

Just a little jesser I drew. Love him dearly. I didn’t feel like finishing the sketch so I just slapped some color on it and called it a day.

[expectris-patronum]

I read this (“and still dares me on” by Winblam on ao3) a while ago and it was wonderful, so tried to draw a little scene from chapter 6.

[elstattoo]

Sensual: Abby Anderson x Reader

☆*:.｡.

MEN DNI, MDNI

Summary: Tribbing with Abby.

WC: 927

Warning: scissoring/tribbing, sub! abby, top! reader, fingering (abby receiving), praise

Author’s Note: This is embarrassingly something I think about and wish more fanfics had. Also she is a moaner top or bottom, receiving or not. Should hopefully have a Chloe Price fic, Vi, and Ellie stuff soon!

—

Abby could feel her lip almost starting to bleed from how hard she was biting into it. Oh how her patience was low, so very low from the very fact you’re making out with her on some old sofa and rubbing her clit, while the two of you should be out patrolling.

But no, you’re teasing her on this couch for what felt like hours and she can’t take it anymore. Her teeth dug into her lip more, biting back the whine that beckoned to escape her lips.

“Fucking do something, please…” Abby whispered.

“Didn’t hear you, baby,” you teased, hand now on her chin and angling her face towards yours. “Speak up.”

Your tone was assertive and it had her growing even wetter. You smirked, looking down at her cunt. Her wetness seeped out of her, and seeing her grow wetter made your own pussy clench at the sight.

Abby wanted to roll her eyes at your teasing, but she knew that would draw it out so she indulged.

“Please… just put them inside for a little,” Abby whimpered. She craved your fingers. Your fingers dug harshly into her clit before removing them and then smacking it. Abby was startled by the sudden action but quickly relished the feeling. She loved what you did to her, no matter what.

She eagerly raised her hips and rolled them to continue the momentum of your fingers.

“Fucking… please just move them… please…” Abby pleaded.

Her eyes bore into yours, and a smirk made its way across your face, one of satisfaction.

“My good girl…”

She clenched around your fingers at the praise, so you sped them up. Abby’s eyes fluttered shut as her moans gradually got louder.

Her wetness soaked your fingers, your digits curling to hit even deeper. The sound of Abby’s moans filled the room, alongside the wet, squealing of Abby’s pussy as your fingers went in and out.

One second Abby’s in utter bliss feeling your fingers curling inside her wet cunt, then she’s a whining mess as you remove them.

“W-why did you stop?” She panted out, chest rising and falling from the intensity that was then stolen from her.

“Because… You’re going to cum against my pussy,” you remarked.

Abby’s eyes widened, and you easily got up and on top of her. You lifted one of her legs up and then slotted your clit right above hers. Before slowly rocking your hips forward, you were previously soaked from fingering Abby, and she was dripping.

The sensation of your clits pressing right into one another was almost too much. The contact was hot, you rolled your hips against hers over and over. The need for friction was never-ending.

“Goddd… fuck. This is so much better,” Abby said, rocking her own hips into yours for more. She always needed more of you.

The sight of her below you so desperate against you, was so… addicting. Your hand gripped her leg, nails digging into the meaty flesh.

You lightly bit your lip, almost forgetting to speak as you took in the mere sight of your girlfriend. “Yeah, it is, pretty girl.”

How needy Abby is compared to her usual tough demeanor made you all the more wet. How did she come apart for you and how desperate she is? It made your stomach flip.

Both your needy breaths filled the air as you continued grinding your wet, soaking cunt against hers. Abby never wanted this feeling to end nor did you.

“I’m getting close Abby, are you? Huh? My sweet girl,” you muttered peering down at her. Your hips never stopped moving, chasing your orgasm.

Abby could only whine, her hips still slightly moving but the stimulation was all too much for her. You could feel her grab onto your waist, large hands hurriedly pulling you along.

“Yes! Yes!” She sang out, chest heaving, and glistening with sweat. Her teeth dug into her lower lip, and her eyes locked onto yours. “God, I love when you fuck me. I’m so close, please!”

Hearing her beg made you go feral, you allowed her hands to stay on your waist but suddenly sped up your movements.

Squelching sounds filled the room from how wet your cunts are. Abby’s fingernails dug into yours as her eyes rolled back into her skull.

“Oh fuck! Yes! Ohh,” Abby whined, she screamed cumming hard against your pussy. You rolled your hips once more, one hand now grabbing onto the bed sheet while you stabilized your other to hold Abby’s leg up.

You were chasing your orgasm, and suddenly the tightness in your stomach and the sweet low moans from Abby below became too much.

“Oh, Abby!” You bit your lip, analyzing her face as she whined from overstimulated from her intense orgasm. Seeing her so easily fall apart, eyes shut, pretty pink lips glossed over from her saliva, and the way her body clenched was all you needed to finally finish.

Your back arched and your eyes rolled back as you came, still fucking yourself against Abby to ride out your orgasm.

Abby’s eyes opened, watching as you finished. You felt so wet against her cunt and she felt herself get wetter, if possible, knowing she had made you cum.

Breathily you whined out Abby’s name, body halting its movements. You lazily laid down, sweaty body clinging to Abby’s, body exhausted from the previous activity, only seconds ago.

“Holy… fuck,” Abby breathed, you smiled at her.

“Yeah… holy fuck, indeed,” you giggled, which caused a dorky smile to break across Abby’s face.

—

author’s note: I absolutely love subby muscular woman aka especially Abby Anderson… 😛

[abbyshands]

jackson!abby (& cockwarming :3)

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader

warnings; tw superrr old draft (not really but i don’t like it LOL), cockwarming (obv), use of a strap-on (referred to as abby’s cock) abby’s a tease, use of princess/sweet girl/baby, daddy kink, fondling, nipple play, kissing, lmk if i missed smt <3

P.S.; please look at the below links to learn of ways that you can help the people in gaza, and how you can learn more about this ongoing issue overall. please don't stay in the dark about this: like each post, reblog them, etc. if you like my work, then i am asking you to take the side that i'm on. free 🇵🇸

LINKS: ways you can help | 🇵🇸 masterpost | MORE ways you can help | places to boycott, and families you can help escape | learn more

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

“shhh, shhh, baby, c’mere. i’ve got you,” abby whispers to you, cock deep inside your cunt.

you had always gotten cold easily, but this time was different. jackson was fucking merciless when it came to the chill. a blizzard was going out there, and no matter how much you bundled up, fire going and sleeping bag around you, you just couldn’t get warm.

so who should you ask to help you but her?

you were way too needy to go very long without abby’s strap-on, and that was precisely why she had carried it along to jackson in the first place. she had seen you shivering, sleepless as you did your best to get to bed, and begging to get warmer.

and she had just the thing.

that’s how you ended up faced away from abby, her arms wrapped around your waist as she cockwarmed you from the back.

you let out a small whimper as abby pulled you closer, the silicone of the dildo moving around inside you. “f- a- abs,” you couldn’t help but whine.

abby’s arm was wrapped around your waist as she cuddled you close to her body. “hush, sweet girl. don’t wanna wake anyone, now, do we?” she whispered, chuckling lowly into your ear.

“n- no, daddy,” you huffed out as she yanked you even closer to her, and if there was one thing that was warm by now, it was your fucking face.

“that’s a good girl,” abby cooed into your ear as she jerked her hips on “accident,” which damn well make you squirm as abby slowly put her hand up your shirt. “am i filling you up well enough, princess?”

“mmm, mhm,” you whined as abby’s fingers began to roll at your nipples, and it was a wonder you didn’t turn around and beg her to fuck you then and there.

what a funny way she had of making sure you were “warm.”

abby couldn’t help but chuckle as she fondled you at your chest, pinching your nipple in her thick fingers. “needy girl. want your daddy’s cock so bad, don’t you?” abby whispered into your ear, which drove you fucking crazy.

you couldn’t find it in you to answer, and only pushed yourself back onto her, eager for her touch. and, of course, this only drew out one more laugh from abby. “well, that’s one way to answer,” she teased.

when you tire of having your back pressed to abby’s front, you’re pressed up to her in a different way now, chest flush on hers as you face her. so, when abby thrust into you a little, just to tease you, of course, your face is in her neck, lips giving her small nibbles to choke back your whiny moans.

“a- abby, stop it,” you groan into the crevice your face is buried in, digging your fingernails into abby’s back. abby chokes back her own needy groans, eager to tease you instead.

“what, baby? can’t take it? didn’t you want to be warmed?” abby teased as she did it once more, rutting her hips up into you, but in the end, she cut it out. you sink your lips into her skin, pressing them to her neck so you don’t make too much noise.

it doesn’t work out that well.

“f- fuck,” you draw out, and abby can’t help but chuckle.

“so cute.”

and it’s abby, so obviously there’s a point where a little cockwarming isn’t even enough to take care of your neediness.

it begins slow with small kisses on your neck, a raspy, whispered, “mine” following each one. but it blends into much more when you find yourself not only shivering from the cold now, but from her, too.

abby’s large hands make their way under your shirt again, warming your skin in seconds, and she comes up to cup your breast. you let out a small whine when she does so, to which abby places a finger over your lips.

“shut that pretty mouth of yours for once, baby, yeah? too much noise,” she teases you, as if she doesn’t have her hands all over you, dick spreading your wet pussy open from the front as she rolls your nipple in her fingers.

but you don’t disobey her.

“good girl. such a good girl for daddy,” abby voices, only making you cuddle into her closer. the sound of the fire crackling behind you can only do so much to drown out those little whines that abby can’t get enough of.

“now let me warm you up, baby.”

so abby lays there with you, making sure you’re comfy with every little thing she’s doing, hands roaming as she kisses your neck and face. every once in a while, she’ll move her hips a bit, just to hear those cute little whimpers that you try so hard to keep down.

it’s only when you finally fall asleep that she pulls out of you, knowing that she got the job done in making her girl feel better <3

[inwithrin]

ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ an oath whispered by the river

ᯓ★ knight!abby and princess!reader

cw: abby is injured while protecting reader.

wc: 5820 ₍^. .^₎⟆

the halls of the royal court are too clean for abby's liking—everything reeks of rosewater and fresh fruit. she knows she doesn’t belong here, and it makes her jaw tighten.

the guards bring her to the throne room at dusk—torches flickering as she walks across the polished marble floor. abby’s steps echo loud and graceless—but she allows every person present to hear and look.

then there’s you—sitting at the end of the hall, raised above it all, draped in white lace and soft lilac silks. your gloved hands rest delicately in your lap, posture pristine—making you look like a portrait. but it’s your eyes that stop her—still and sharp. they find her across the room, and abby feels the shift in her gut like a punch, but she keeps walking. 

a week ago, she saved a dying baron from a bandit attack—and the royal family had set her eyes on her. that earned her the title of royal guard, protector of the crown’s most precious thing—you, the only daughter of the king and queen. it should feel like an honor, nevertheless, it feels like a weight around her throat. 

they tell her to kneel, so she does—one leg to the floor, her sword laid across her thighs. “i, abigail anderson—” she says, voice clear. “—swear fealty to the crown’s princess. i swear to protect her body with my own, to stand between her and death.”

a haunting silence blooms in the room. then, you raise—your footsteps are as quiet as snowfall. abby looks up at you, hating how untouchable you seem from up close—no scars, no calluses, not a single hair out of place. you lift her sword with both hands, struggling with the weight of it, and abby sees it. she should feel superior in some way, but instead, it only reminds her of the differences between both of you.

you touch the flat of the blade to her shoulder, left, then right. carefully, you lean in. “i don’t need anything from you,” your voice is low as you murmur. “only your strength.”

abby says nothing as you hand her the sword. when you step back, she stays on her knees—not lifting her gaze to look at you. 

now, her life is set. she will rise. she will follow. she will guard. she will pretend not to see the scorn in the nobles’ eyes. she will obey.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the evening air has the scent of honeysuckle—or maybe daisies. abby can’t tell since she doesn’t care about flowers—they always reminded her of graves.

you send for her with the simple invitation of meeting you by the garden, and she obeys. 

abby follows the stone path behind the castle, past the hedges and into the royal gardens where ivy coils up marble statues. the second she steps past the gate, she sees you—standing in a simple, soft pink gown, one that seems weightless and sheer. your hair falls loose, and your crown is gone. that alone unsettles her more than she wants to admit.

the two of you walk without speaking. she watches you from the corner of her eye, how the pearls you are wearing catch the sunlight or how your fingers graze a few flowers. eventually, you lead her to a clearing she hasn’t seen, past a small bridge—where a river that glints under the sun is. without a word, you slip off your heels, and step into the grass—the hem of your gown brushing dirt and dew—only to sit on the muddy bank.

abby’s brows draw in. “you’re ruining your gown,” she mumbled.

“it’s only water and mud,” you don’t look up.

“you’re wearing royal silk,” she steps closer, boots squelching in the earth. “if anyone sees you like this—if the king knows about this—he’ll have my head.”

still, you don’t turn—fingers tracing patterns through the water, slow and thoughtful. your dress is soaked to the thighs, clinging into your skin, translucent in places it shouldn’t be.

“princess, you’re ruining your gown,” she repeats, tone sharper.

“i’m the king’s daughter,” you say softly. “nothing i do is by nature ruinous.” 

she stares—abby wants to grab your wrist and drag you out of the water—but she doesn’t move, she just stares.

the river murmurs between you as the sun disappears beyond the trees—the wind is cool, and so is abby’s blood. she does not speak, she is still staring at you—helplessly drawn. the hem of your silk dress floats like a pale ghost in the shallow water—until you get up, stepping deeper. 

abby’s breath catches in her throat. “princess,” she warns, but you don’t look back. 

you move slowly, deliberately, into the river until the water laps at your waist. then higher as your dress clings to your body like a second skin. you pause only once—and then, in one smooth motion, you vanish beneath the current.

she tenses, taking a step forward, hand on the hilt of her sword. “god,” she mumbles. “what are you doing?”

the river stills as you rise. water pouring from your hair, streaming over your skin, glittering in the last light of the evening. you sweep your hair back from your face, eyes calm and unbothered, like this is where you belong—not in the throne, not in pearls, not wearing a crown. but here, soaking wet, half-myth, half-human. for a moment, abby swears you’re not entirely human—maybe you’re a mermaid crowned in pearls, silk trailing like fins. you glide back toward the river bank without ceremony, the soaked fabric spills around you.

“sit,” you order, expression unreadable. 

abby doesn’t move. “princess—”

“i said sit,” you don’t raise your voice.

she exhales, glancing toward the hedges as she sits—expecting it to be a trap. her armor clinks faintly, placing her sword across her lap. you step behind her, she hears the squelch of wet fabric as you lower your body.

your fingers were cool and careful, sliding through her braid, now loose from the day’s activities. “what are you doing?” you ask.

you don’t answer, nevertheless, you begin to undo her hair. 

she flinches when your soft hand grazes the nape of her neck as you undo her hair. “i can do it myself.”

“you could,” you reply, steady. “but i’m doing it.”

silence falls—only the sound of your fingers working through her braid and the water dripping from your gown.  

“you’re going to get me in trouble,” abby says, her voice ragged. “if someone sees you like this—if they see me like this—the king will have my head.”

still, you keep braiding. “i’m the one who gives order,” you whisper. “let them speak if they see. they’ll only do what i allow.”

her jaw tenses and she shuts her eyes as your fingers move slowly, with too much tenderness and knowledge. you finish the braid, abby runs her hand through it, feeling something soft, wrapping the end—a silky ribbon. fine. expensive. not hers. abby turns enough to see the missing ribbon from the hem of your dress.

“you used your gown?” she asks.

“i did,” you say. “it’ll last you until death.”

the moon rises behind the trees, and the night’s wind breathes around you. neither of you moves.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the walk back to the castle is quiet. abby follows two paces behind, trailing your damp footprints. 

inside the palace, you speak to a servant. “send a bath to my chambers,” you say. “and have a gown laid out—apple green. please,” you disappear behind your doors, leaving abby alone in the corridor. 

what are you doing to me? she thinks. and why am i letting you?

later, the bells toll for supper—you emerge wearing the green gown, hair brushed out and left loose, a single emerald pendant resting at your throat. abby waits outside your door, armor cleaned and her braid still tied with your ribbon. you walk and she follows.

the dining hall is empty—no king, no courtiers. just the long table lit by candlelight. you sit at the head, the way you were born to.

“sit,” you look up—seeing abby hesitate. “i said sit.”

“i can’t sit at the royal table,” she says.

you tilt your head, faintly amused. “you can. i’m telling you to.”

again, she hesitates. she had fought men twice her size. faced blades, fire, and war. however, nothing has ever felt as dangerous as this.

“i’m not supposed to—” she begins.

you cut in. “abigail, are you disobeying an order?”

she shakes her head. “no, princess. sorry.”

you nod toward the chair across from you. she sits—the chair is too soft, the table too polished, the plate too fine, and the food too much for someone like her—roasted meat glazed with citrus, still-steaming bread, pears dripping with something sweet and spiced, and a glass of red wine.

abby doesn’t dare to move.

“eat,” you say as you take a single bite, elegant and precise.

she stares at the meal—thinking that if she touched it, it would summon punishment. nevertheless, she picks up the fork anyway. the first bite is so delicious it hurts. abby has lived on salted meat, dry bread, and cold stew—and this is the kind of meal only royalty deserved. 

“do you think i’m cruel?” you ask.

“what?” she glances at you.

“you look at me like i’m a wolf—a threat,” you say, taking another bite of your bread.

abby sets her fork down. “i don’t think you’re a threat.”

“good,” you mutter.

the candle between you flickers—both of you now eating in silence, not a single glance exchanged. 

 ────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the next day, the sky was clear and the air windless. perfect for the occasion. the royal courtyard bustles—violet silks draped over marble columns, banners threaded carefully with silver thread, musicians tuning their lyres and lutes.

tonight is the spring ballad—a celebration of peace between kingdoms. since appearances mean everything, you arrived in a gown—a cascade of violet and petal-pink, pearl-threaded vines curling across your waist, pastel stones glimmering from your ears, neck, and wrists. your hair is swept half-up, and your crown perched on your head.

all eyes turn to you the moment you step into the ballroom. abby stands behind you, tall in formal armor—steel and a royal-blue sash, her braid is tight, and her hands hover near the hilt of her sword. she watches everything and everyone. something feels wrong.

you drift from noble to noble, offering words and hollow smiles. abby shadows each step, cold, and silent. the second you notice an unfamiliar pair of eyes, you turn to abby—fingers brushing her hand, and she understands.

a glass shatters. the first blade never touches you, as abby sees the glint, and moves before the thought finishes forming. her sword meets the attacker’s with a crash that sends nobles in panic. a second attacker follows, and she turns fast, blade raised as a dagger grazes her arm—shallow but sharp. she doesn’t flinch. 

guards pour in as the attackers are dragged away, screaming. voices rise—orders, demands, and threats pour. none of it matters because suddenly, you’re close to her.

“abby,” you say, voice cutting through the chaos.

“you’re not hurt, right?” she asks.

you’re staring at her arm, blood stains the edge of her sleeve, dark against the fabric. “you’re injured,” you whisper.

“it’s nothing,” abby sighs.

you take her wrist desperately. “you’re coming with me now. allow the guards to fix this mess.”

the second she hears your voice, she knows better than to protest. something cracked behind your eyes as you walked with abby—the guards parting as they’re instructed to move. you don’t stop until your chambers swallow you both, the door slamming shut.

“sit,” you order, as you pace around the room, grabbing a basin, a cloth, and a bandage.

she obeys and you kneel before her—gown pooling on the stone floor. you tear away at abby’s sleeve, hands controlled. 

“you’re acting like i lost a limb,” she mutters.

your eyes gaze up to meet hers. “you could have.”

you soak a cloth in the water, wring it out and press it to her skin. abby hisses through her teeth, but she stays still.

“you’ve never knelt for anyone, have you?” she asks.

“i kneel for no one,” you respond. “but i’ll kneel to clean your blood.”

she watches you as you carefully clean the bloody wound—tying the bandage wrapping. as you got up, she shifts in the seat, sword now left on the floor. 

“stay here,” you say as you step away—disappearing behind the silk divider into the bathing chamber.

water echoes—buckets poured into marble and the clink of glass as oil vails are uncorked. abby imagines it without meaning to—your gown slipping down, silk pooling at your feet, your bare skin meeting the water. she closes her eyes, not daring to move.

nearly half an hour passes before the divider parts again—you emerge, dressed in a sky blue royal nightgown—moving barefoot across the room.

“i had warm water brought,” you mutter. “you’ll bathe next.”

“i’m fine, i can go to my quarters—” she tries, only to be interrupted by you.

“you’re not leaving,” you order. “i’ll bring you something soft to wear.”

abby glances at herself—this isn’t how it’s meant to be. she’s the sword. the shield. she’s not supposed to be bandaged and bathe in the princess’s private room. 

“the water’s hot—go before it cools,” you say, glancing over your shoulder.

by the time abby returns, dressed in a cream tunic and wool pants—you sit on the bed, robe tied over your nightgown, a fresh bandage and a tub of ointment across your lap, your feet are tucked beneath you.

“sit,” you pat the mattress as your unwavering eyes find hers.

“you just cleaned it,” she mutters.

“sit,” your voice is colder. “i need to clean it again, you bathed.”

she grits her teeth and sits. your fingers are gentle as they untie the wrapping—the wound is crusted, angry, and reopened from movement. you don’t speak when she winces or when her breath hitches. 

but, when she hisses at the sting of the ointment. “damn—”

“abigail,” you say flatly. “shut your mouth.”

abby nods and stills as you wrap the fresh bandage with care. fingers deliberately  brushing her skin more than necessary. 

“you threw yourself between me and a blade,” you whisper. “this is how i show you i’m thankful.”

“it’s my obligation,” she mutters.

“no,” you lean back. “your obligation isn’t to bleed for me—it’s to protect me.”

“same thing,” abby whispers. 

your hands move to smooth the edge of the wrapping—thumbs brushing against her skin, like you can still feel the blood on your fingers, and you’re afraid it won’t be the last time. 

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the sun burns gentler here, as you lead her past the last arches of the palace garden—marble gives to moss and stone. abby follows, her sword bumping against her hip with each step.

every time you move, the folds of your pale rose gown sway around your ankles, and abby can’t stop watching you. she hates the way her eyes fix on your hair catching the sun, the slip of your sleeve down your shoulder, your fingers ghosting along the flowers.

you reach the river. the same bend where, once, stepped straight into the water. but this time, you say nothing as you look at the soft current and step out of your shoes, and sit down in the grass while abby stays standing behind you. 

even without looking at her, you could feel her staring. “you’re staring,” you say quietly. “are you?”

abby scowls defensively. “i wasn’t—”

“abigail, don’t lie,” her name from your lips is gentle and precise.

“it’s my job to watch you,” she shifts, fingers twitching on the hilt of her sword.��

“that’s not what i asked,” you wait, turning enough to look at her. 

and she breaks—she can’t speak when you look at her like that. chin tilted, expression serene—one that told her that you already knew she was staring, you’re just waiting for her to confess it.

you sign, leaning backward until your back hits her knee. abby’s body locks as she feels the warmth of your body through the linen of her pants. 

“you think i don’t see it,” you murmur. “but you’re always watching—and i let you.”

she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

“you never say what you’re thinking,” you continue, still quiet. “but you look at me like i might disappear.”

“i can’t say anything,” she swallows, her voice coming out dry. “you’re going to get me executed.”

a small smile pulls at your lips. “i could,” you tilt your face slightly, lips brushing her knee. “but i won’t.”

abby’s hands move uselessly at her side—her thoughts collapse, unable to do anything but focus on you. you’re calm, beautiful, and cold—like someone who just claimed something she hadn’t needed to ask for.

one moment your head is on her knee, the next you’re rising. the sunlight brushes your shoulders as you stand, and abby follows you with her eyes, each footfall silent in the damn grass.

the silk slips from your shoulder, not scandalously, but just enough—as you step into the river, the fabric floating around your legs, clinging in places, trailing behind you. water beads on your skin and catches in your hair—you lean back, allowing the current to touch your ribs, arms, and throat, your eyes close and your lips part.

abby forgets everything—her name, her body, her breath. the river moves, and so do you—swimming closer to her, graceful and effortless. she drops before her knees give out—sitting with her arms braced against the grass. 

then, you reach her, placing your head on her leg—dripping and cool. abby looks down at you, and the second she meets your eyes, she feels like she is drowning on dry land.

she feels it, something that shakes her down to the bone. her heart kicks hard in her chest—she closes her eyes before it begins ringing in her ears. because she knows you’re looking at her like she’s already yours. 

the river is still—not even the breeze dares to move, not with you half-submerged, your head resting on her knee. abby’s eyes are still closed, embarrassed by the fact that you must be able to hear her heart pounding. she doesn’t know what to do with her hands—fingers begging to reach for something that isn’t hers.

you break the silence, low and smooth. “is something wrong, abigail?”

she opens her eyes, she shouldn’t have. you’re looking up at her—lashes heavy with river water, lips rosy and parted as you breath, and your eyes, cold but not holding any cruelty. 

your arms lifts from under the water, droplets sliding from your wrist. you reach up with the back of your hand and touch her—a stroke across her temple, beneath her hairline. abby sighs—your skin is warm from the sun, wet from the river, and your fingers trail down the side of her face with excruciating softness.

“i asked you something,” you say, softer now. “don’t pretend i didn’t.”

her stomach coils—not knowing if she should flinch or lean into your touch. still, abby doesn’t speak.

“you’re flushed,” you whisper, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “is it the heat?”

“no,” she breathes—she didn’t want to lie.

you smile just a little. “then what is it?”

her fists tighten. she bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood—or maybe restraint, fear, or something that tastes like wanting. you lean forward again, closer—your cheek brushes her knee.

“why don’t you speak?” you ask. “you’re always brave in battle—why is this different?”

“because… you’re not supposed to do this,” her voice is barely hers.

your smile is still small—but it stabs abby more painful than any blade she’s ever faced, because she knows you know what you’re doing. you’re not careless or naïve, you move through life how a hawk circles above its prey—it’s all measured and calculated, as deliberate as any kill.

“you say i’m not supposed to do this,” you whisper, fingers trailing featherlight along her jaw. “but you’re letting me.”

“princess—” she tried, but it sounded weak.

your thumb brushes the corner of her mouth—a hush gesture. “no titles—not here,” your hand falls back to her knee, resting with gentleness that feels like cruelty. “what are you feeling, huh?”

“it’s survival,” abby says.

“why?” you whisper, tone somewhere between amusement and pity. “are you afraid of me?”

she looks at you, and it’s the worst mistake she’s made. your gaze demands and devours, it dares her to lie.

“no,” she says.

you exhale, slowly. “good,” you close your eyes.

the water whispers past you. above, the sky deepens—a darker blue, as dusk creeps in. the garden, the castle, and the world fade away, leaving only the press of your cheek against abby’s knee. your breathing is soft as it fans against her leg—such a vulnerable sight. it should make abby feel powerful, but it makes her feel like she is losing a game. 

minutes pass, slipping away. abby’s muscles ache from holding still—but her hand moves before she can stop it, fingers brushing through your damp hair. your lashes flutter as you lean into the touch. abby knows this is wrong. she is supposed to guard and protect you, not crave you like a forbidden fruit. 

“you’re trembling,” you break the silence. 

abby pulls her hand away as you lift your head—hair clinging to your cheeks in damp strands, skin flushed from the sun and the river, gown flowing in the water. 

“you look fevered,” you say. “you should get into the water.”

she shakes her head. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not,” you stand, dripping—your hand outstretched, but she doesn’t take it. “always so stubborn.”

“i’m not,” she says, looking at the ground.

you lean in. “you are—you just don’t want me to see it.”

there, you stand drenched, silk gripping to your frame—hand still outstretched, waiting. abby’s voice is taut, braced for a blow that never came—instead, you withdraw your hand. 

“you disappoint me, abigail,” you whisper, voice cold.

“that’s not fair,” she mutters, brows furrowing.

“life isn’t fair,” you step closer, abby can smell the river on you. “you should know that.”

“i do know—better than you,” abby looks up, jaw set.

you move closer, standing between her legs—looking down at abby in an almost merciless, consuming way. “you hate me,” you say—a statement, not a question. 

“i don’t,” she immediately says—swallowing against the knot in her throat. 

“you do,” you whisper. “you hate me for what i am. for what you’ll never be allowed to touch. and yet, you’d die for me without hesitation.”

“that’s my duty,” abby grounds out, trying to sound steady.

“no,” you look into her eyes. “that’s your curse.”

abby’s defenses collapse under your cruel mercy. “i—”

you straighten slowly, stepping back. “come,” you say, voice calm, as if nothing had happened. “before i catch a cold.”

she stands because she has no other choice, because she lost this battle the second she let herself care. abby follows you back toward the castle, sword heavy at her side.

the castle halls are darker now, the torches along the stone walls flickering. you walk ahead, your wet gown leaving faint traces along the stone, steps silent. she follows, silent too, body tense. 

you turn around. “go,” you say. “bathe. change. i expect you to be dressed properly for dinner—that’s an order, abby.”

“yes, princess,” abby nods—obeying because disobedience is not a luxury she can afford.

when abby returns, dressed in a clean tunic and pants—you’re waiting for her outside your chamber. you’re dressed in a simple, deep plum dress, a thin golden chain around your throat, and your hair is pinned up—leaving your neck exposed.

it was the first time abby saw you wear anything dark, something that made you feel even more distant and untouchable. beautiful, she thinks—and you catch her looking, but you say nothing, only turn on your heel and lead abby down to the dining hall.

dinner is quieter, as it was just abby and you, seated at the table—plates are laid out, offering glazed venison, warm bread, potatoes, and golden fruits. and abby still feels like she’s being tested, instead of rewarded. 

you sit across from abby—lifting your fork with precision, eating slowly and methodically. she tries to do the same, but her hands betray her, too aware of how your eyes flicker toward her when you think abby won’t notice. except she notices everything now—the tilt of your head, every brush of your lashes, and the tiny smile.

at the end of the meal, you place your fork down, the faintest click against the plate. you say nothing, but your eyes lock with abby’s with an unspoken question—she looks away first. the clatter of silverware fades into silence as you set your glass down, wiping your mouth delicately with a cloth.

without lifting your eyes from abby, you nod toward the doors. “come,” you say, tone smooth but commanding.

immediately, abby’s chair scrapes the floor—following out of the dining hall, back through the corridors, past workers who keep their eyes trained low. 

you stop at your chamber door, you push it open, stepping inside. however, abby hesitates, like she always does. “inside,” you whisper.

the room smells faintly of roses, and a fire crackles low in the hearth. a fresh set of linens and a basin with water awaits. you move carefully, gathering bandages and ointments—as you motion to the small bench near the fireplace. 

“sit,” you demand. 

abby sits down, as you kneel—the folds of your plum gown pooling around you. you take her injured arm in your hands, unwinding the old bandage. she tries not to shift under your touch, but without thinking—without meaning to—her rough, calloused hand lifts. her fingers brushing through your soft, silky hair. 

you freeze—and abby notices. she realized what she’d done, and snatches her hand back, heart pounding in her throat. 

“i’m—i’m sorry, your highness,” she rasps. 

you stay still—the firelight flickering over your cheekbones and lowered lashes. “leave it.”

you reach up with your free hand, guiding her palm back to your hair—pressing it there gently. abby swallows hard, every part of her body burning—but she keeps her hand there, as you resume cleaning her wound in slow strokes. 

abby sits there—a broken knight holding a princess, trying not to fall apart under the unbearable thought of not being allowed this ever. your touch remains gentle as you work, fingers smoothing ointment along her arm, wrapping it anew with white linen. abby’s hand stays buried in your hair, trembling against the crown of your head.

you say nothing—not when abby’s thumb brushes lightly, accidently, against your temple. not when her breath hitches. you simply finish wrapping the bandage with careful precision.

slowly, you look up—her hand slips from your hair the moment your eyes meet. you don’t move—your expression was so calm it made abby feel like she was pinned in place, as if she was some foolish thing caught between reverence and ruin.

“your hands are always trembling,” you say quietly—studying abby with detached curiosity, the one someone might give a wild animal, deciding whether to be merciful or kill it. “you’re not afraid of me, are you, abigail?”

she shakes her head. “no, your highness.”

you rise gracefully to your feet, brushing the creases from your dress with a slow hand, as if nothing had happened. “okay.”

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

as time passed, it had become a routine—you and abby going to the river, it was your peaceful moment. today, the water gleamed, the surface broken by your skirt as you sat by the edge. abby had quickly learned to sit by your side.

for a long while, you just listened to the river—tracing idle shapes into the water, your face serene, hair catching the light beautifully. and abby couldn’t stop staring—your profile too perfect, the arch of your cheekbone, the dip of your mouth, your lashes fluttering. 

“you quite enjoy staring at me,” you say. 

abby’s body jolted, her face going hot. “i wasn’t,” she says quickly, looking away—sounding unconvincing.

you turn your head, looking at her with sharp, unamused eyes. “liar,” you smile.

“i was making sure you were safe,” she mutters, grasping for any excuse.

you let the silence stretch a second too long. “you’re bad at lying,” you hum.

the river kept flowing as you got up, stepping on the water—and abby did the same. you shifted closer, skirt whispering over the grass. abby held her breath, attempting to ignore the scent of sweetness of the soap you used that morning.

then, a sudden pressure—your foot pressing against the top of abby’s leather boot. your skirt lifting lightly. now, you are close enough that abby could see every detail of your face, and still you didn’t meet her eyes—you are looking, but not into her, instead, your gaze hovers around her mouth, cheeks, and chin.

abby squeezes her hands, her instincts battling—one side desperate to lean forward, the other terrified of moving. you tilt your head slightly, mouth parting—so close abby could feel the breath of it. she closes her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling sharply—trying to push every thought away from her mind. you linger there, suspended in the puzzling and sweet moment—then, you giggle, soft and shy. 

you slip back down onto the grass, cheeks a delicate pink. abby opens her eyes slowly, the world tilting under her. you peek at her, and for once, you didn’t seem cold at all. 

you study abby in that quiet way you always did—the kind that made her feel like she was being dissected piece by piece. “why did you close your eyes, abigail?” the question wasn’t cruel or mocking—just curious.

“i—” she starts, her fists pressing hard against her thighs. abby’s mouth went dry as you waited for her response. she knows she couldn’t lie to you—not when those expectant eyes were on her. she swallows hard. “i didn’t know what you were going to do,” she finally forces out.

you lean forward, lips parted. “and if i had done something?” you ask, almost innocently. 

abby lowers her gaze. “i would’ve let you.”

the confession cracks through the stillness. slowly, you reach out—fingertips grazing abby’s wrist—her body tingling at the contact. abby knew she was kneeling to a princess anymore, she was falling for you.

“let me do what, abigail?” you ask, calmly. 

she lets out a slow, almost broken sigh, shoulders sagging. she knows she was backed into a corner now—you weren’t letting her slip away with some half-lie. “whatever you wanted,” abby mutters hoarsely. 

your fingers tighten around her wrist. “anything?”

abby was a knight, a soldier, a protector—she wasn’t supposed to be this—this wreckless, this stupid, this anxious mess in front of her princess.

“yes,” she rasps. 

“what if it ruins you?” you whisper.

she wants to answer—to say ‘yes’ again, louder this time. nevertheless, you see the struggle, causing you to lean in, forehead nearly brushing abby’s. you are patient, too patient. you aren’t moving any closer, you were giving abby the choice or maybe the illusion of control.

abby’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out—because you had tilted your head, and for a second, she thought you were closing the distance for her.

instead, you utter. “say it.”

“i—” she croaked. “i would let you ruin me.”

your fingers, still resting on abby’s wrist, slid down, until your hand was covering her knuckles. “good,” your voice was softer.

then, so gently it seemed cruel—you lift abby’s hand, pressing it to your cheek, closing your eyes. abby stands there, her hand cradling your face, feeling your warm skin—then, you move, leaning in, unbearably slow, until your lips brushed against abby’s.

barely. a graze. a heartbeat. a cruelty.

abby’s mouth parts in shock—but before she could react properly, you pull back, causing her to look down, wide-eyed and dazed. you are still so close, and she could only focus on your mouth the softest, prettiest shade of pink.

this time, you close the distance properly—pressing your lips together with a devastating, aching softness. the kiss was nothing like abby had imagined—it was worse, it was better. her hands flying up instinctively, one still cradling your cheek, the other tangling clumsily in the fabric of your waist.

she broke. abby’s lips move against yours desperately, the taste of your sweetness making her dizzy. you whimper against her mouth—and it only made her kiss you harder, hands gentling their grip—naturally, the kiss deepened, movements uncoordinated and messy.

when you pull apart, abby is panting, her forehead falling against yours. neither of you spoke—there was no need, the kiss said more than words could. the sound of the river behind you rings, the scent of damp earth thick in the air. 

slowly, you brush your nose against abby’s. “abigail…” you whisper.

“yes?” she asks.

you pull back to see her, your fathomless eyes glued to hers. “i wanted to do that for a while,” you confess. 

abby lifted her hand, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear—you lean into the touch, eyes finally softening. “i think i’ll die if you look at me like that again.”

“don’t look away then,” you smile.

the distance between you disappears, not in a messy kiss—but something slower, heavier. abby doesn’t hold back, she lets herself savor it—tenderly moving her lips against yours. 

you draw back enough to see her, your cheeks are a deep shade of pink, lips kissed red, but your gaze was steady. “i love you, abby—” your voice trembles. “i love you.”

you weren’t teasing or weaving your usual web of mystery and coldness. abby knew you meant it.

“i’m not playing some cruel game,” you continue. “this is not a trap—to see if the knight felt for the princess,” your intonation slows. “i would lose everything—i would give up my title, my crown, my place in this castle—if it meant i could have you.”

abby stares at you, stunned—not being able to speak.

“you’re the only thing i have ever wanted for myself,” you say, hands coming up to cup abby’s scarred face between them. “you don’t have to say it back, i only wanted you to know it.

abby didn’t think, she just moved—pulling you closed, burying her face in your hair. she knows she can’t protect you from what would come next, because if the king knew, it would be treasonous. but for the time being, she allows herself to have this.

she presses a kiss to your temple. “i have nothing to offer you,”  she whispers. “i’m not a prince, or a person with lands or a title—i’m not what you deserve. but, i’m yours, if you’ll have me. i would kneel before you a thousand times over. crown or no crown—i’ll stay by your side until my last breath, whether the world allows me or not.”

[abbysbodybag]

Campus Secrets

abby anderson x reader

(first post as well) COLLEGE AU

description : you and abby are paired together as college roommates / FLUFF

part two? 🔞

Your bag is heavy, but the excitement of finally being on your own keeps your steps light as you make your way to your new dorm room. You reach the door, room 402, and take a deep breath before turning the handle, preparing to meet the stranger you’ll be living with for the next year.

But as you walk in, you’re met by the sight of a tall, muscular woman pulling a shirt over her head, revealing toned arms and a faint smile as she catches your wide-eyed look.

“Hey, you must be my roommate.” She grins, hand outstretched. “I’m Abby.”

For a second, you forget what words are, she’s gorgeous. Her blonde braid rests over one shoulder, her smile a bit too flashy and charming, and the way she’s looking at you is already making your cheeks heat up.

You clear your throat, setting your bag down to shake her hand. “Y/N,” you manage to say. Her hand is warm and firm, and it’s hard not to notice how she looks at you, a bit too knowingly, like she’s already read every flustered thought in your mind.

“So,” Abby says, crossing her arms and leaning against the bed, “you’re okay with bunk beds, right? Or should we just flip a coin and see who gets the top?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “I mean, unless you’re scared of heights,” you tease.

She laughs, her eyes lighting up. “Scared of heights? Not exactly. I think I’ll be fine as long as my pretty new roommate doesn’t snore.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Pretty bold assumption, considering we just met.”

Abby tilts her head, her grin widening as her gaze drops to your bags. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough, huh?”

You feel your pulse race as you realize how close she’s standing. “Yeah, guess we will.”

The rest of the afternoon goes by with a surprising ease, the two of you unpacking, sharing stories about hometowns, and trading jokes. Each time her shoulder brushes yours or she throws you a sly smile, you feel that blush creeping back. It’s almost too comfortable.

Later, as the sun sets, she stretches, yawning. “You up for grabbing a coffee? You know, to celebrate surviving move-in day?”

You nod, grabbing your keys. “ready when you are.”

As you walk through campus together, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this year with Abby might be a lot more interesting than you’d expected.

The coffee shop is buzzing with the usual college crowd, but with Abby by your side, it feels like the two of you are in your own little world. You grab a cozy corner table, and as she stirs sugar into her coffee, you catch her glancing at you, one brow raised.

“So, Y/N,” she says, leaning forward with that same mischievous glint in her eyes, “what’s the most rebellious thing you’ve ever done?”

You smirk, taking a sip of your drink to buy a moment. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe this.” You hold her gaze and casually reach over to steal a sugar packet from her side of the table.

Abby laughs, a deep, genuine sound that draws a few curious looks from nearby tables. “Oh, risky. I better watch out for you, huh?”

“Hey, don’t judge me. I’m new here. Maybe I just haven’t had the chance to get into trouble yet,” you shoot back.

She tilts her head, pretending to consider. “Well, I’m sure we can fix that. I’ve been here a year already. Got all the shortcuts, best spots, even know where to sneak into the field house after hours.”

“After hours?” you echo, eyes widening. “Are you always this much of a rule-breaker?”

Abby shrugs, looking unbothered, but there’s a flicker of excitement in her eyes. “Life’s too short to follow all the rules, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the way her confidence makes your heart beat a little faster. “Big words from someone who looks like they were probably on the varsity team in high school.”

“Guilty,” she admits, smirking. “I played soccer. What about you? Any sports?”

You laugh. “I don’t think binge-watching counts as a sport.”

“Not officially, but I’m sure you’d make it competitive,” she says, grinning. “How about this—since you’re new and all, I’ll show you around campus tomorrow. A private tour, Abby-style.”

“A private tour, huh?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to sound casual as your stomach does a little flip.

She leans back, that playful spark still in her gaze. “Yeah. The kind where we hit all the best spots… and maybe skip a few of the official ones.”

You try not to smile too wide. “Guess I can’t turn down a tour from someone who knows all the secrets.”

“Smart choice.” Abby reaches across the table, tapping your hand. “Prepare yourself, Y/N. I’m about to make this the best college experience you could imagine.”

She smiles at you with a sparkle behind her eye. You couldn’t help but notice the fidgeting she does with her hands when she speaks to you, and how It stops whenever you look down.

[esilher]

Art: @esilher  Fic: @mynonah Thank you so much @bossymarmalade for the quick beta reading! <3 You can read it on AO3

Andersons’ Bakery Kurt stopped in front of the shop and looked up at the sign above the door. On the black glass, in gold letters, was the name of one of New York's most popular bakeries: Andersons' Bakery. It was a long shot, he knew, and for a moment he wondered if he should go home instead. 

"If you never try, you'll never know." His father's words rang in his ears. He took a deep breath to brace himself and reached for the door handle.

As he stepped through the door, the smell of freshly baked pastries immediately hit his nose. Behind the counter, one of the Anderson brothers was restocking the shelves with freshly baked baguettes. There was a small line, as always, but no one seemed to mind the wait. It was worth it.

"Welcome to Andersons' Bakery. What can I get for you?" The man asked and Kurt realized that it was finally his turn.

"Oh, I... Hi, um. I'm here to apply for the job. I saw that you…”

"You're looking for Blaine," he interrupted Kurt with a smile. "I'll let him know. You can wait over there," he gestured to the other end of the long counter, and by the time Kurt looked back to thank him, he was already gone.

Kurt walked over to where the man had directed him and stopped in front of the pastries. As he studied the assortment, he nervously adjusted his bag. Pies, donuts, biscuits, muffins, croissants - the selection was impressive, but that shouldn't intimidate Kurt. There was nothing here that he hadn't baked a hundred times before. Still, he was nervous.

"Hi, I'm Blaine," a new voice interrupted his thoughts. "You're the one here for the job, right?"

"Yes," Kurt answered, smiling at the man on the other side of the counter. "Kurt Hummel," he added quickly, extending his hand to Blaine.

"Blaine Anderson." The man smiled back as they shook hands. Blaine's mouth opened again, but suddenly he wasn't sure what to say. Beautiful eyes, Blaine thought. But maybe that's not the right place to start. "May I have your resume, please?"

"Oh, sure," Kurt replied, then pulled out the zipper on his shoulder bag and began to rummage through it. "Sorry," he mumbled nervously. "I'll have it in a minute." 

He pulled out some papers one by one, but those weren’t what he was looking for. Some notes from college, some sheet music, a new cheesecake recipe he'd written down two weeks ago, some drawings of how he planned to redecorate his apartment, a few pages torn out of a fashion magazine... more college notes.

"I know I put it in here... It's just…” Kurt glanced up at Blaine, smiling nervously. “Just a minute.”

"Take your time,” the man tried to reassure him.

"No, I mean... it's here somewhere. Where the fuck did all these college notes come from?” He snapped suddenly. “Can you believe I've already graduated? And I'm carrying all this around with me. Fuck. Oh God, I just said fuck," he said, covering his mouth with his free hand. 

"Actually you said it three times," Blaine added, clearly amused by the scene.

Kurt's eyes widened. "I'm so sorry. I don't usually swear, I just... I mean, I do, everybody does, right? But not here. I mean, not like that. Anyway... Sorry, I... I know I put it in here," Kurt said again as he began to frantically flip through a folder.

"Hey, don't worry! Maybe you can just email it to me and then next time…"

"No, no, no…” Kurt shook his head. “It's here somewhere, I swear."

"Okay, then... Maybe in the meantime you could tell me about your work experience...? What bakery did you work at before?"

"Well, it's... it's a little... So I don't really have any experience, at least not the kind you're thinking of. But I love to bake. I've just never worked in a bakery before."

"You've never worked in a bakery before." Blaine repeated in shock and Kurt dumped the entire contents of his bag onto the counter for the third time.

"No," Kurt continued, oblivious to Blaine's dismay. "But I've been baking since I was 6. I started with my mother's recipes. I did it with my mother, of course. I actually have a lot. I mean, recipes, not mothers.” 

Blaine bit his lip to keep from laughing out loud. “Thank you for clearing that up.”

“My family and friends say I bake pretty well. Of course, they love me, so what else would they say..." Kurt suddenly froze. He looked up at Blaine. “God, that sounded awful, didn't it? Shit," he muttered and went back to his bag. Blaine couldn't help but chuckle.

"I FOUND IT!" Kurt exclaimed, clutching a folder as his bag landed on the floor with a thud. He pulled the sheet he was looking for out of the folder and handed it to Blaine with a triumphant grin. Blaine took the paper, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

"You're hired," he said.

Kurt's jaw dropped in shock. "What? I mean... really? But you haven't even read my resume."

Blaine looked down at the paper in his hand, his eyes scanning it quickly. "No criminal record, you’re from Ohio too, your family loves your cookies..."

"So do my friends."

"So do your friends." Blaine repeated, looking up at Kurt. "That's more than the last two applicants can say for themselves. You're hired."

Kurt let out a squeal and with a sudden impulse, he leaned over the counter to hug Blaine. Blaine froze for a second by the unexpected reaction, but his arms instinctively tightened around Kurt.

-

"We have a new baker," Blaine called to Cooper as Kurt left the bakery.

"So I heard. You two weren’t exactly discreet." The older brother walked over to Blaine and took the resume out of his hand. His eyebrows furrowed. "You hired an ACTOR?"

"What?" Blaine grabbed the resume back from Cooper and for once actually started to read it.

"You didn't even read it??"

"I'm reading it now."

"Are you crazy? This is a bakery, Blaine."

"Yeah. I noticed that," Blaine mumbled and put the resume down. "Did you see his eyes, Coop?" he asked.

Cooper blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“He has beautiful eyes,” Blaine added, as if that was an acceptable explanation.

"Cool. That's a big help when you're working with dough," his brother replied sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.

Blaine sighed. "I'll train him."

"You better, little brother." Cooper said pointedly before heading back to the customers.

His brother turned back to Blaine who was looking at the resume again.

"You don't look like you regret it," he said, smiling fondly at him.

"I don't. He starts tomorrow." Blaine winked at his brother and disappeared into the back of the shop.

[insyrenidoodles]

Yeah more cowboy cuties ❤️ Inspired by a painting by JaNeil Anderson.

(me drawing them while i should be writing the next chapter of this story *sigh*)

[mariesmagix]

"But lately, I'm beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel,"

(Drive; Incubus)

CHAPTER II; As Does She

CONTAINS; no y/n, WLW, childhood!reader & char

It had been several days; and no sign of your newfound friend. The previous (and as usual) dull mornings had dragged on, with none of the familiar harp that was the Anderson's carriage clip-clopping down the stone front entry. Things were looking grim; and you'd begun to question her disappearance, until-- finally, almost a fortnight of Abby's absence, she returned just as quick as she had left. For good.

Childishly, you found yourself waiting in the front hall, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet anxiously for her arrival. Your parents were off on a business trip in the neighboring peninsula-- which explained the fact that the Andersons' arrival wasn't as.. announced, as before. It was just you, along with a handmaid standing patiently at the front entry. Or, rather, impatiently, given the way you were staring two holes into the large, wooden doors which were the grand entrance.

A sliver of golden sunlight slipped through the crack of the two doors, widening with the simple push from a guard allowing entry. You felt yourself beam with delight; almost as bright as the rising sun outdoors, grinning shrewdly ear to ear.

She was so pretty, in this light. You'd been so excited, you had made the effort for once to awake before sunrise, just to ready for your new companion's arrival-- and god, were you tired. But it was worth it. She was. The golden light danced with the wisps of blonde hairs, like a halo around her face. It dissipated with the doors closing behind them, and she returned the same childish grin that you had. "Abby!" You practically cheered, trying not to jump from where you stood to hug her-- it would be improper, given your status. "Here-- Mother said to let the maids, but I wish to show you your room," practically giggling, you skipped forwards and curtsied at her father's presence briefly, before dragging her along eagerly.

Your laughter was infectious; Abby finding herself chuckling at your excitement, "Did I take a while? My keep is almost three days, by carriage," explained Abby, while adjusting her satchel on her shoulder, trying to keep up with your remarkable pace up the marble stairs. "I have no idea," You shrugged, "I've never been out of the citadel," grinning, you made your way upstairs. Finally, someone your own age, to hang out with-- and speak with, to relate to--

A Year Later

CLANG! echoed the iron of two swords, followed by the cacophony of birds' wings, a flock fleeing from a magnolia tree within the courtyard. You unlatched your window, gazing down into the as always, busy plaza. Abby wielded a dull practice sword, but it seemed she'd been improving, recently; at least her opponent hadn't--- given that he was on the stone ground, tapping out to yield. The sun was about an hour or two from reaching its peak, the sky clear and blue, a perfect day to stroll about the garden. Maybe pick a bouquet. You clasped your hands together, grinning and clapping loudly from the turret; drawing your Abigail's attention.

She jabbed her edgeless blade of a weapon up proudly towards your turret window, beaming up contently-- mostly just happy you witnessed her victory. Abby waved childishly with one hand, before turning back to her duties, lending a hand to the lad she'd jousted to the ground. Grinning, you sunk your shoulders and propped your head up with two palms, elbows supporting you on the windowsill.

Life was so much more.. colorful, with her presence. She'd began to rub off on you, inserting some of her good habits onto you; like waking up early (which Mother bugged you endlessly about before she'd arrived), or being sure to appreciate the nature of the world around you. Abigail had enlightened your world-- and you didn't want it to end. Ever.

After slipping on the appropriate attire, and a pair of Mary Jane style flats, you trodded down the stairs, skirt in hand; ready to start the day. Abby was at the foot of the grand staircase, beaming up at you with.. love. It made your chest twist-- although, not in a bad way. Her eyes were so pretty, when she looked up at you like that. Almost made your knees weak-- but you digress. Reaching the bottom steps, you stumbled slightly, tripping and allowing your blonde to assist you, steadying you by your arms before you could even think of falling. Grinning, the two of you made eye-contact, "Good morning," deep, blue eyes peering at you with a soft smile.

"Good morning, my princess," her touch lingered, hands still holding onto your arms firmly, despite your feet already grounded. You looked at her from the last step of the stairs, the terrain difference allowing you to-- for once, see her at the same level. "I trust you've been.. training, this morning?" Her hands finally left your sides, almost reluctantly, and Abby could only nod; eyes never leaving yours. "Since dawn, my lady," You shook your head, unable to comprehend how she could get up so early; every single day. "I've told you to call me by my name, Abigail," smiling humbly at her, she extended a hand to escort you down the last step,

"I could never, my lady." Abby had grown a lot in the last year of her presence in the palace; from her manners, to her height. She was already around 5... '7? or '8, perhaps. You didn't care to measure, but she surely was winning if you were in comparison. "Would you join me in the dining room, for break fast? Unless you've eaten already--" Abby linked her arm with yours, shaking her head,

"Was waiting for you; like always."

NOTES; im getting kinda bored of this storyline tbh, lmk if i should continue on or if i should just leave it at this bcs its a very vague story LOLL and really overdone, i was mostly using it to just figure out how tumblr works but lmk in the comments pls yall <33 xx

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TAGLIST; @grey-jedi12

[pmaxshay]

Love Conquers All

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader (Fem)

~ Part 1 ~ ~ Part 3 ~ ~ Part 4 ~ ~ Part 5 ~

~ Part 6 ~ ~ The End ~

~ Part 2 ~

Benedict sat in the Bridgerton drawing room, doing exactly that. His sketchbook on his knees as his legs dangled over the arm of the chair. His back leant up against the opposite arm. His pencil scribbled furiously over the pages, little by little though every page was ripped up and thrown.

Every so often he’d reach over and throw a handful of grapes into his mouth, chewing furiously.

“Benedict. I did not expect to see you awake so early.” Violet jumped slightly as she walked into the drawing room, seeing her second eldest sprawled out.

“Apologies Mother. I could not sleep.”

Violet watched him as he continued to scribble and get frustrated at himself. She placed a hand on her abdomen and one hand on her hip.

“Is something troubling you dear?” The worry evident on her face.

“Not at all Mother. I am just dandy.” Benedict faked a smile, wanting to hide his sour mood from her.

However, if anyone knew him best, it was his mother.

She moved closer, towering over him as he lay on the chair.

“Benedict.”

“Mother.”

“I know you. You are not yourself. Are you well?”

“I… am…” Benedict hesitated when he looked up to see the emotion written all over Violet’s face.

“I have… no muse. Okay. I am a failed artist. What with Anthony buying my place in the Academy and having absolutely nothing to draw.” He sighed, leaning his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Violet sighed softly, reaching out her hand for him to hold. He obliged and held it tightly.

“My dear Benedict. You are more than you know. Whatever this is, it will pass. You will find that spark again. I am sure of it. Maybe what you need is…”

“If you say love Mother I swear…” Benedict huffed but had a small smile on his face.

“I know you are very… liberal… with your views on such matters but believe me, love can do wondrous things. Do not count yourself out yet. I thought I was out but I have Lord Anderson…”

“Mother please I do not need to know details of you and Lord Anderson.” Benedict rolled his eyes.

Violet chuckled before pulling at his hand to get him to stand up. His sketchbook falling to the floor along with the pencil. Violet placed both of her hands on either side of his face.

“My wonderful, wonderful boy. Your father would be proud of you. All of you.” Violet cooed, tears forming in her eyes.

“Are you well Mother? You are… more emotional than usual.” Benedict placed his hands are her upper arms.

“I am. I’m just a proud mother that is all. However, there is much to do today to prepare. I need to get Eloise and Hyacinth to the Modiste in one piece.” Violet sighed before clapping her hands to pull herself together.

“Good luck Mother.” Benedict rolled his eyes before planting a kiss on her cheek. He then proceeded to pick up his sketchbook and pencil, making a swift exit before the chaos inevitably began.

Across Mayfair, Y/N was sat in her own drawing room. Her nose buried in her latest read.

“Y/N my dear. It is a beautiful day today you should be out. Can you not go and call on that Bridgerton girl you were talking with at the ball?” Richard chimed from behind his paper.

“I could say the same for you Father.” Y/N gestured to the paper with a smirk.

“And also her name is Eloise. But I believe she is busy today visiting the Modiste.”

“Oh well that’s perfect. You are due some new dresses are you not?” Richard chimed once more. Trying with all his might to get Y/N out of the house.

The secret talk he had, had with Lady Danbury at last nights ball, while Y/N was distracted, had hit home. He wanted Y/N to fly the nest and have a life outside of home. It is what her mother would have wanted also.

“Ugh fine.” Y/N huffed.

“I’ve lost my place now anyway.” Her book was slammed shut and held tight against her chest as she stormed out of the room.

Richard just chuckled to himself before going back to reading his paper.

The Modiste houses Mayfair’s finest dressmaker, Madame Delacroix. Her designs were incredibly sought after. Especially after Lady Whistle… Penelope Bridgerton started to write about her.

Eloise was filling Y/N in on such news and gossip of the Ton.

“So… Penelope was your best friend but she wrote these awful things about you and your family or well the whole Ton and you were no longer friends and then she married your brother?” Y/N asked, confusion laced in her words.

“I know. It’s still incredibly confusing to me too. However, it is nice to call her a sister now. I would’ve longed for such a relationship with her when we were younger.” Eloise chimed.

“I wish I knew the feeling. It is lonely being an only child. You are lucky.” Y/N whined.

“I believe it is you to be the lucky one. A whole house to yourself. It must be so peaceful. We don’t get a minutes peace at Bridgerton house.”

“I must agree, the quiet does have its advantages. Feel free to come and make use of them. Any time.” Y/N offered with a smile.

“You don’t know how much that means to me. Y/N Pembrooke. Thank you. Thank you, thank you!!” Eloise exclaimed.

“Eloise! Behave yourself.” Violet warned.

“Sorry Mama.”

Hyacinth turned and stuck her tongue out at Eloise in jest. To which Eloise did it back.

“See that! That is what I have missed out on.” Y/N whined once more.

[chernobog13]

Superman by Andy Kubert and Sandra Hope, with colors by Brad Anderson, from Superman: Up in the Sky (vol. 1) #5 (January, 2020).

This is a great shot of Superman soaring through the sky except for one thing: the cape.

I know drawing the cape like that is supposed to be more dramatic, and plenty of artists do it, but it defies all common sense and physics. The cape should be flowing down over his back and behind him. Depicted as above is visually confusing, and makes it appear as if Superman is flying backwards feet first.

[literallygeeway]

intro post!!

name: just call me elliott

age: dont wanna disclose but i am a minor so please dont be weird!!

pronouns: he/they

gender: kind of unlabeled, kind of transmasc, kind of genderfluid

sexuality: also unlabeled. i kind of just like anyone in any way it doesnt really matter idk (but i have a beautiful beautiful gf :3)

favourite artist: my chemical romance!!!

other favourite artists: bikini kill, mommy long legs, mitski, bratmobile, hell baby, dazey and the scouts, wet leg, the muslims, voodoo church, crass, chumbawamba, panic! at the disco (specifically afycso), picture me broken, pierce the veil, fall out boy (from under the cork tree)

other artists i just generally like (yes i love music): le tigre, the julie ruin, x-ray spex, pleasure venom, olivia jean, necromancy, catholic spit, a little bit of ado, cat valley, some vocaloid

hobbies: music (i can play bass, guitar, drums and piano), writing, photography, filmmaking, cinematography, drawing, making bracelets

some other stuff i like also includes: heathers the musical (off broadway) (its the only musical i really like), studio ghibli, the sims 4, omori, undertale, deltarune, stardew valley (I LOVE SEBASTIAN), ddlc, mouthwashing, sally face, DEATH NOTE!! (im obsessed w L), doctor who, the umbrella academy, arcane, the owl house, bojack horseman, adventure time, good omens, scott pilgrim (the tv show, movie, game and graphic novel :3), hatsune miku and KAGAMINE LEN!! (him, miku and vflower r my fav vocaloids :3)

more stuff under the cut - dni, fun facts and some more stuff :3

fun facts!!!

my favourite colour is dark red

my favourite food is sushi/poke bowl

im learning japanese and french

my favourite movies are parasite, everything everywhere all at once and isle of dogs!! my favourite tv shows are i am not okay with this and the end of the f***ing world

i love wes anderson movies!!

i had two fish called flamey and sir bubbles the fishington when i was younger but they both died so i flushed them down the toilet

i collect bottles and cans (mainly ramune bottles and like three cool cans but still), funko pops (i have two gerard way funko pops - the black parade with the facepaint and revenge red tie) and vinyls (mcr, mitski, bikini kill, the muslims, the lambrini girls, wet leg, bratmobile, paramore, afycso + some 7 inches)

dni!!!

basic dni like homophobic, transphobic, ableist, racist, pro-isreal, islamophobic, etc

mcr haters!! /hj

shipping irl people unless its a joke

transmeds and terfs

people who think trans men cant present femininely and trans women cant present masculinely (im a trans-ish guy who wears skirts sometimes so suck my toe)

people who unironically think gerard way is a trans woman... guys he's said they use he/they pronouns and if he was a trans woman he would probably say something!!

please interact!!

mcr fans

riot grrrl fans (not problematic)

alternative people!!! (emo, punk, goth, scene, decora, etc)

just cool people in general :3

other stuff:

no need to use tonetags with me, dont worry about it

i use !!! and :3 and stuff like that a lot, and i also swear more than the average human should

im alternative but dont have a specific label as i dress in a mix of ways and listen to many different genres of music :3

on here i'm mainly gonna post about mcr, so if you dont like them you probably wont like most of the stuff i post :<

i will probably edit this as i think of more stuff to add and as my interests change but yeah <3

pinterest: literallygeeway

instagram: killj0ysneverd1e (i only use it to look at mikey way and frank iero's stories)

fav user: @patronsaintofbrokenstrings (go follow her rn she is awesome!!)

I DID NOT MAKE THE PNG THAT APPEARED EARLIER!!

current song obsessions:

okay thats all, have a great day, bye bye :3!!!!