#I'm also terrible with pens

[omnificent-orion]

Day 3: Connection

You were once me, I'll never be you. Let's meet again, in the next--

[cannibalisticskittles]

my builder is pissed at absolutely everyone inside this cell but they have never had any positive feelings towards yan whereas they Thought Miguel Was Their Friend (he came to their BIRTHDAY PARTY!!!) and pen was at soulmate-level, so. while yan definitely deserves a verbal beatdown, the one he receives is.... going to involve a lot of rage that is really meant for the other two that my builder isn't able to express towards them right now. but he's an asshole, so while it's technically misplaced, it's still deserved.

mentioning mi-an is also a terrible choice bc it just reminds her of how much of an ass he's been to mi-an, who is, by all accounts, a very nice girl. that just turns the rage back to full force. very "and ANOTHER thing!"

[fictionadventurer]

Rejoice with me, for I have finished buying my Christmas present for my Secret Santa brother that everyone in the family said (without my mentioning I had him for Secret Santa) was impossible to buy for!

[neganium]

What I need to be doing: drawing, so that I can maybe attract customers with a snappy advertisement, or perhaps a nice YCH.

What I am Not Doing: Precisely This.

[vulpinesaint]

got the most beautiful pen from a little school thing on thursday by the way. just thought you all should know

[bluejay-in-write]

🌌

[nadiajustbe]

One of my favorite parts about the writing of Howl's Moving Castle is how easy it is to write off all the things from our world at first as him just being a weird wizard™ (also thanks to bestie @jutenium for spotting this I wouldn't put it like that without you!!/pos). Sure, Sophie uses weird descriptions, but readers have every reason to believe them because of the way Howl is presented as a character. When Sophie says he wrote with a quill that doesn't need an ink, you wouldn't think it was actually a ballpoint pen, you would think Howl had just enchanted his quill so that it wouldn't need ink! When she adds that she can't make out a single word, you think he has matchingly terrible handwriting, but in fact Sophie has simply never seen a pen writing. When she sees the mysterious labels on his books, you think he's keeping a lot of obscure magical literature, but it's really just an encyclopedia and a guide like "Top 10 Rugby Tips." When Sophie notices the bottles in Howl's bathtub, you think they're some kind of magical jars where he keeps girl's hearts, but I'm almost certain that they're just 'Dove' and 'Head and Shoulders' that he's enhanced with his spells and put silly labels on. When you read Calicifer singing a song in a language Sophie doesn't understand, you think it's some kind of ancient cipher or code, but it's actually just a rugby song in Welsh that Howl sings when he's drunk. And finally, when you see the terrifying black door, which is completely shrouded in darkness, you imagine a passage to an eerie, mythical place, similar to what Miyazaki showed us - but it's just fucking Wales.

[cutieln4]

Fuck It I Love You | LN4

lando norris x reader, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

summary: lando and y/n seem to absolutely hate each other until a dangerous situation reveals the truth

warnings: drink spiking, threats of sexual assault (nothing graphic, someone tries to take her home)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some reason, Lando and her never got along. It stemmed from when they were karting together, all the way until they both got to Formula 1.

Now, at ages 21 and 23, they drove for rival teams and were always going wheel to wheel.

Monza wasn't any different.

Max and Charles were far in front, but she and Lando were fighting over the last podium place. They were switching back and forth until on the last lap, she maybe pushed him a bit too far on one of the last corners, securing 3rd place.

He approached her when she was making her way back from the post-race press conference, on her way to the media pen.

"What the fuck was that?" he demanded.

She shrugged, smirking. "Not quite sure what you're talking about."

"Oh don't play dumb. That was dirty racing on the last lap and you know it."

"I don't see how it's any different from what you did to me in Austria, or last year at Silverstone."

She could see his jaw clench, and she knew she got him.

"Maybe keep your talking on the track," she told him before he could reply, walking away.

That night she was at the club celebrating with a couple of the other drivers. She was pretty close with Max, Charles, Oscar, and Daniel. It made things a bit awkward with them when she and Lando were really going at it because they were all good friends with Lando too. But whatever, it was mostly fine.

She had been dancing and throwing back drinks until she forgot about her and Lando's feud. She's also pretty sure the other drivers got some embarrassing videos of her. Her current drink was eventually empty and she stumbled away to the bar, not telling anyone.

She waved the bartender over to ask for another drink, tipping them $20. If it weren't for the alcohol in her system, she would've flinched when a man suddenly appeared at her side. It was crowded by the bar, and he was pressing right against her.

"Hey baby, let me buy you a drink."

"That's alright, I already have one," she politely declined, hoping he would just leave her alone.

"Oh come on, don't be like that honey."

She twisted her neck around to try to spot the other drivers and when she did, she grabbed her drink and left. The man luckily didn't follow.

Halfway through her drink, she started noticing that something was wrong. Her head was spinning way more than it should be, she was sweating like crazy, nauseous, and her body felt heavy.

"I'm going to the bathroom," she slurred out to Max before stumbling away.

She didn't make it far before she was grabbing onto the wall to keep herself up. She knew at the moment that something was terribly wrong. She most likely had her drink spiked, and now she was separated from her group and incapacitated.

A hand grabbed her arm and she looked up. Her vision was too blurry to make out any features, but she knew it wasn't one of the drivers.

"You okay, babe? Let me help you."

"N-No, m' good, leav' me 'lone."

She tried to escape his grip, but she could barely move, her strength was completely gone. The man wrapped his whole arm around her waist, supporting her as he walked her out of the club while she tried to protest.

The cold, fresh air felt good when it hit her, but then she remembered what situation she was in. The man was dragging her along more roughly now.

"Stop, 'lease, I don' wanna go with you," her pleading sounded more and more like pathetic whimpers falling on unheard ears.

He just kept walking down the street, gripping her so hard there'd probably be bruises.

"Don't, please, leave me 'lone," she whined, eyes welling up with tears as she tried to escape his grip again.

He suddenly shoved her face-first into a building, rough concrete scraping her arms and face, and she fell to the ground.

"Shut up and don't move!" he hissed.

He yanked her back up and dragged her along.

"No, no, please, stop," she cried, nearly sobbing. She was scared, she couldn't feel anything, and she was completely separated from anyone she knew while some strange man was leading her somewhere.

"Hey!" another voice suddenly yelled, about 5 meters behind them. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Whoever this person was, they sounded pissed.

"Nothing man, mind your business," the man next to her said.

"No, I won't mind my fucking business. Let go of her before I smash your face in."

The man scoffed, trying to continue walking.

"I warned you," the other man said before suddenly she fell to the ground and she heard a thud of skin-on-skin contact, before a groan.

She was on the ground, leaning her back against the wall while her head drooped to the side. She couldn't see much, but she could hear the punching continue.

"Stop, stop, man, I'm sorry!"

"Oh yeah? Did you listen to her when she asked you to stop?"

Eventually, it went quiet, and there were footsteps in her direction. The man who saved her crouched down in front of her and put his hands on her cheeks, supporting her head. It was then that her vision cleared up a bit, and she realized who the person was.

"Lando?" she asked, voice slurring.

"Yeah, it's me. I got you."

She started sobbing, trembling hands gripping his jacket as he wrapped her in a hug, letting her cry into his chest.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here. It's okay, you're safe now," he whispered to her as he rubbed her back.

"I-I was so, so scared," she cried.

"I know, I know. I got you."

Lando then used one hand to fish out his phone, calling the police. They waited while the police showed up, him trying to keep her awake.

When the police arrived, one of the officers arrested the unconscious man on the ground while the other rode with them in the ambulance to take their statements. Y/n never let go of Lando's hand once.

The hospital kept her overnight for observation after making sure whatever drug she was spiked with wasn't lethal, and collecting evidence and taking pictures of her injuries. She had finally given in to unconsciousness, and Lando was sitting next to her, holding her hand.

It was only when everything was a little settled down that he saw that she had nearly 100 missed calls from various drivers. Shit, he forgot about that.

He opened up his phone and called Daniel.

"Hey, man I can't talk right now," Daniel said right away, sounding panicked.

"Hold on—"

"Actually, do you by chance know where Y/n is?"

"Yeah, about that, I'm in the hospital—"

"What? What happened? Are you okay?"

"Can you let me finish my sentence? I'm with Y/n. She was drugged and I saw her on the street. Some man was dragging her with him, and she was clearly asking him to leave her alone. Anyway, she's a little banged up, but she's okay, nothing happened. They're just keeping her overnight for observation."

Daniel let out a big sigh of relief, said something to someone next to him, and then turned back to the phone.

"Thank fuck, we've been trying to find her for hours. Thank you, Lando, seriously. I can't imagine if you hadn't been there. What hospital is she at?"

After telling him where they were, he hung up. 

Lando sighed, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes as he reflected on what the hell just happened. 

Y/n shifted in front of him, and he immediately sat up straight. 

"Lando?" she mumbled, voice hoarse and still half-asleep. 

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here. Do you remember what happened?"

She paused, but then her face crumpled, and she nodded. 

"It's okay, it's okay, don't cry," he soothed. 

"You saved me. I thought you would've just let him take me."

Lando's eyebrows furrowed, stomach twisting just at the thought.

"Why would you think that?"

"You hate me," she muttered, eyes looking down. 

"I don't," he paused, hesitating. "I don't hate you at all. I...I didn't plan on ever telling you this, but I really like you. You're funny, you're witty, you're kind, you're fearless, you never back down from a challenge, and I love all those things about you. And I know you probably want nothing to do with me and you hate my guts, but I just need to get it off my chest―"

"―Lando, just shut up and kiss me. I like you too, idiot."

Lando grinned, showing the gap between his front two teeth that she always loved, and leaned down to connect their lips. 

"Do you think people would get suspicious if we stopped being mean to each other?" he asked.

"Probably. We should just hard launch."

"I don't think our PR teams would appreciate that."

Later, when Daniel made it to the hospital, he was extremely surprised to see the two of them cuddled up together. He just had to take a picture.

[dotster001]

For Tuna

Summary:Grim does some interviews to find the perfect sugar dad for him you gn!reader x all boys in one way or another.

A/N:I haven't unpacked my tag list yet, so hopefully this is everyone!

Part Two Part Three choose your ending...

"Grim, we can't afford the bougie tuna. Put it back."

You'd missed it before when you were loading your basket at Sam's shop, but Grim had snuck in the expensive tuna. Now you were at the counter, trying to hide your embarrassment as you told Grim to put it back. Sam gave you a sympathetic smile, but still. You didn't need to add his pity to your plate of worries.

"Prefect, don't worry about it. I can take care of it."

You jumped. You hadn't realized Ruggie had lined up behind you with his own basket full of stuff.

"Yeah! Let Ruggie-"

"I couldn't do that, Ruggie, but thanks for the offer."

Ruggie grinned, "oh please, it's on Leona. He said I could get whatever I want as long as I come back with his energy drinks."

You made an unconvinced face, and Ruggie gave a playful wink.

"Trust me, your tuna won't even make a dent in his wallet. I could pay for your entire load, and still be able to pay off my student loans. In fact," he slapped down Leona's wallet, "Sam, add Y/N's groceries to mine, I'll take care of it."

Before you could protest further, Sam was ringing you both up.

And then Grim got an idea. A terribly, wonderful, awful idea.

"There, all settled. Plus now you can afford to fix your windows this month, or…." He looked at the cash in your hand, "well you can fix one window at least. And don't feel too bad for Leona. Eat the rich and what not," Ruggie patted your back comfortingly then left with his groceries.

"C'mon Grimmy, let's go," you said with a heavy sigh.

"Actually, I have something to do, Henchhuman. You go on home, I'll see ya later."

"Okay, but if you need me…."

"I'll be okay! Geeze you get so anxious without the great Grim. It's embarrassing."

You rolled your eyes and left. You would be so proud of him once he had finished though. He was excited already.

Heartslaybul Dorm….

"Mr. Rosehearts. Thank you for meeting with me."

Grim primly took out his pen and began to scribble on a clipboard.

"I didn't meet with you. You barged into my office," Riddle said, his arms crossed along his chest.

"I think you will find this meeting beneficial. It pertains to Y/N L/N."

Riddle relaxed a little, and raised a single curious eyebrow.

"You see, It has come to my attention, that Y/N and I do not have the funds to live comfortably. In fact, Y/N is practically starving to death! It has also come to my attention that you harbor some feelings for the prefect, and are in possession of a great deal of funds. Now," Grim dramatically looked up at Riddle, who's face was a shade of dark red. "How do you intend to provide for Y/N?"

Riddle opened his mouth, and Grim prepared himself for the worst, but…

"Wait, Y/N's on the market?!?!!"

Grim turned over his shoulder just in time to see Cater run in, tea tray in hand.

"He's only taking applications from rich people."

"Not a concern, housewarden!" Cater cleared his throat. "Hi, I'm Cater Diamond, and my dad is a banker."

"Oh!" Grim made a note on his paper. Riddle stood up abruptly.

"You only talk to your family on holidays, I wouldn't call that a solid source of income-"

"Yes but I'm a people pleaser, so I'll probably follow in his footsteps. So I will also have a banker's salary."

Riddle turned to Grim in a panic.

"I'm going to be a doctor!"

"Oh!" Scribble scribble.

"Oh please!" Cater rolled his eyes before conspiratorially leaning into Grim. "We both know Riddle. He'll work long shifts, day in and day out, and he'll never come home. Meaning poor Y/N will be trapped in a lonely loveless marriage. Meanwhile, I'll work my nine to five, and be home in time to gift you tuna, and keep Y/N warm at night."

"You think Grim cares about that?" Riddle shoved Cater out of the way. "I'll make time for Y/N. Plus my salary will provide double the tuna for you."

"What's all the yelling about?" Trey entered the room, followed by Ace and Deuce.

"Don't look at them, those three are poor as fuck. I mean a baker? Blech, disgusting," Cater apologetically smiled at Trey. "No offense."

"What?" Trey said, feeling more confused than he ever had been.

Grim clicked his pen closed.

"Thank you for your time. I have more interviews to conduct, but I will be in contact if you get through to the second round."

He scampered out of the room as Riddle and Cater nodded after him.

Savannaclaw Dorm….

Grim sat at the foot of Leona's bed as he tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"How can I provide for Y/N, huh? You mean the little demonstration Ruggie gave this morning wasn't enough?"

Grim tapped the pen impatiently against the clipboard.

"Mr. Kingscholar, it is important that you participate fully, or I will remove you from the list entirely."

Leona groaned.

"I receive a….certain amount of, shall we say, an allowance."

"And how much can I expect from that? I have a lot of people to interview. Please don't waste my time."

Leona looked over at Ruggie, who was folding laundry, then gestured Grim closer, before whispering a number into his ear.

Grim gasped, then hastily scribbled something onto his clipboard.

"We will be in contact with you when the second round of interviews begins." Grim stood up and hopped off the bed.

"Ruggie," Leona snapped, "Ensure my future relative makes it out of here safely. Let no one stop you."

Ruggie nodded in understanding as he escorted a proud looking Grim out.

Once they were halfway through the dorm, Ruggie began to speak.

"Leona has promised me a job with an excellent salary once I graduate. Just sayin."

"Won't he just take back the job if he finds out you're competing with him?"

Ruggie rolled his eyes, "Nevermind."

Jack left his room, and noticed the two of them, and began to walk towards them.

"Jack will make you get a job if you pick him," Ruggie whispered hastily. Grim hissed and sprinted the rest of the way out of the dorm.

"What's wrong with Grim?" Jack asked.

"Shi hi hi who knows?"

As Grim made his way to his second location, he was picked up by the scruff of his neck.

"Hey! What's the big idea?!?!?"

"Aw little sealie you're so cute!"

Grim stiffened.

"Fu fu fu," Jade laughed next to him. "our boss would like to have a word with you."

Grim gulped.

Octavinelle Dorm….

"Thank you for agreeing to see me," Azul said smugly.

"I didn't. Your scary twins picked me up and dragged me here."

"You see," Azul pushed his glasses up his nose, expertly ignoring Grim, "We got word that you were interviewing potential candidates for Y/N's future husband. I prepared some charts for you."

Azul pulled out several charts. Grim understood exactly zero of them. But he nodded thoughtfully and pretended to make a note on his clipboard.

"As you can see, my income is projected to continually go up until retirement. Plus my assets will continue to be of value, and my investments will be bringing in money for many years to come. I can safely say, money is no object. Plus, I am an excellent cook. You will never have to eat poor person's tuna ever again."

Grim made a real note this time just as the twins roughly turned his chair around.

"Now that Azul has had his turn, we would like to give our pitch," Jade said with an eerie grin. 

"You see, our parents run a certain…. organization," Floyd and Jade shared a grin before turning to Grim again. "Jade and I are the sole inheritors of this empire when they pass. Just keep that in mind."

"Also, people who oppose this organization have a tendency to, shall we say, disappear."

Grim shivered as he made a skull and crossbones picture on his clipboard.

"Awesome. Great. I'll be taking Grim now…."

"Sea Snake!" Floyd shouted, wrapping his arms around Jamil, who had silently snuck into the room. 

"Let go," Jamil hissed, wriggling away from Floyd. "Give me the cat."

"Aw, but we were playing with him…."

"It's alright Floyd. I think the three of us have made our point quite clear," Jade hummed, before the octotrio shared a laugh.

Jamil rolled his eyes before carefully picking up Grim.

Scarabia Dorm….

"Look, Kalim isn't going to brag for himself so I thought I'd bring you here and remind you that this entire dorm was funded by his family. And he will be inheriting said funds."

Grim nodded and made a note.

"What about you? I mean, I already know you aren't getting picked cause, well, " Grim pointedly looked him up and down. "But the other broke losers have tried to participate."

Jamil leaned down and gave a dark smile.

"I don't need money to win over Y/N," eyes flashing red as he spoke.

"Monsieur Fuzzball!" 

Grim and Jamil both groaned. It only took two seconds for him to be scooped up by the hunter.

"Non, non, do not struggle. I only wish to prove myself as a proper caretaker!"

Pomefiore Dorm…

Grim had never been so pampered, well fed, and relaxed in his entire life. Rook had provided snacks galore, given Grim the full on spa treatment, brushed out his fur, and was now massaging his sore kitty back.

"Monsieur Fuzzball, doesn't this feel wonderful?"

Grim nodded as Rook continued his massage.

"Just think, you could have this everyday!"

Grim groaned happily as Rook hit a tough knot.

Suddenly, Rook's voice was directly in his ear.

"All you have to do is give me the Trickster."

In that moment, Grim knew he would sell you for this life without a second thought.

But before he could do that…

"For heaven's sake I told you to find Epel, not this rodent!"

Rook immediately stopped the massage, to turn to his Queen.

"Roi du poison! I was simply-"

"Spare me," Vil snapped, before handing a struggling Epel over to Rook. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, gracefully handing it to Grim between two fingers. 

"I believe you are aware of my financial situation, but should you have questions, you can reach my manager on that card."

Then he left the room with a flourish, and the lingering scent of apple blossoms.

"You know I am willing to share the trickster with you," Rook whispered to Vil in the hallway.

"Ew," Epel groaned.

"As if I'd ever share," Vil smirked.

Outside the Ignihyde Dorm…

Ortho stood next to the tablet, holding Grin up so he could see what it said.

"So as  you can see from my bank account," Idia's voice said from the tablet, "Money is not and never will be an issue."

"It all looks good," Grim muttered as he made a note, "but I have to say it's a red flag that you couldn't come here in person…"

"Hey! Big brother is just busy with his experiment!"

"Yeah, exactly, thank you Ortho, for being the only one who appreciates genius. In fact this conversation is over. If he doesn't get it, then that's his loss. Ditch the noob, Ortho!" And the tablet floated back into the dorm.

Ortho gently set Grim down. "Look, big brother gets nervous around the prefect, that's all. But I think they'd make a great couple."

He gently patted Grim's head, then floated back in. Grim sighed, made a note about how Idia was a package deal, then continued to the final dorm.

Diasomnia Dorm…

"Small kitten, I am to be king of a country. Not only that, but I have spent centuries curating my hoard. Our nest will be always warm, and my perfect child of man will want for nothing," Malleus finished with a smug grin, as he leaned back in his throne. Then he sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Now you three can make your offers, or whatever."

"Me next! Me next!" Lilia said, cradling Grim like a baby. "I'm not as young as I look, and am on the best of terms with the queen and future king. I also have a great fortune built up! Kay, who's next?"

Silver timidly raised his hand.

"I just want to say, what about what Y/N wants? What if Y/N doesn't like any of us? What if Y/N doesn't even want to get married in the end? Or maybe they'll be just as happy with or without money?"

There was a long pause. Then…

"Silver's father is loaded and will do anything to see his children married and happy!"

"Fa-Lilia!" Silver hid his face in his hands in embarrassment.

"Same with Sebek. And his dad's a dentist!"

For once Sebek had nothing to say.

"Excellent, this looks very promising for you four," Grim nodded scribbling his final notes, "Now to-"

"GRIM!" 

Uh oh. He turned around and saw you storming in.

"Child of man!"

"Save it Mal Mal! I'm here for my rat," You scooped up Grim, placing him under your arm as you left the room.

"When will we hear about the second round of interviews?" Lilia giggled.

You answered by flipping them the middle finger without looking back.

The Hallway….

"What the hell, Grim? I'm not for sale!"

"I'm not selling you! I'm just trying to get you provided for!"

"Please! This is about tuna and you know it!"

"Who even told you?"

"Jack called me about an-"

"Ah! Prefect!" 

You and Grim groaned as you heard Crowley call to you both.

"Yes, headmage?" You asked through gritted teeth. You turned and saw Crewel was with him….wearing a bigger coat than normal.

"That coat looks so soft," Grim muttered.

"Yeah," you whispered back. "Wait, headmage, what do you need?"

"I heard your current allowance is no longer sufficient," he gently traced your jawline, settling below your chin, tapping up against it thoughtfully. "How does a little extra sound?"

You nodded dumbly.

"Good good, I'm too generous, I know," he hummed and walked off.

Before Crewel followed him, he smirked and patted the top of your head.  

"Good pup."

He stalked off. You stood frozen for a moment. Grim smirked up at you.

"You know, they look like they…."

"You keep that thought to yourself, Grim."

....

Tag list-@shytastemakerthing @stygianoir @leonia0 @lleoll @eccedentesiast-sapphic

[ane-doodles]

Make it turquoise!

Cult of the Lamb Narindersona and Lambsona :D

Special thanks to @linkerbell for motivating me to draw, name and finally share them

Below information extracted from a conversation on discord:

Aneerinder:

(Using he/him for this occasion)

I wanted to maintain both the theme of the felines and the god of death but with a bit of the Japanese aesthetic that I like and other details that I usually use in my drawings.

First, the species is still a serval (like my Narinder) but in white. The stripes and spots they have are painted by him himself, except for the ears and tail, which are natural.

Instead of just making him the god of death, I wanted to base him a little more on the idea of a prophet, who receives messages from the future and teaches them to others if you ask in the right way. He is considered the writer of destiny, even though as such it is outside his area, how someone lives or dies is outside his power, he only receives them and archives the stories of their life.

Based on this idea of a writer/illustrator, the idea was born that his hands would function as a writing instrument (similar to this character in the movie 9 who had pen(? fingers to write). Constantly gushing ichor from these using them as ink…

Jumping to the moment of imprisonment hehehe

He is partially blinded using a paper talisman behind his head. To prevent it from being able to write or create something with the ink/ichor, it is surrounded by water, so that the ink always runs.

He also ends up being immobilized with red ropes as an allegory to the "red thread of destiny", especially his right hand is especially tangled to prevent him from continuing to "write the destiny of the gods". To prevent the ropes from breaking there are also paper talismans hanging from them.

In short, prevent him from writing/drawing in any way in order to keep the destiny of the gods in his hands. He ends up becoming dependent on other senses, little talking, much listening.

He loves stories, after all his job as a god is also to record the lives of mortals.

Their followers could ask for glimpses of their futures, which were considered predictions.

When someone dies and reaches the other side, they are given a scroll with a copy of the record of their life.

I'm still thinking about how to draw him, but if I design a shape for him as a follower, I'll most likely end up wearing glasses to see.

You will never in your life get him to close the haori he usually wears.

Aniki:

Ok lamb, she/her this time

The lamb genocide occurs during an expedition trip. She coincidentally returns to her village the day it is destroyed. Easily resigned, once she finished digesting the idea that she was the last of her kind she had no choice but to move on.

She's not built for combat, she's even terribly bad at dodging (like me qwq) which is why she dies often.

[Here I have an inside joke in which the god tells her "I may be blind, but I clearly see a lot of death in your future" jsjsjs]

Their crusades mainly consist of collecting resources and trading with traders.

She is very good at managing the cult, to the point where in the first five years it was already self-sustaining. She is also usually quick to meet the demands of her followers and thereby increase the faith of the cult, avoiding at all costs giving sermons because she is too shy to do so. Despite this, in casual conversations with cultists he often talks about the god of death in a way that unconsciously raises their faith.

She never takes the cult on herself, because she couldn't be interested in the idea of taking that burden on herself, which is why all the cult's statues and decorations revolve around the cat.

Now, having a self-sustaining cult and a faith that is constantly growing, she ends up having too much free time, so she spends her time putting together a collection of objects she finds around, making decorations for the cult, playing and exploring.

When she dies she tells stories of common events that occur in the cult, and in return the god tells her stories of past lives that have reached his domain. They have a constant exchange of stories which is what allows them to get closer.

She changes over time (new design yipee) and the crown upon returning to the god grants her a blessing in which she becomes the "eyes of god"

The new design only has some minor changes from the original.

Since she never had the ambition to take power, divinity never affected her.

She only had small surges of devotion and power that made her possessed by the god and that way she was able to defeat the bishops (similar to what a writer would do with his characters)

[thetriumphantpanda]

Baby Love | Joel Miller

A Trial & Error One Shot

Summary | It's coming to the end of lambing season, but there's one sheep left to give birth. Noticing she's struggling, you spend the night trying to soothe her, reflecting on your own experiences in her position.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | Joel & Pretty Girl are still as horny as ever for each other so this is explicit. Mentions of ranching, sheep and animals giving birth. Mentions of human childbirth and pregnancy (I have never had my own children so please go easy on me), also mentions of how dirty it is when a sheep gives birth (blood/guts ect). Explicit smut including oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV smut IN THE BARN, creampie, Joel being a menace, PRETTY GIRL ALSO BEING A MENACE. No use of Y/N, no-outbreak AU.

Authors Note | It has been such a joy to write Pretty Girl again, I've missed her something terrible, and I'm so happy that the dynamic between her and Joel is still going strong, even if I have abandoned them for a while. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and if there are any aspects of this families lives that you'd like to see, feel free to request it in my ask box!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Lambing season is coming to an end - something you’re eternally grateful for. It’s been a busy few weeks - early mornings and late nights for both Joel and Tommy, leaving you with the twins, Joshua and Ellie to keep entertained. Not that you’d have it any other way - your dysfunctional little family makes you happy every day.

With Joshua at school and the twins with Joel as he took Ellie into town for an appointment, you’re out in the fields with Tommy, making sure the remaining sheep yet to give birth are doing alright. You don’t profess to being an expert, but you’d like to think that your motherly instincts can go beyond humans, knowing when certain sheep are due and when some of them are starting to struggle.

It’s been an easy lambing season this year - most of the girls are seasoned professionals by now, needing only a light touch and a refill of their water more than anything, but there’s one sheep you are worried about. She was from lambing season a few years ago and this will be her first time. When you head into the barn, she’s stood in the corner of one of the pens, moving very little but bleating every once in a while. You know it’ll happen soon, but you’re worried about her.

“Don’t worry your head, sugar,” Tommy soothes, running a hand down the back of your head when it’s time to leave, “It’s nature, she’ll know what to do.”

But, led in bed that night, there’s something that you can’t push from the back of your mind. This worry that takes over you. She’ll be on her own in there, being one of the very last to give birth, and what if she’s scared? What if something goes wrong? You remember how scared you’d been when it came to having Joshua.

So you sigh, push back the sheets, and get dressed. You leave Tommy a note in case he wakes in the night and worries about where you are. You can’t say the horses in the small stable next to the house are enthused about having a torched shined at them in the middle of the night, but thankfully yours doesn’t put up much fuss when you saddle it and make the journey through the dark fields to the barn.

Flicking on the lights, you’re immediately glad you came. The sheep in question is led on her side, breathing laboured and fast. As you walk towards her, she kicks her legs a little and lets out a pained bleat.

“I know baby,” You coo, making sure the gate is shut behind you, “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

You fall to your knees in the soft hay a little way from her, hoping not to spook her, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence. She’s led down near the wall, so you crawl over a little and lean your back against it, stretching your legs out, just to be near her if she needs you.

The sheep lets out another pained bleat but she moves a little, up from her side and onto her feet. She walks closer to you, leaning down to prod your hand with her nose. You let out a little chuckle, letting your hand run down her head. The ranch dog likes when you scratch behind his ears, so you do the same here, which has her settling back down onto her side with her head on your thigh.

“It’s one of the most wonderful things,” You speak to her softly, continuing to pet at her head, “Having babies, but they always forget to mention how much it fucking hurts.”

She lets out another soft bleat, moving her body a little to get comfortable, or as comfortable as is possible when you’re in labour.

Watching her, you can’t help but let your mind wander back to your experience in her position. The first twinges of pain, low in your back that turned into pain everywhere. There wasn't a single position that was comfortable, no way to sit or lie or stand that could take the pain away. Then there was the exhaustion - after hours of waiting and more time pushing and pushing, there were moments when you didn’t think you could do it anymore, that you’d just close your eyes, drift off and wake up with a lovely, healthy baby perched in your arms.

But then, there’s that moment of relief, when the midwife had told you it’s okay honey, one more push and it’ll be done and it was and you could hear him crying and then he was on your chest and you were crying and so was Tommy. No-one ever mentions that bit either - how within seconds you could look down at a baby, your baby, and be completely and utterly in love with him. That’s what made it all worth it. That’s what made you want to do it again. It’s what makes you think you’d do it for the rest of your life if you could, just to have that one moment where that baby is in your arms for the first time.

“It’s worth it though,” You speak down to the sheep, “All this pain will be worth it in the end when we’ve got your beautiful little lamb with us.”

And it is. It’s all a bit dramatic in the end. The lamb gets stuck and you need to offer a helping hand to get it out, but almost immediately the mother sheep is doing exactly what she should, cleaning it off as you do the thing you’ve seen Joel do to help clear it’s airways, sticking a little bit of hay up one of it’s nostrils.

“Look mama,” You coo at the older sheep, a hand on her head as she works to get her little lamb clean, “Look what you did, you clever girl.”

Joel doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the barn that morning, but it certainly wasn’t to see you on your knees in the hay, rubbing a newborn lamb with straw. He can see from this angle that your clothes are filthy, covered in blood and God knows what else. Did you…? Have you….?

“Pretty girl,” He speaks softly, not sure you know he’s there, “What are you doing?”

You turn to him and it’s clear to see you’ve done exactly what he thinks you have and helped this sheep give birth, the gunk all over your clothes is also wiped across your cheek and forehead.

“She-” You trail off, “The sheep, she was struggling and I didn’t want her to be on her own.”

He opens the gate to the pen, walking in to fall beside you on his knees, “Have you been here all night?” He asks, letting his hands give the small lamb the once over.

“Pretty much,” You nod, “We had a lovely talk, didn’t we?” You ask to the mother sheep who is standing a few steps away, carefully observing Joel as he looks at her lamb.

“Did she do okay?”

“I had to get in there at the end,” You explain to him, “I think it was stuck, so I just gave her a little helping hand.”

Once he’s satisfied that the lamb is okay he shuffles back a little, watching as you do the same, letting the mother sheep have some time with her baby, “You did a good job,” He praises, letting his hand run down the back of you head, “Proud of you, pretty girl.”

He helps you to you feet, bends a little to brush as much stray hay from your jeans as he can before he steps back and really takes you in. It’s unconventional, but there’s something about the fact that you’ve got your hands dirty, spent your night here on your own to help one of his sheep, and the fact that you’re covered in dirt and hay, something about it all makes his jeans go a little tighter, something that he’s not quick enough to hide.

“Are you hard, cowboy?” He hears you tease before you’re stepping forward, “Does the sight of me covered in blood and guts turn you on?”

He rolls his eyes and turns his back on you, leaving the pen now he’s satisfied the sheep will be okay, but he can hear your feet following him and then your hand on his arm to get him to stop.

“You’ve not gone all shy on me, have you?” You speak softly, gently moving him so he turns a little.

“Have I ever been shy, pretty girl?”

“Then tell me,” You shrug, smirk plastered across your face, “Does this,” He watches as you drag a hand over the mess that is your clothes, “Turn you on?”

“You wanna know the truth?” He asks, voice low, “I wanna bend you over and get you to shut the hell up.”

Joel can’t help but let his own smirk show when your eyebrows raise, but it’s a fleeting later in your guise, because you’re turning around, showing him your back as you walk towards the stacked bales of hay in the corner. He can hear the clinking of your belt buckle and the telltale sound of you unzipping your jeans.

He’s stuck to the ground as he watches you pull down your jeans and your underwear, baring your backside to him. You pull them all the way down, letting them pool at your ankles as you spread your legs a little wider, bending yourself over the hay in the exact position he had in his head.

“Come on then cowboy,” You say, head turned over your shoulder to speak to him, “Come and shut me the hell up.”

It’s been an automatic response of his for years now, that when you present yourself to him, in any way, he falls to his knees like someone praying to an altar, and today is no different. He’s on his knees behind you, at just the right height to grip his palms to your ass, spread you open wide for him.

He wastes no time, he rarely does anymore, letting his mouth close over the hole of your pussy, somehow already weeping for him. He lets his tongue dip inside, lapping at your slick. It’s been years and he still doesn’t think he’ll get over how good you taste, how it lingers on his tongue for hours whilst he goes about his day.

Whilst he’s lapping up your slick, he lets one of his hands reach around, thumb searching out your clit, little circles rubbed across the little bud. He listens, feeling his cock throb in his jeans when you let out a gasp and a little moan.

“Not so talkative now, are we, pretty girl?” He mumbles, barely pulling off your pussy to speak, before he’s switching his hand and his mouth, leaning just enough so his tongue can flick against your clit, one of his fingers slipping inside you easily.

He chuckles against you when you moan at the curling of his fingers inside you - he loves when he can reduce you to a whimpering mess in seconds. It doesn’t take him long to feel the telltale signs that he’s going to make you come either. He can feel you start to fluttering around the two fingers he now has buried inside you, can feel the way you try and tighten your thighs around his face, so he carries on exactly how he is - suckling at your clit and moving his fingers in and out of your cunt until you’re coming for him, a high-pitched moan of his name from your mouth.

Joel doesn’t wait, he can’t wait. He stands, making quick work of pushing his own jeans and underwear from his body, finally freeing his aching cock from the tight confines of his trousers. He spits obscenely into his palm, running a tight fist up and down his length a few times before he’s dipping his knees, rubbing the head of his cock against the slick hole of your cunt, listening as he pushes himself inside you, giving you every inch of him as slowly as he possibly can, until he’s sheathed inside your tight heat.

He leans forward, covering your body with his own, his forehead pressed against your shoulder as he gets used to the feeling of you clenching and fluttering around him. He can feel you wiggling a little under him, trying to get him to move, so he brings one of his hands to the nape of your neck, squeezing a little, stopping your movements altogether.

“Keep still,” He warns, “You need to keep still a minute, baby.”

There’s never going to be a time where he doesn’t need to do this. The soft, wet heat of your cunt and those first movements inside you that make him feel like he’s eighteen again, ready to come with a few thrusts.

He gives himself another minute before he starts pulling his cock out of you, slowly dragging through your slick until just the tip is left inside you, then he’s slamming himself back into you, setting a bruising pace.

The sound is obscene - there’s the wet squelch he can hear whenever he pushes his cock back into you, the slapping of his skin against yours and the way you both sound when you’re moaning each others names. He’s not going to last long, he knows it. All of this combined with the fact that anyone could wander in and see you has a thrill settling across his spine.

Joel leans forward again, letting his teeth bite down gently on the skin of your neck. He can feel the way your cunt is clenching, if he can just hold on, just a little longer, he can get another one from you, he knows it.

“Tell me,” He chokes out into your ear, “Tell me how to get you there.”

You let out a loud moan, turning your face to his, kissing him, all teeth and tongue and clumsy, “Bite me again.”

So he does, he lets his teeth sink into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking gently, sure to leave a mark, his hand slinking underneath your belly and down to your pussy, soaked bud of nerves exposed just right for him to use his fingers to swirl across it a few times.

“Oh my God-” He can hear you moaning, “Joel, fuck, please, don’t stop, just like that.”

Within seconds, he can feel you coming on his cock - cunt pulled tight, sucking him in. He feels the gush of slick from your pussy too, cock angled just right to have you squirting for him, something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. It’s the tightening of your walls around him that sets his own orgasm off - that flush of pleasure across his body that blooms even more as he empties himself inside you. He can feel everything, the way your pussy clenches every time he gives you more, sucking his spend in as deep as possible.

He pushes himself up off you a little, hands on your hips, frantically sucking in air. He groans a little as he pulls himself from your cunt, standing back to admire how his cum drips from you. He doesn’t linger long, bending down to pull your clothes back up, gentle kiss pressed to the swell of your bottom as he does. He lets you zip yourself up whilst he puts himself right.

“Well, that was a great start to the morning.” You muse, pressing up on your tiptoes, gripping at his flannel shirt.

He’s about to speak when there’s a bleating from the sheep in the pen behind you, you both laugh, “Someone else agrees.”

He dips down, kisses your mouth slowly, gently, “Go and get clean,” He speaks against your lips, turning you around and giving you a tap on your ass as he does, “You’re filthy.”

“Still turns you on though.”

“Go on, get outta here.”

[ms-demeanor]

Looking through the notes on the post about Tumblr being terrible for artists, and seeing people talk about how people don't reblog art or follow artists just seems kind of bonkers to me considering that my first post to crack 1000 notes was a drawing back when I had like 600 followers and it gave me a panic attack that so many people were looking at my stuff.

And this week I managed to pick up about 5k additional notes on a reblog of a zine from 2021, pushing it over 13k notes (no tumblr radar, no promotion, no cross promotion, people just like the dog zine and it's currently showing up on a bunch of people's dashes. Because they're sharing it. Because they like it. So I'm sorry i also just don't really see the "people don't reblog art here" thing - there is art on my dash all day long, i reblog art, and people reblog my art. I don't know why people aren't reblogging your art, but yeah I do think it's kind of entitled when people lament the likes to reblog ratio. There's someone in that other post saying that tumblr has never been good for them because they don't make art on popular subjects and I'm sorry but popular things will get more attention than unpopular things. I am unsurprised when my Twin Peaks art gets more attention than a cartoon about Drop Dead Fred. Yes, kitty drawings are probably going to perform better than conceptual art here! People here like cats! That doesn't mean you only have to draw cats to get attention, but you should be realistic about why your OCs aren't as widely shared as, say, fanart of a popular ship.)

There are a bunch of artists talking about how actually you shouldn't have to have your entire personality online or promote yourself to promote your art, that tumblr is bad for art because what's "good" for art is sites like IG and DA where the art speaks for itself and spreads because people like it.

But.

Like.

That has never been my experience of those sites. I've been on DeviantArt for nearly twice as long as I've been on tumblr, and barring a webcomic artist commenting on some fanworks i made and tagged in their very small Fandom, i can't remember any interactions with people i didn't know personally, or pieces that got more than a couple hundred views. I stopped posting on DA mostly because it felt kind of, well, dead. Unless you pulled off something *ridiculously* clever (i guess i had one clever fiber art post that got a little traction in 2012) or with a pretty significant level of technical skill, nobody would look at it.

That first drawing that i had that went "viral" on tumblr (i think it ended up with 30k notes) was done with a ballpoint pen on some printer paper during my lunch break. It was kind of hot garbage actually, in terms of being "art."

The tiny Bastard zine wouldn't perform on DA or IG. It's too many panels to scroll through and no single panel is "good" as a standalone piece and it's not a style I draw in often enough that people would look for it specifically like the "oh no" comics that are allowed to be "bad" art (those are not bad art, btw).

The moving eye drawing might get attention on IG, but what the fuck would I do to present the companion piece, which is vertical?

One of the reasons that tumblr has never felt "dead" for me as an artist is that I've never felt the need to conform to a specific style or medium in order to get people to look at what I'm making.

Pornographic fanart altoids tin dollhouse? Sure.

Detailed pen-and-ink papercraft illustration that moves? Hell yeah.

Messy sketch of Argumate with the bowsette power crown as a shitpost? Cool.

Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck as Sam and Frodo bickering about throwing the ring into Mt. Doom on the end of someone else's post? Yep.

Ballpoint pen comic about rape culture? Yeah.

50 pages of a weekly grayscale comic about alt subcultures? Why the hell not.

Rainbow squiggly line digital drawing done in the ER? Yeah okay.

Advil chicken? You bet.

Gru excitedly telling people that practice means more than talent appended to a post about fanart? Not only yes but hell yes tumblr fucking loves "boobs" goblins and reaction images and reading people's posts as prompts.

Like, I get that artists want people to focus on and appreciate the art, but there's a BW architecture photographer in those notes lamenting the loss of curative aesthetic blogs that heavily relied on the tags.

Bud. People come here to chill. I absolutely love following brutalist and art deco and desert photography blogs, but what you're telling me is that the only reason tumblr is dead for you these days is that other people were collecting an audience for you. Your problem isn't that tumblr is dead, it's that your art fit the dark academia style and was shared by people who had strict themes for their aesthetic blogs, which is not particularly popular in 2024.

I don't follow any tags. I almost never tag my art. The "downfall of tagging culture" is not something I've experienced on tumblr because it's not something that was ever important or useful for me as an artist here, tags were always far, far behind "people who followed me for wild stories/shitposting/ranting" in terms of getting eyeballs on my art.

"Tumblr *is* dead for art because people used to follow tags" - friend, it is easier than ever to read and follow tags, but that is simply not the current culture of the site. People also used to make jokes based on post threading. "Just _____ things" used to be the favored style of gimmick blog. Are you telling me you haven't changed how you interact with tumblr since the days of superwholock?

You shouldn't have to put your entire personality on display to get followers for your art, i do agree with that. But you can't keep using a site that used to be drastically different and expect it to work the same (and people don't expect that on other sites - artist behavior changed on twitter and IG when they went non-chronological, artist behavior broadened to include reels and short video on IG, artists talk about posting schedules that will make sure they stay relevant to the algorithm on twitter, but you think this site is dead because there aren't aesthetic blogs trawling the tags and sharing your stuff anymore?! Keep up. "no sideblogs, you get to drink from the firehose" has been a prevailing attitude here for at least 4 years)

Anyway. Here's some art that I've had great success with on tumblr that has gotten zero traction elsewhere.

I'm in the enviable position of not relying on aesthetic blogs, which is good because I'm not someone with a clear aesthetic, and no aesthetic blog is going to get me thousands of notes on big titty duolingo owl or gaussian blur advil chicken.

(Btw, Gaussian blur advil chicken is heavily inspired by Chris Maggio, an artist i found and whose work i fell in love with on tumblr!)

[nocek]

This doodle was a journey so ramble below the cut.

Original idea was obviously a cuddle pile. As in previous comics Miguel prefers loose pajamas of superior quality and also sleeping curled into pretzel because at least the spider genetics gave him a bendy spine so he actually can sleep like that without repercussions.

Wade is obviously in the middle enjoying being a filling of that sandwich (and also pin cushion). Again same clothes as in previous comics sans the mask and also deadfang logo since one: im lazy and two: that would be rude.

Logan has the most idgaf approach to sleeping, just loose some clothes and then terrorize everybody with his mighty old man snore.

As for drawing itself. ehhh... Obviously since it's on paper, shitty one at that, i couldn't (and also was to lazy too) redraw mistakes like Migs hands being firmly on Wade's stomach while cutting into it.

Then for lineart i used a fude fountain pen which actually turned out decent but then I decided to add some shadows and yeah. The ink inside fountain pen was very very very not water proof. Also shitty paper didn't like water. Actually the effect is steel bleeding through as "shadows" and also adds volume to Logan's fluffiness.

So it looked terrible at that point so i decided that hey, it can't get any worse and pulled out my Arrtx acrylic markers I bought on a whim thanks to my work bonus. They are actually ok quality for the price. But to make the price match there is not actually that much paint inside (which is visible along the top part of the picture). Turns out I'm not a fan of their brush nib (while usually I love them) but they worked for a quick doodle much better that usual markers.

The final pass through was with just a regular ball pen and everything kinda looked ok. I really like how Logan looks :)

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John.

Summary: Everyone deserves a letter from home. John x She. Word Count: 785. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. Part Two.

"mail boys!"

the familiar call sounded through the bunks and bucky didn't even bother to lift his head from where he had been watching crank deal out the cards. he didn't need to look, he never needed to look because there had never been any mail for him. it was a well known fact among the boys, something none of them seemed brave enough to comment on. and john? well he wasn't the type that was going to dwell on such a thing with anyone other than buck.

"buck another one for you, brady, one for me....bucky." the silence that took over was almost immediate as his name was called and for a moment he almost didn't want to look, terrified how he may react if he found a smirk on murph's face. instead he was greeted with absolute sincerity and just as every other face in the bunk did, his pulled into a picture of confusion as he moved to swipe the letter, blue eyes quick to inspect the penmanship.

there it was, as clear as day, his name. lifting it to his nose the way he had seen each man do it sniffed, the rounds of taunts flying from the boys over some secret broad he'd had hidden away from them all. not that the major was listening, already retreating to his bunk with the piece of paper as buck silenced the rest of them, sending them on their way to read their own letters as he watched with quiet concern for his best friend.

he had known john long enough to know he wasn't the pen pal type, but he'd also seen the change, the longing for something that the rest of them had. it wasn't anything he had ever expected of his john, ever the class clown so he was as confused as the rest of the crew.

none were more confused than john though, as he tore, with gentleness he had long since reserved for the touch of a woman, wondering who the hell had wrote him.

"dear major egan..."

Dear Major Egan,

It's odd I find, to be writing a letter to someone when your name and rank is all I know of you. It feels terribly impersonal and honestly I'm not sure how this letter will be received so I am sorry if this feels like an intrusion on your day but the thing is...

Well the truth Major, is that it seems to have been noted that during your time in England you have yet to receive a letter. When I learnt that fact my heart broke a little and not with pity I assure you, but any man fighting for home deserves something to hold onto. You may have that, I hope you do, but just in case I wanted to offer you some form of peace.

I am with you Major Egan, for as long as it takes you to get back home. There is someone out there praying for you every night, someone waiting on your soul to make it back. I know not what your favorite warm meal is, nor what you sound like, I know not what you look like or what makes you laugh, but I would like to learn all of those things should you wish to write back at all.

In return I shall share all those things about myself and anything else should you wish to know any of it. Oh they tell me your name is John, may I call you John next time? I'm going to do it anyway.

With all my gratitude, hope and adoration John

A friend from home x

he wasn't aware the tears had welled as he finished the letter. really bucky had almost forgotten what it was like to cry. but as he scanned the page, again and again and again, he couldn't bring himself to stop the tear that spilled over his cheek, even with the silence he could feel around him again as the boys grew curious once more.

"who was it john?" the gentle voice of his best friend broke through the fourth rerun of the words, the blonde stepping forward so that the answer could stay between them.

blue eyes lifted to meet hazel, with a smile he knew that he hadn't worn in weeks really. one not dissimilar to the smile he had given buck when he had seen him behind that fence. "i - i have a friend from home." someone, somewhere was waiting for him, someone somewhere, had given him what he had forgotten about in this war. hope. she was with him and unless god himself tried to stop him john egan was going to make it home.

[mindfulstudyquest]

❥﹒♡﹒☕﹒ 𝗼𝗳𝗳-𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 𝗶 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗼 𝗱𝗲-𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 ( just pretend i wasn't gone for months guys )

between smartphones, computers, ipads, and screens everywhere, sometimes i feel like i have pudding instead of a brain and i need to engage in three-dimensional activities that don't involve staring at pixels all day, here are some ideas to get in touch with creativity and real word again.

𝟭. drawing and colouring ( 🎨 )

whether it's drawing landscapes, characters from your favorite series or simple doodles, putting the pen on the paper relaxes me instantly. if you are not good at freehand drawing or you're simply lazy, there are many coloring books for adults with mandalas (my personal favorites) or animals/natural landscapes, also online you can find many drawings to color that you can print. in discount stores you can find packs of colored markers at a great price, after all we don't need to be professionals.

𝟮. puzzles and diamond paintings ( 🧩 )

i recently discovered diamond paintings and i'm obsessed with them, on amazon you can find many sets with amazing designs and composing them is really relaxing. having something to focus on for a few hours a day is really essential, puzzles are perfect for this purpose too.

𝟯. reading and writing ( 📚 )

this is a more challenging activity, when we are burnout the last thing we want to do is use our brain, but reading a good novel or writing down a few pages in your journal can distract you from the present moment and give you a bit of a break while still keeping you productive. every second spent reading or writing is a second invested in your personal growth.

𝟰. experiment with outfits and makeup ( ✨ )

i have a lot of clothes but zero outfits, my favorite activity is decluttering my closet, putting away things i don't wear anymore and experimenting with new styles. also sitting at my desk and trying new makeup that's different from my usual eyeliner and mascara, i find it so fun and it's a great way to reconnect with my image when i've spent a month stuck in my room studying.

𝟱. cooking and baking ( 🧁 )

i'm not a good cook and i've burned more cakes than i care to admit, but i have to say it's terribly fun and therapeutic, especially if you're cooking with someone. u think anyone who cooks professionally hates having a second person in the kitchen with them, but when friends make a cake (ugly but tasty) and then eat it together in front of a cup of steaming tea - now, now, that's real therapy.

𝟲. working out, dancing, doing yoga ( 🩰 )

put on some music, dance in your room, follow your workout routine, lay out a mat and do stretching or yoga, connect with your body after being locked in your mind, physical activity is very important to keep your mind fresh ( mens sana in corpore sano ). if you can, go to a park, or an open space, just be careful of excessive stimuli.

these are some of the things i do, feel free to comment on your de-stressing activities.

[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 5)

Lucifer/Reader — Lucifer wants you to be the mother of his child. Rated E for the smut. FINALLY

(Hope none of y’all were planning to actually get off though).

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

“You want a… baby?” 

Lucifer looked as stunned as you felt. He reminded you of a spooked deer — frozen and wide-eyed as he waited for imminent death. Or more aptly a dying fish as his mouth opened and closed soundlessly. 

“… To hang out with?”

Lucifer found himself in your apartment for the second time, milling about beside your coffee table. He internally scolded himself for fidgeting and shifting from one foot to the other, but it was either that or burn a hole in your head with his hopeful gaze.

“No!” He let out a pathetic laugh. “Well, yes, b-but obviously not just that! I know there’s more to it than just ‘hanging out’.”  

“I'm not stupid.” He chortled again before glancing at you. “… I’m not that stupid.” 

The King had the uneasy feeling that you might see right through him now; find that inkling of excitement still germinating in his breast, and change your mind. Or worse, you’d withdraw even more and he’d have to feel that dreadful, terrible, no good shame. 

He had practically skipped through the halls of his castle (unbeknownst to you) with the contract held tightly between his claws.  But as soon as he entered your fireplace, the excitement had curdled like milk. It was replaced by that shame when he looked at you and saw your ashen face. 

“Obviously you wouldn’t be doing this for free!” Lucifer gesticulated wildly. “You, you said you wanted to travel right? Right! If you agree, you’d get to travel wherever you want, whenever you want, no strings attached!”

“A-and also! No more costs, period! All your bills and expenses paid forever, in perpetuity, beyond the grave! Capitalism is a bitch? No, capitalism WAS a bitch!”

“No, no! Capitalism will be YOUR BITCH!” 

Your resigned countenance combined with the memory of his pitch made Lucifer flinch. 

——

You were never very good in a crisis. Or under a severe amount of pressure… or a moderate amount, in all sincerity. 

But you’d have thought, even with the prospect of homelessness looming over your head, that you’d have drawn the line at making a Deal with the Devil to avoid it. 

Or at least you would’ve taken more than the time it took to draw up a legal contract to accept your fate.

That time maxed out to 6 days. 

The scroll unfurled before you. It radiated an ethereal golden light, and lined with a litany of official statements occasionally broken up by blank spaces meant for a (second) signature. 

         Lucifer Morningstar was signed here and there, in the same glittery calligraphy as was on his business card.

‘This contract must be interpreted by the Governances of Heaven [Heofon, Himmel, Kem, ἄκμων, آسمان, अश्मन्] and any litigations associated with Hell [Hel, Hallju, Kel]…’

‘… By this contract, Party A agrees to carry the Seed of Party B, hereafter known as “Father”, to the extent of natural gestation as governed by the Law of Nature…’ 

‘… This union shall be recognized only within the parameters listed and not heretofore or after…’

The legal jargon was giving you a headache. You scrubbed a hand down your face, determined to at least read through it all and, if you couldn’t pick out tiny discrepancies, at least find any giant red flags. 

(Even if you’d already reserved the excuse that it was easy to be tricked by the Devil when the Devil was insanely good at presenting himself as a theatrical little man who wore his heart on his suit sleeve).

           Then again, would it not just be easier to sign away your life without regard to the consequences?

Lucifer twitched when you groaned on your seat at the table. “Problem?” 

You rose slowly from your hunched position to make eye contact. “… My pen isn’t working.” 

You demonstrated by scribbling randomly on the sticky notepad beside his scroll. Lucifer responded instantly, left hand flexing in the air and, with a flashy poof, snatching a fancy pen out of thin air. 

“You can keep it” He said, grinning as you accepted it with a sour look. 

“Thanks… show-off.” You began scribbling your name in half-assed cursive on every blank line in sight.

The grin on Lucifer’s face became borderline manic as soon as you’d crossed your ‘t’s and dotted your ‘i’s. His teeth glinted in the light from your cheap-ass lamp and it made you wince as you handed the rolled up document back to him. 

“Um, can we maybe skip the kissing stuff?” You asked. “I don’t really want to cut my tongue open.” 

His wounded expression tugged rather annoyingly at your heart. 

“Sorry.” 

The smile he gave your mumbled apology was strained at best. “No, no I understand. The fangs were daunting to me when I first got them, too.” 

You cocked your head, thoughts materializing like the web of a spider. 

“That’s actually something we should talk about.” You voiced your thoughts. “Are we compatible? Down there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean — you don’t have teeth down there, too… right?” You asked. “Or some kind of eldritch horror miasma that I can’t touch lest I fall into a coma from ecstasy? Or a tentacle?” 

“No!” Lucifer looked mortified. “Wh-what is wrong with you humans?!” 

“I’m sorry! I’m just asking!” You cried. 

You continued when his expression stayed stagnant. “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you but I’m about to become intimately acquainted with… it, and I think I should be prepared!”

Your hellish companion stood, eyes closed, hands folded over his mouth as if in prayer. He breathed in slowly, then out. 

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry it’s… it’s been a while since I’ve been with a human.” He reasoned. “It’s good to ask questions. It’s—that’s a good one. Do you have any more?” 

That made you pause. There were millions of things you could ask the King of Hell and yet not one thing could properly formulate in your brain. 

“Um, I need a second to think about it.” You muttered. “What about you? My setup is pretty basic? I guess? I have a womb. At least I did, at my last physical a year and a half ago.” 

Lucifer’s lips twitched upward in a half-smile and there was an answering flutter from your stomach. “I know.”

Your eyebrows shot up and he immediately started babbling. “I mean! I know because the contract went through! The ink would’ve turned red… or disappeared… To be honest, I don't know. I haven’t made a deal in a long time, ha ha. But I remember something happens when there’s a technical issue!” 

“Ah,” You felt better with that explanation. 

Kind of. 

“I thought of a question, actually. Sorry.” You shrugged sheepishly. “It’s probably in the contract but…”

You swallowed down your trepidation. “… I won’t die, right?”

Suddenly unable to look him in the eye, you faced the floor and missed the way Lucifer’s face fell. 

“Barring the normal risks that come with being pregnant, nothing else is gonna happen, right? Or if it does, it won’t be agonizing?” You asked quietly. 

A moment of silence passed before the ex-Angel’s fingers curled under your chin. Your head rose and you saw Lucifer's eyes soften from something sharper and more determined. 

“I will do everything in my power to protect you and the baby.” He said firmly. “Nothing terrible will happen to either of you. I swear.” 

It was strange, the effect his words had on you. The jittery feeling in your chest slowly disappeared, and the tears forming in your eyes didn’t fall. 

“Okay.” You nodded with a barely there, watery smile. 

——

“I’m gonna turn off the lights, ok?” You said over your shoulder. 

Lucifer was undoing the last of the buttons of his dress shirt, vest and overcoat already laid neatly over your desk. He met your gaze, eyes bright. 

“Of course.” His close-lipped smile struck you, but you flipped the light switch before you could think on it. 

A lack of light did very little to suppress Lucifer. He seemed to glow like the star of his namesake, flourishing in the dark and hard to miss. You simply hoped, as you pulled at your sleeves, his shine wouldn’t illuminate the terrain of your body. 

Cold air hit your skin, goosebumps rose along your bare arms and shoulders, but you persisted. When everything was shucked save for your underwear, you moved to your bed and realized Lucifer was still standing at the baseboard. 

With arms crossed, you assumed the same position at the side of the bed. “Um?”

“Ladies first!” He chimed, as if reading your mind. 

You sighed, then slowly climbed onto the mattress and awkwardly pulled the comforter from under your butt. You settled and patted a spot in front of you. 

Hesitantly, Lucifer accepted the invitation, and he was sitting next to you before you could blink. 

No going back now. 

You shifted in your spot uneasily. Fuck, it had been a long time since you had sex. 

How did you start this shit again? 

No kissing — per your own request. You had half a mind to take it back while you sat there floundering, trying not to let the tangible awkwardness break your resolve entirely. 

You could do this. For a lifetime of no work, no bills, no cares. 

You could do this.

A bit of movement in the dark caught your eye. You glanced down and realized that Lucifer was twiddling his thumbs waiting for you. 

The laugh came bubbling from your throat before you could stop it. Reaching out, you grabbed one of his hands and tugged him forward.

You could see his throat constrict as he swallowed and smiled questioningly. “What?”

Lucifer yelped when you laid back, taking him with you. 

——

“Ah! F-fu — Slow down!” You scolded, words muffled as you were repeatedly pushed down into the pillows. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, you just,” Every word was punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips against the flesh of your ass. “Feel. So. Fucking. Good.” 

Lucifer moaned loudly as he continued to lose himself in the sensation. You could only groan, irritation building as your partner refused to give you even the most basic attention. The frustration peaked quickly, then unraveled as his pleasured moans and squeaks caused your stomach to somersault over and over again. 

You clenched around his cock when he whined, thrusting into you so deeply you felt the base of him stretching your hole that much wider. 

Well, fuck you for finding the sound of a masculine voice cracking the hottest thing in all of creation. 

But it was actually getting you there, so what were you complaining for?

          Eyes closed, you focused on the feeling, trying to jump off that precipice with only penetration. It reminded you of when you were a teen, awkwardly feeling around down there. Of trying to find the appeal in your fingers inside of somewhere so sensitive against the fear of hurting yourself. All while you worked yourself up with your own imagination. 

In a perfect world, you would’ve moved on from that stage of life with no repeat performances. Hopefully, it could still be salvag—

You gripped the pillows that hadn’t tumbled off the juddering mattress when Lucifer’s claws dug into your hips. He pulled you as close as humanly possible with a strangled yelp, shivering, shuddering, stammering incoherence as warmth flooded your insides. 

Fuck’s sake.

——

You were disappointed, but not surprised. All you could do after the fact was bury yourself in the covers and watch Lucifer catch his breath beside you. 

Not finishing aside, exhaustion from the entire ordeal made you indolent and your thoughts hazy. You studied your partner as he calmed down, clearly trying not to be too close to you now that the deed was done. 

Lucifer’s hair was in disarray, the space between his eyes and across his cheeks rosy like the blots parallel to his smile. 

“Hey.” 

Lucifer looked at you innocently, waiting. You could physically feel your walls crumbling down despite yourself. 

“Come here.” You murmured, hand sliding beneath the covers to touch that poreless skin. 

Damn you and your soft heart. 

‘Actually…’ You had Lucifer in your arms, his body still warm. Once he was in your grasp, the King melted against you. 

He looked a little afraid as you tilted him up by the chin to look at you. The Devil had surprisingly soulful eyes, questioning whatever you had in store. 

The tiny thought that he was being way too vulnerable drew a taut, uncomfortable feeling your chest. 

“Kiss me.” 

Lucifer blinked in rapid succession — surprise, wonder, confusion and hope bloom all at once on his unusual face. 

It made you laugh in the quiet, comfortable darkness of your room before you yourself leaned in and met his lips with your own. The line of Lucifer’s mouth trembled, but he reciprocated with only minor hesitation. 

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