#Ink is overjoyed anyways

[triglycercule]

Murder trio

i actually cried seeing this in my inbox i will not lie. like actually fucking cried tears of joy /srs absolutely no words can express just how absolutely thralled i am that you drew this. i'm actually ACTUALLY so so overjoyed and flattered and so happy that someone could manage to encapsulate just how much i love the jk!trio and just how silly they are and how you put your own spin on this and made them just as cute and silly and amazing as i've always wanted to see I'M ACTUALLY CRYING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DRAWING THE JK!MTT 😭😭😭

im so sorry for the late answer i have literally had no time to draw but TYSM FOR THIS I DREW MORE JK AU 4 YOU TO THANK YOU❤️❤️💜💜💙💙 ‼️‼️

they just got out of an extreme gaming session at the boardwalk arcade and now the suns setting and killer wants to get ice cream before it sets so they can watch the sunset but as usual she's a bit too excited for horror and dust to keep up and dust is absolutely dying (she gets ZERO excercise and killer is FAST) and horror just wants to take her time and also spare dust from killer's wrathful running speed. its ok though they manage to eat the icecream while watching the sunset even while slowed down (the vibes in this one are immaculate this is what jk fashion au stands for. silly fluffy important friendship bonding memories. i love. it's not full effort because i wanted to get this done quickly so i wouldnt respond late but im UNFORTUNATELY busy and now its been a day,,,,, I STILL LOVE THE ART YOU SENT ME THANM YKJ SO MUCH)

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Heyy!! I absolutely ✨LOVE✨ your work I've basically been stalking your blog😅. But anyway I was wondering if you could please, please do Nozel, Fuegoleon,and William where their s/o (preferably f!) yells or very calmly (your choice, does not matter which or how) says their full name in front of family/friends/squad (again your choice could be all, depends on you) and their reaction to it. I completely understand if you don't want to do it or it takes you a while to get to it thank you for your work regardless! I wish you well!! ❤❤❤

Hiya! I am overjoyed that you like my fics!!! And though I took my sweet time with this, I hope that you still enjoy it <3

Pairings: Nozel x f!reader, Fuegoleon x f!reader, William x f!reader Fanfic type: Headcanons Genre: hurt-comfort?, and some giggles ?? Total length: ~2k (about 650 words each) Contains: misunderstandings, reader raising her voice to the guys/displays anger to them, they make up in the end ('cause it was a misunderstanding), hurt-comfort, so fluffy ends

Nozel

You had a favourite pen. The kind in which you could change the ink cartilage, and thus keep using the pen for years and years. Though the ink dispensing mechanism had broken some years ago, you held onto the pen itself for sentimental value.

And it was always in a specific drawer in your room.

However, one day when you opened the drawer, the pen case nor the pen were there.

You scrambled through the drawer, first thinking to yourself that it must’ve just been pushed back, but after scouring through the drawer, the box, nor the pen, didn’t surface.

Your mind jumped to the idea of a servant having taken it, but quickly realized that it didn’t make sense. They didn’t go through drawers such as this one. ‘Such as this one’ because they obviously folded your clothes and put them into your clothing drawers. But this one was of no importance to the servants. And even if they had, for any reason, chosen to go through other drawers in the room, the pen case was among the least likely things to take.

Which meant that there was only one other person, who could’ve likely taken it. Your husband.

He was currently with the rest of the Eagles at the squad’s training grounds, and though he was occupied, you wanted to, needed to know now why he had discarded your favourite pen. Yes, sure, it was broken, but there was no harm in holding onto such a small item. You had space!

So, you stomped through the corridors to the training grounds, and spotted him some distance away, looking at his knights. Seeming somewhat uninterested. Or just held his poker face.

This was where he held his poker face. Looked as if nothing had happened.

And it spiked a kind of annoyance, anger even, in you, which made you yell out to him: “Nozel Evander Silva!”

He turned to look.

Other knights turned to look.

The trainings halted for a moment, and everyone just looked at you, glaring at Nozel.

He looked to the knights standing next to him, and said something, before walking towards you, as you crossed your arms and waited for him to get to you. And as he did, he looked at you, with concern on his face, hidden behind the mask of the squad captain.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, the syllables revealing more of his feelings than the expression that quivered, trying to upkeep the facade of a strong, unfaltering squad captain.

“Where. Is. My. Pen?” You asked, feeling the annoyance, almost anger, bubbling to the surface. “You know how much it means to me!” You said with a grave tone, without raising your voice, so that the knights wouldn’t hear. There was no need for them to know such details of your personal life.

His eyes closed in a slow blink, and a sigh escaped his lips. “I was hoping to surprise you,” he said with a hint of melancholy.

You frowned, not sure what, exactly, he meant by it.

“I thought to get it fixed, so that you might use it again, instead of just having it sit in that drawer,” he admitted.

And you... felt a wide variety of emotions. Affection, joy, but also guilt, guilt for having thought that he would have discarded it.

So, you took a step forward, and wrapped your arms around his middle.

He tensed in your embrace, and you could feel the ever so slight movement of his head to look back towards his knights. The look over his shoulder due to the public display of affection.

But he didn’t push away.

And you did let go, after a brief moment. You just needed him to know that he was important to you, and you appreciated the gesture he did for you.

Fuegoleon

Fuegoleon has asked you to find his calendar for him, so that me might go straight from the training session with his knights to the meeting at the castle.

And you happily obliged with the request. After all, you did want to help him with his duties and make his life easier, just like he did for you.

So, you entered his office, and begun looking for the calendar. It wasn’t on the desk, not on first glance at least, so it must’ve been in the desk drawer. Or that seemed like the most likely conclusion to make, which is why you made your way to his desk, circling onto the side of his chair.

Your hands moved to the drawers, but... as your gaze became directed down, you noticed your name on a piece of paper, which made your curiosity pique. After all, because your name was on it, it must’ve concerned you, right? So, it was alright if you looked at what it said on that piece of paper. Right?

You slid the paper along the surface of the desk closer to you, and started skimming it through. But... as you did, and your eyes landed on the line of “...will not be ordered on another mission” anger bubbled inside of you.

What did he mean you weren’t going to be assigned another mission?! Did he not think that you could handle it?!

You clenched the paper in your hand and stormed out of the room with one intention, and one intention only: to find your husband and demand an explanation.

Luckily, you knew exactly where to find him, so you made your way to the training grounds, and locked eyes on him as soon as you were outside.

You walked up to him, as his knights slowly, while trying not to seem like they were looking, looked at you. After all, perhaps there was a need to pause the training, because the captain was overseeing it, after all.

“Fuegoleon. Alexander. Vermillion,” you spoke in a calm manner, but enunciated every name, every syllable, while looking straight in the eye.

You could see his eyes flicker, but he continued to look at you. “Yes?” There was hesitance in his tone, as if puzzled what was the cause of all this.

“What did you do?” You asked, with an equally cold tone as before.

“I... really couldn’t tell you,” he replied with a frown and an uncertain, confused tone as he continued to look at you.

“Mhm,” you hummed with a quirked eyebrow.

“Could we perhaps go to the side to discuss this through?” He suggested, to which you agreed with a nod. There wasn’t, really, a reason to make this into a public spectacle after all, and, he did deserve a chance to explain. He was a reasonable man. After all. It seemed. You had supposed him to be one.

But even before you had stopped on your way to the sidelines, you looked at him while holding that paper forward.

“What does this mean?!” You demanded to know. “Do you not trust me on missions? Is that why you wouldn’t assign me on one anymore?”

He blinked. Looked at the paper. And then back to you.

Then his lips became laced with... hints of amusement, and an apology. “My love... you’re more than welcome to partake on missions in the future. The formulation of ‘will not be ordered’ is simply a technicality to give you more freedom of choosing your missions,” he explained. “Of course the difficulty level of your missions would be expected to only grow, but this is more to give you, on paper, a say as to which mission you will embark on, if there are multiple ones of similar difficulty level active simultaneously.” He pointed to another line on the bottom of the page. “See?” There was another apology in his tone.

“Oh.” You uttered, looking at the line.

“But I do apologise,” he continued. “I should have discussed it with you, instead of having you find out this way.”

“You should,” you said, while looking down to the side. “But... I also... shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions... I know you well enough,” you continued, because, it really would have been out of place for him to just make such a decision as to pull you away from missions entirely all on his own.

“Truce?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gaze that bore all his affection and devotion to you.

“Truce,” you agreed while feeling warmth on your cheeks.

It had been a simple misunderstanding, and miscommunication. But. It wouldn’t come in between of the two of you.

William

William’s office had been so barren before you had entered his life. Which is why the first thing you got for him, was a plant into his office.

He was a little bit confused about it, but didn’t turn down the gift. And as you explained that it’d make the air in his office better, by producing more oxygen, and would add some life and colour in there, he nodded in understanding.

And he begun taking good care of it. Watered it regularly, changed its soil and gave it nutrients if there was a need. Which really warmed your heart, because ... in a weird way, it was like he was tending to your relationship through the plant.

However, one morning when you entered his office. The plant wasn’t there. Which you thought was odd. So, you looked around the office, and the bedroom, but... it didn’t seem to be... anywhere?

Your mind begun circling with all kinds of possibilities, until... it landed on the plant having died and him having thrown it away. And that made you feel hurt. Sad. Angry.

You had looked at him tend to the plant so carefully, and now he had just thrown it away? You would’ve helped him take care of it, if he had only asked, but instead he has just... disposed of it.

So... he would hear about it. Oh, he would most certainly hear about it.

You walked out of the room with a mission to find him, which is why you begun circling around the base. You looked at every, single, possible room in which you thought he could be, until you spotted him from the window while talking to his knights.

Your hand grasped onto the handle of the window, and you opened it with a swift motion.

“William Thaddeus Vangeance!” You yelled, making him look at you. “Don’t. Move. One. Inch! I need to have a word with you!”

And you closed the window before racing down and outside, where he was still standing, and his knights were... still there? This didn’t really concern them, and it looked like they intuitively realized it as you marched over to William.

“Where is the plant?” You asked, looking straight at him.

He frowned, and his eyes flickered to his knights, to whom he said as a side note: “You’re dismissed,” to which the knights nodded and begun walking away.

“Where is the plant?” You repeated.

He frowned again, as if to connect the dots.

And then it dawned on him.

“Oh, the plant is on the balcony to get a little bit more sunlight,” he replied with a baffled look.

You blinked.

And looked at him.

“It looked a little down so... I thought that some more sun would do it good?” He said, sounding a little but uncertain.

“So... you didn’t .. throw it away,” you uttered out loud, without really meaning to.

“No..?” He said with a questioning frown. “Why would I throw it away?”

“No reason,” you said while cupping his face.

And he continued to give you a baffled look as you placed a kiss onto his cheek.

He really was tending to it. The plant, and your relationship

[rosewaterandivy]

omg, imagine actor!steve! being spotted at rockstar!gf show (kinda like people are spotted at ts era tour in vip tent) and getting cute little bracelets from fans & him showing her them afterwards.

In honor of a follower milestone, here, have some modern!actor steve x rockstar!gf. Took the prompt and ran with it; enjoy! 💜

tender charm

🎶 baby the way you move me, it’s crazy, it’s like you see right through me and make it easier, you please me, you don’t even have to try 🎶

Steve’s not the type.

Sure, he understands these sorts of things. And for most of your fans, attending a concert of this magnitude will be a defining event in the course of their lives.

He simply was not prepared for the sheer amount of people wanting to give him bracelets. He’s much more used to your fans showing off their ink and tattoos of lyrics or your handwriting. And, as always, he felt ill prepared because he didn’t have anything to offer them in return.

Luckily, they didn’t seem to mind. He was, however, bombarded with shouts of, “Take care of our girl, Harrington!” or “Tell Cherry we love her!” and the occasional, “We’ve got our eye on you, don’t fuck it up!”

Steve didn’t intend on fucking it up. Well, not if he could help it anyway.

So when he gleefully shows you the haul on his arms and shoved into his pockets at the end of the show, breathlessly recounting fan messages he’d promised to relay, Steve doesn’t necessarily catch the mischievous gleam in your eye as you nod along.

“I ended up with a ton of these,” his fingers pinch the moody teal and emerald beads at his wrist, black letters of SHRIKE contrasting against the bright white plastic, “I guess they assume it’s about me, or us.” He concludes with a shrug.

“Yes, because I never write songs about you.”

“Oh yeah, that’d be career suicide.” He laughs and settles back against the banquet seat of the tour bus.

“Hmm, that’s weird.” You say with a twist of your lips, “You’re missing some.”

Steve furrows his brow, confused as you turn to rifle through your bag. Prizing the bracelets between your fingers, you roll them onto his wrist before letting your hands fall into your lap.

He reads the newest acquisitions quickly, eyes widening in realization.

Something simple and to the point. Had cost you all of a ten dollars and maybe an hour of your time. An understated color palette of earthy tones for each bracelet, accented with black text printed on white beads.

The first proclaims DADDY. The second declares 2 B. The third is simply a chord of leather adorned with a singular gemstone in the center.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you—“ Big hands cup your hips and drag you closer to him.

“Yes,” you squeak, clambering into his lap and resting your forehead against his. Eyes growing misty, you blink to clear the haze and get a long look at him.

Under your gaze, he attempts to duck his head and nuzzle into your neck and shoulder. Your hands, cool against his heated skin, cradle his head while your thumbs rub in soothing circles against his scalp.

“You happy?”

Steve nods, at an utter loss for words. Can’t imagine trying to speak without his voice breaking or, god forbid, bursting into tears.

“Good,” You sigh with a sweet smile. “Me too.”

It was touch and go after the shower incident, which ended up being a false alarm anyway. And then there was really no time for discussion between your tour and his filming schedule.

It wasn’t something you’d sat down and discussed, not really. Steve’s always wanted kids, but never quite let himself believed that it would happen.

Not until you barreled into his life, a whirlwind of talent and genetics with a tendency for entropy.

One look at you and he was a complete goner. Started ring shopping after your visit to Palm Springs, as a matter of fact.

So to say that he’s happy is an understatement. Overjoyed, yes. Bowled over, definitely. Synapses and neurons firing in rapid succession, far to fast for him to keep up.

All he knows is this: the brush of your skin against his, a cool balm to his fevered flesh. The scent of you—musk and salt and home— surrounds him, blankets him in comfort. Everything he could possibly want, right here in his grasp.

“We’re having a baby,” he says with a shudder. Because now he’s said it, now it’s real.

You gnaw the swell of your bottom lip, pearly white and plush pink accented by the delicious curve of your smile.

“You can say that again.”

Steve jerks up helplessly. “What—“ Sets you back a pace and eyes you up and down, “Is there—“

A slow nod as happy tears clump your lashes together. As if you can’t take his torment anymore, you smile wide and radiant.

“Twins,” you rasp, “We’re having twins.”

He fumbled with his awkward limbs, drawing you near once more, hands tentative and hesitant with newfound knowledge. Logically, he knows you won’t break— you’re built of sterner stuff, as you like to remind him. But he can’t help treating you with tenderness at a moment like this.

Graciously, you allow it. Soft hands and watery smiles, sweet murmurs that fall from your lips and pierce him all the way through—“Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

A kiss planted on the tip of his nose as your hands stroke his form. Sliding smooth up his side and stoking heat into his arms and shoulders, up his spine, down his chest.

Steve’s eyes slip shut when your mouth returns to his neck. He takes your advice to heart, not that there was much convincing that was needed anyway.

It’s only then, your eyes both sharp and steady peering into the once empty parts of him, housed in the tender safety and warmth of your arms, does Steve bow his head and weep.

[i-write-things]

I head canon that anytime Elliott wakes up early to feed the animals for the farmer, everytime he sees a duck feather laying around, he has to resist the urge to take it. I mean sure, you BOTH technically own the farm now, but it still feels like only you do, especially since you're the one putting in 99.99% of the work.

He does become overjoyed though when you end up giving it to him, anyway. It's just so pretty, and you know he can't resist that 1700's ink&quill thing. He probably has an entire drawer or something filled with duck feathers he could use if he loses his current quill. He's also definitely put one in his hair without thinking.

[braisedhoney]

there are strange aberrations aboard the HIVE, lively as it can be.

(a HIVE short experiment… fic? drabble? does it count as either if it’s not technically fandom based?)

Spaceships feel claustrophobic and vast at the same time. It comes with being modern marvels, impossibly large machines that traverse the stars as easily as airplanes did the sky. It's admittedly a relative feeling even on ordinary vessels.

The HIVE is far from ordinary.

Rooms upon rooms, hallways that twist and turn oddly and doors that should lead places that don't. All of that's well and good enough, but all it takes is one good glance out at the starry depths of the outside to feel miniscule — to realize that space is it's namesake. It's a slippery slope, and usually at least a little existential.

The HIVE lively despite that, though. Shockingly warm in color for a spacefaring vessel, themed like the name was crafted before the construct. Hexagonal wall decor and metal welded to match, all in hues that contrasted the grey uniforms of the crew. The halls are scarcely ever fully empty, especially on the path to communal areas like the kitchens or open living spaces, and theres always at least a few people trudging along to medbay with sheepish smiles and singed collars.

The designated sleeping quarters — the proper ones with each crewmates number stamped on a metal plaque, CR[and so on], not the honeycomb themed nap spaces, nor the various chambers designated for cryosleep — are afforded keycards and locked doors, but some leave theirs open for visitors to come and go. Things become even more chaotic when the ship is scheduled to dock, what with almost everyone excited to disembark and peruse the wares of the local markets before they set off again. Yes, the ship is lively.

But sometimes it feels like it's more than that.

When the lights dim to replicate proper sleeping conditions, sometimes it can be all too easy to push oneself up from bed, bleary-eyed and yawning. To wander out in search of the restroom, or a late snack while in the company of the silent stars. To step, then pause, then recoil as a boot meets something other than the expected metal floor. To hold up a hand and watch in horror as an ink-like substance drips into it, so dark it leaves no room for shadows to be cast within it.

(To look up, and feel your heart stop as pinpricks of blindingly white light pin you where you stand. Watching. Watched.)

It's something to laugh about later. Something to commiserate about — another prank, the others say with sympathy, another failed attempt to say hello — something to dismiss. Terrifying at first, but ultimately harmless. It’s a fact of life aboard the ship; report it to the captain if you like, they add, and they'll take care of it.

It's easiest to open the comms if you need them, if they aren't just walking around—the door to the captain's quarters is locked even during the day, you see, so the comms are the best bet. (Nobody other than the captain even has access to that room anyway.)

Yes, there are strange aberrations aboard the HIVE, lively as it can be. Odd characters out of uniform and out of place, they stand out like sore thumbs. But the captain claps them on the shoulders and seems, if anything, overjoyed to cause them trouble, often chasing them about with tablet and pen in hand. Shouting about being a proud father to someone they could not look less similar to if they tried one minute, laying in a dramatic pose claiming death the next. Always unconcerned with the circumstances of their arrival, treating each one like a strange friend. No matter how much some of them protest the familiar treatment.

With time, the changing doorways and strange new arrivals that disregard the need to board or disembark normally all become routine. A revolving door of new and old faces amidst the sea of warm metallic colors and grey uniforms.

Perhaps the next station they visit will have another market. The stars make for a beautiful view between pit-stops, as long as you don't stare for too long.

If too much time passes, the doors do grow bored of waiting.

[desognthinking]

👀 More haunted house designer au?! 👀 I love that concept so much so would be overjoyed if you ever decided to revisit it :)

😎i love it too. i wish i could tell you there are finally actually haunted houses in this one but unfortunately the girls are still working through it 😭 also i am working through it (editing 😭)

so in this one they're on a scouting-slash-forced teambuilding trip and it's um Going. it's a few thousand k of Meet The Ava wherein Ava is frustrated + up against it + dramatic, but also Meets The Beatrice.

anyway anyway it starts like this (subject to me finding it too cringey and editing it):

Ava sees her at the end of the pier, a dark figure in the already-dark; a smudge of barely-moving ink on the line between wind and water. Barely, indeed – wavering less than the yearning swallow and swoop of the waves interrupted by pillars of wood, and, further back, stone. 

At night, after everything’s shut, this place is quiet until the fishermen get out in the early morning. In the off-season, even more so. Rain slings down frequently, and it’s not warm enough for balmy walks by the rocks. Not many come out, if any. Ava’s one.

She calls out as she walks down the planks, only thinking belatedly that perhaps she might not want to be disturbed. Out here behind the motel, unmoving under the preliminary drizzle of rain, embraced and cocooned by temperamentally warping air. It is, after all, that tremulous transitory phase between spring and summer that borrows its faces from both, and switches its masks sharply in the slit-time of blinks.

[pastelchaos12]

Finally has designs for the Lost!Blue AU

Characters:

Lost!Blue

Cross

Ink

Shattered!Dream

The basic idea/plot/whatever lmao:

Underswap was being destroyed by Error but luckily Ink was able to distract him for a bit so Dream and Cross could get everyone to the Omega Timeline.

Swap Sans and Papyrus were running to the portal that Dream had opened up but paps was running behind so Blue used his telekinesis power to throw paps through the portal, Blue almost made it but since the AU was unstable thanks to Error the floor cracked and opened bineth him causing him to fall, Dream immediately ran after him in an attempt to save Blue but almost got himself killed when rubble from the ceiling of the underground almost fell on him and Cross had to push him out the way and through a portal he created which got Dream to safety but Blue couldn't be saved.

Ink tried to save Blue but was stopped by Error and he just left in a state of panic since so many things were happening at once.

Ink immediately closed all access to Underswap since that place was beyond saving but Dream wasn't happy about that since he thought Blue could still somehow be alive.

Ink and Dream have an argument which results in Dream leaving in a state of anger leaving just Ink and Cross.

Dream went to his AU and sat by the stump of the tree of feelings and just cried his eyes out, soon Nightmare entered because he was confused why he felt someone crying in his AU when he was certain that he had killed everyone there and finds Dream.

The two fight but Dream is running on grief and anger so his attacks are wild and he isn't quick enough to dodge some of NM's attacks.

Dream falls to the floor, exhausted, and NM makes fun of him because he's just a great brother lol.

In all seriousness NM offers to take Dream with him back to his castle and Dream agrees since he doesn't even want to see Ink after everything and the two go off.

However, due to the fight Dream and NM had some of NM's goop got on him, usually it burns Dream but this time it has stuck to him and won't come off no matter what Dream tries and it even starts spreading across his body. NM guesses that the goop is feeding off of Dreams negative emotions since he is in a really bad state emotions wise. (Yes this is my excuse to have Shattered Dream in this AU with it making some sense)

Anyway after a few months Cross is wandering about Outertale as he likes to stargaze but then runs into... Blue?

Of course Blue isn't the same as when he last saw him, he was glitching slightly, his memories were fuzzy and he had moments where his emotions would go all out of control and he would start glitching a lot (this was in moments of stress, sadness or anger)

Cross then finds Ink, shows him Blue is alive and they go to the Omega Timeline to find everyone from Underswap, Swap Papyrus is overjoyed to see his brother alive and hugs him.

Since Blue's memories were still fuzzy he would spend half his time with everyone in the Omega Timeline and the other half with Ink and Cross so he could remember everything.

At one point, while Blue was AU hopping with Ink and Cross, Error ambushed the trio and Ink threw Blue into a random AU to keep him out of the fight. But it so happens that Shattered was there as well.

At first he was surprised and overjoyed to see Blue alive but when Ink and Cross came to grab Blue his attitude quickly changed.

Since he was still holding a grudge against Ink he attacked him without a second thought, the only reason they stopped was because Blue had an episode of glitching and had a mental breakdown due to the stress of seeing his two friends trying to kill each other.

Ink and Shattered formed a (rocky) truse so it wouldn't upset Blue, but Shattered will take any chance he can get to insult Ink because he's petty as all hell.

Yeah TLDR:

Blue almost died but instead got a little glitchy, Dream kinda went evil and Ink and Cross are trying to manage their chaotic friends.

Ask me anything about these four doofuses, I'll try to answer them as best as possible.

[aroace-poly-show]

follow up to my last oc rant: im gonna cover weiss and jex here since im brain rotting about them again sigh

also i tried my best with the sort of worldbuilding dont come for me if its not great this was for fun

jex’s illness specifically was inspired by this fictional disease thing i saw on pinterest and im so sad bc i didnt save it so i cant link it FUCK anyway specifically it was heavily inspired by the ink cough one. essentially jex’s body pretty much starts to slowly fail on them. throughout the life of one affected by this, they’ll slowly become weaker and weaker, getting sick much more easily (and those sicknesses tend to affect them much worse), having more and more violent coughing fits, being unable to heal very quickly/properly/more prone to infections, and blood from any injuries gets darker overtime, eventually becoming black. a lot of people often become eventually paralyzed. nearly everyone who has it has their expected lifespan cut incredibly short. those rare people that live longer spend their last days pretty much suffering. (no one really knows what causes it, theres rumors that it was a curse from an old dead god, placed upon the world in their final breath.. 👀 hehe)

stress tends to trigger jex’s cough but its not ink its like blackened blood. while they do tend to cough occasionally just in general, stressful situations will trigger a really really bad coughing fit, its worse depending how distressing it is to jex.

oh, and i forgot to mention!! weiss also has a sort of condition!! basically whenever they have an injury that draws blood, flowers will bloom from them. these flowers often help the wound to heal faster than if they weren’t there!! weiss was always fascinated by this, and (!!!possible tw: sh!!!) !!!sometimes would get hurt on purpose to draw blood and see the flowers bloom. its pretty cool having basically blood flowers that help you heal faster...until its like an internal injury then theyre an absolutely fucking pain in the ass to deal with.

so, weiss and jex were childhood best friends. they’ve been best friends foreverrr (and now romantic partners <3) since the one time jex fell out of a tree like a foot away from where weiss was messing with mechanical stuff. how fun!! jex had pretty much hopped out the window of their house after their caretaker left their room for like 2 seconds to grab their tea (which they absolutely fucking despise). before weiss can even say anything jex is just like “OOOOO WHATS THAT OMG” and just. fucking grabs the lil mechanical thing weiss was messing with.

weiss got pissed off at first bc “hey who are you why are you touching my stuff??” but then was overjoyed at the opportunity to infodump about her machines and stuff. boom now theyre besties. weiss used to help jex sneak out all the time. jex absolutely loved weiss for this, she was helping them live their childhood and god they’d do anything for her already.

weiss learned why jex had to stay inside all the time but it never really hit her until she actually witnessed one of their coughing fits. jex’s parents flipped the fuck out and weiss saw the amount of panic from them. jex had always played it off as it not being a big deal but seeing them struggle to just fucking breathe really shook weiss. the next time weiss saw them she made a promise that she’d find a way to help her, no matter what.

jex just kind of went along with that promise not thinking it was gonna be a serious thing, but weiss took that promise very seriously. she started focusing less on her interest in mechanical things and focused entirely on studying to help jex out. unfortunately…it resulted in them starting to drifting apart. jex was kept at home more especially since there wasn’t anyone to help them sneak out. eventually weiss hears about this group working towards learning more about their world, pretty much just scientists. she hears about one of their goals to help heal those illness that keep taking lives and she immediately fucking joins. goddamn shes excited!!! she can finally help her best friends!!! if only she read the fine print…sigh

so the group she joins, fucking sucks. very unethical experiments and projects but uh oh!! it seems theyre working with the shitty corrupt people that have wayyy too much power for anyone to do anything major about. so uh oh!!! no one’s coming to sue their asses!!! how sad for these (non)human lab rats :(

weiss had no idea about it at the beginning until shes offered a higher position in an important project, and she takes it bc she was told theyre working on the exact illness that jex has!! so of course shes gonna take that opportunity!! but unfortunately shes gonna be even busier, and jex wasnt happy about it. they already barely get to se weiss, and now they might not see them at all? theyre kind of hurt, and feel like shes treating them the same as their parents did. not letting them live the life they do have, just focusing on trying to extend it. it results in an argument between them, with weiss storming out. weiss didnt really get it, why would jex be upset??? shes trying to save them??? the fuck is their problem??? but she brushes it off and goes to start her new project, yay...

shes totally having a great time until she finds out just how far theyre willing to go “for research” (theyre really just pretentious fucking assholes who are basically torturing people and using “but science!!!” as an excuse). girl witnesses them recruiting fucking CHILDREN for these experiments and nopes the fuck out. and steals a child in the process. oopsies!! (she returned that kid to their parents and told them to get the fuck outta here) unfortunately!! they dont take kindly to people who know too much leaving their little group!! especially ones that also steal their lab rats!! uh oh!!

so weiss goes to see jex in the middle of the night, scares the everloving shit out of them, scares them EVEN MORE after she explains her situation, and they make up really quick and go on the run together!! how sweet!! (they make up properly later, weiss said sorry like a million times <3)

nowadays they travel around under new identities (their current names are the new identities btw i just refer to them in the past with the same name for simplicity [*cough* i didnt come up with previous names.. *cough*]). they visit bars and jex often does little perfomances and magic tricks there! if anyone's up to it, jex'll have a little spar with someone as well. they get by asking for tips for their performances. they often move from town to town, but they're fairly happy together <3 weiss is still looking around for any leads on possible solutions to jex's condition though, its how she got to know dorian. they crossed paths once and dorian was more than happy to help with her goal!! jex is here mostly to just enjoy themselves with their beloved. <3

notes:

jex fucking LOVES spicy food. doesn't matter how spicy it is, doesn't care how much they always end up coughing afterward, they will eat any kind of spicy food they'll see at any restaurant. (weiss has to beg them not to eat too much otherwise they'll be coughing for hours)

i think about them alot to "if i could ride a bike" - park bird/chevy , specifically in a modern setting. i love them dearly

i ended up writing...way more.. than i thought i had oh my god?? pls i originally did them first bc i thought they had a lot less but..jesus fucking christ man;;

[merryfortune]

Getting Seasons Signed

Fandom: Pokemon Scarlet & Violet

Ship: Oilseedshipping | Brassius/Lenore

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,609

Tags: Meet Cute, Reunions, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Mutual Attraction

   There was something almost nostalgic about the poetry that Brassius had been reading as of late. 

   It was of course, more tragic than nostalgic but something about these scenes that he was reading into, they reminded him of personal memories not unsurfaced for years from his boyhood. Themes and motifs that even he used as they were so close to the home in his heart. It was peculiar, it was almost as if- no, that would be preposterous. The writer was simply good at their craft, evoking such deep and irritation things in him. That had to be it.

   Anyways, good old Hass had recommended Brassius something to read recently and now Brassius could not get enough of it.

   Hassel had wanted to share one of the latest arrivals at Uva Academy as this one had particularly captured him and thought it would be appreciated by Brassius as well. So he sent a copy to Brassius through the mail. He looked forward to receiving it and when it arrived at Brassius’ gym, he took a small delight in unwrapping the parcel from its brown paper. There was a card from Hassel as well, asking him to ring when Brassius finished reading it so they could discuss its themes, motifs, and eligibility for.

   When the Seasons Change by E. Littlefoot. Brassius wondered if the titular ‘E’ was male or female, he couldn’t tell by its title nor its the cover as it was an excellent case study in why covers should not be the metric by which books were judged as this one was an unassuming green with gold additions in the titling and lining but goodness, the inside, the inside was anything but unassuming.

   Brassius’ very soul was stirred by the poetry inked onto the pages. The fresh smell of paper enticed him as he devoured poem after poem. Rereading certain passages over and over again, just revelling in the lexical choices which enriched the meaning of the selected words inside their calculated metre.

   Each section of the book took him through a different season: all their trials and tribulations, grief and joy included. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. All their melancholy be it in heat or in cold. None of the seasons evaded the poet’s musings on each bane of them to go with each boon but that final poem, to represent winter and the author’s grandmother’s passing. It was real, it was raw, it overwhelmed Brassius’ linguistic aesthetics and he did something he never did.

   He cried.

   If just one tear could be considered crying, at least. Yes, the stalwart and stony Brassius shed a tear and unlike his best friend, his eyes were typically very dry. It was just one, single tear but a tear nonetheless. Hassel was overjoyed when he learned that Brassius had been so overcome by the prose that even his eyes had watered in their little capacity over the phone.

   “Oh, I simply cannot believe you, Brassie, but I’m glad you found this book enjoyable, that is fantastic to hear.” Hassel very loudly stated over the phone.

   “I appreciate the recommendation. I imagine it will become very well worn in time.” Brassius replied, recoiling after having his ear shouted in. Seriously, neither he nor Hassel were that old and yet here was Hassel, acting like an old, technologically inept man nonetheless.

   “Well, if you intend to cherish it so much, why not get it signed?” Hassel asked.

   “I don't even know the first name of this author,” Brassius tiredly replied, “so however would I manage that?”

   “Well, very simply of course. Come down to the Zara Bookshop in Mesagoza, I only learned this recently through Mr. Salvatore but it seems that Miss Littlefoot is here in Paldea as part of a work vacation, on tour doing book signings and author talks. Apparently she’s quite the rising star in her native Unova, endorsed by famed author Shauntel, nonetheless.” Hassel yammered.

   Brassius paused. So E. Littlefoot was a ‘miss’, apparently. He didn’t know why but his heart skipped a beat. He attempted to repress it lest it be some odd and budding infatuation, even if it was purely artistic but just in case it was other… Still, his lips gave a quirk. That little factoid was somehow the most important thing he had gleaned from how Hassel talked and talked and talked.

   “At what time?” Brassius asked after a heavy sigh.

   “Ten-ish on Saturday morning, this coming Saturday, I believe, Mr. Salvatore said these book signings were happening.” Hassel said.

   “I see. Thank you.” Brassius said and he hung up promptly afterwards. “Catch up again later, Hass.”

   As he cut the connection, he could hear Hassel protest right up to that final static noise to signal that it had ended. He clearly had more to talk about but goodness knows what that would be about, anything under the sun was possible and with the sun setting, Brassius was ready for dinner. 

   And no doubt his Pokemon would be as well. He was sure they would all be very hungry. They had had a very energetic challenger not too long ago, one of Hassel’s students, even, and deserved a big dinner after such a resounding, powerful loss.

   Still, as Brassius fried up some brussel sprouts and the like for himself and his team, he mused on the “ten-ish on Saturday morning” offer that Hassel had given him. “Ish” was a bit unreliable sounding and Brassius was sure there was more important things he could be doing on a Saturday morning than going to a book signing in Mesagoza. Not that the idea didn’t appeal to him but he so rarely took time off. Being a Gym Leader was demanding and like most artists, his schedule to create was haphazard at best, despite better efforts.

   Yet in that haphazard schedule, Brassius put down something very sharp: nine-thirty, he would catch a flying taxi to Mesagoza and navigate the city himself so he could be the Zara Bookshop well before “ish” would likely come into play. 

   That sounded all well and good but as it would happen, his artistic haphazard schedule vied very hard to create disruption after disruption for Brassius. Inspiration kept him to his materials for far longer than his body would have liked and as would his insomnia and naturally the Squawkabilly who were picking up with the cabby shat on his head as they approached to pick him up. Flying Types truly did spell trouble for him, even beyond his Grass Type specialisation. 

   But somehow, getting cleaned up and carried off in the flying taxi, despite everything which would scathe his goal of getting to the Zara Bookshop on time, it was a lovely, brick and mortar building that charmed Brassius immediately. He could not believe that he had not visited this hidden gem before. As soon as he opened the doors to it, the bell rang above him with an endearing ring-a-ling-a-ring and the smell of paper, both new and old, was intoxicating.

   Brassius trawled a shelf or two by the door before a helpful shop-person dropped by with a smile, “Are you here for the author signing?” they asked.

   “I am.” Brassius nodded.

   “Excellent, just to the back of the store, we have a table set up, and help yourself to light refreshments. We have tea, coffee, biscuits. And if you need a hand, just yell out.” the shop-person said.

   “I appreciate it.” Brassius replied.

   He and the shop-person continued on in separate ways. The author - Miss E. Littlefoot - must have a handle on things in the back, he assumed, so the shop-person could do their job in the front. In the meantime, Brassius did take some sweet time to enjoy the various titles along the book spines on display, sitting neatly, if crammed, on the dark, wooden bookshelves.

   Plenty of popular titles but far more niche ones which piqued Brassius’ interest. Most of which was a book on the connection between mythology and sculpture, it sounded interesting, so he decided to take it with him as he continued further and further into the bookshop. Though it was narrow, it was filled to the brim and longer than expected in depth.

   It would have been easy to get figuratively lost amongst all the books but Brassius managed. He made it to a reading den where two tables were set up: one for refreshments, and one for the author who sat primly behind her own table and she took Brassius’ breath away.

   How could he have forgotten her name like that? He could never have forgotten her face. 

   She, the author, was about having the same reaction to Brassius as he looked up from her last signing, sending away some student of the Academy, and then freezing at Brassius’ visage. She remembered him as well. That almost brought a tear to Brassius’ eye as he all but forgot why he was here. Despite holding two books firmly in his hand.

   “Brassie.” she said, smiling cheerfully with her eyes crinkling in the corner. “It's been so long.”

   “Norie, I mean, Lenore.. I mean…” Brassius stammered.

   He considered himself a man of few words. He could give speeches and lectures in the forms of stone and marble but actual words themselves, excessive verbiage was not his mode of conversation but never did he make a fool of himself like this.

   “It's good to see you again.” Brassius recovered.

   “Have you come to get my book signed?” Lenore demurely asked. “I-I don’t want to be so vain to assume that everyone here is… for me…”

   “I assure you, I am here for you, Lenore.” Brassius said.

   He, more awkwardly than he would have liked, walked over to Lenore’s table and he put down both books. He pushed When the Seasons Change closer to Lenore but her eyes lit up as she saw the other book.

   “Oh,” she said, pointing at it, “I read that last year and loved it. I used it as part of my bibliography for an essay I was putting together.”

   “Glad to hear it has your seal of approval.” Brassius said. “And congratulations on being published, that is quite the accomplishment.”

   “Thank you Brassie - or would you prefer Brassius?” Lenore asked.

   “Either is fine. Would you prefer if I used Lenore or,” Brassius hesitated, “Norie.”

   “Whatever works for you.” Lenore said as she opened Brassius’ copy of her book.

   She gently patted down the dedications page, to her friends and family, Brassius now included, he realised, or maybe hoped, and then wrote as finely as she could. “To my dearest Brassie” and Brassius realised that, perhaps, he should have specified Brassius would have been preferred as a signing but given that Lenore was a childhood friend of his… It could be forgiven if it was not so discreet.

   She was a precious childhood friend. He, Hassel, and Lenore had been akin to the three musketeers during their time together at Uva Academy. Inseparable, taking every class together, enjoying each other’s passions be it in Pokemon or in artistic pursuits. Art for Brassius, music for Hassel, and writing for Lenore.

   That would have been over twenty years ago now and it was a shame that some of their plans had never come to fruition. Not in the way they had talked about at the Academy, anyway, because Hassel’s parents had other plans for him and Lenore had to move back to her family’s native Unova when her grandmother’s health had turned for the worst.

   (Brassius now realising exactly what the life experience E. Littlefoot had been writing in her poem Paper-thin Frost, the finale of both the Winter section and the book in its entirety. His heart twinged.)

   Even now, so many years later though, Lenore remained a precious childhood friend - and one that he had a crush on. He had written so many schoolboy letters to her, most of which never made it to the post, losing contact as adventuring children do. He still had many of them, especially the more painstaking ones expressing attraction in nothing less than prose but those feelings, looking at her face, half-feeling like those twenty years, or little more, they were still very much alive in him.

   Brassius licked his lips, “So… Lenore… Is E. Littlefoot a pseudonym?” he asked, uncertain. He wondered if Hassel knew, thereby knowingly setting him up for a reunion meet-cute with his former childhood crush or was all the same as him, simply forgetting that their beloved friend Norie had a full, given name. He hoped for the latter as the idea of the former was mortifying.

   “In a sense that everyone calls me Lenore over Eleanore despite it being my given name.” Lenore replied and then giggled, “And then of course there is you, and Hass, who call me Norie exclusively. No one but you two call me that but that’s what makes it special.”

   “Yes, I see, that is true.” Brassius murmured.

   “It's really good to see you again, Brassie, I’ve missed you.” Lenore bade him, her head tilting to the side slightly.

   “You’ve said that already.” Brassius pointed out.

   “Not the part about me missing you, though.” Lenore said. “Have you missed me?”

   More than you can imagine, almost passed Brassius’ stony lips as a reply but he tempered himself. He cleared his throat.

   “Yes, I have missed you.” 

   “You know, I still have some of the letters you sent. I-I’m really sorry we lost touch, I didn’t mean for that.” Lenore apologised.

   “It was mutually disjointed, I’m sure. The Treasure Hunt made things difficult and with the passage of time, it's rough for anyone to keep in touch as time marches on.” Brassius replied.

   “Ah, yes, the Treasure Hunt, did you find your treasure?” Lenore asked.

   “In due time, I did.” Brassius replied.

   “That’s good.” Lenore replied. “Hopefully, whilst I’m here in Paldea for the year, I can find my treasure. You're never too old for the Treasure Hunt, right? Though, I had my journey in Unova, eventually but I dunno if I can say I found my treasure there…”

   “You're here for a year?” Brassius piped up once Lenore’s musings had trailed off.

   “I am.” she chirped. “So I hope to see you around. Perhaps you can give me a tour through Artazon, especially its outdoor gallery scene. I hear there’s a very famous sculptor there named Brassius.”

   Lenore laughed at her little joke and Brassius cracked a rare, if small, smile.

   “I would like that.” Brassius replied. “Would ten-ish tomorrow work for you?” He felt his heart pound in his chest. 

   “It would.” Lenore replied. “I’ll catch a flying taxi as soon as I can tomorrow.”

   “I shall look forward to it.” Brassius replied. “Until then, I have some books to read in my own time.”

   He gathered up both his copy of Lenore’s When the Seasons Change and his soon-to-be-his copy of Marvels, Mythology, and Marble. His hand brushed over Lenore’s as she clumsily tried to assist. They looked up, briefly, and Lenore blushed, and she recanted her hand lest she get in the way further as Brassius picked up his books.

   “I will see you tomorrow.” he said stiffly.

   “Looking forward to it.” Lenore replied.

   Brassius nodded, trying to excuse himself but he glanced over his shoulder and was embarrassed to realise that he was holding up a line by chatting so much with Lenore. But at the same time. It made him all the more eager to, perhaps, get deep and meaningful with her, one on one tomorrow at their… date. If he could be so bold as to call it that.

[hopeheartfilia]

overjoyed to be having a kitten around. his naming is a very contentous point. ive been vying for samuel but due to undisclosed to me reasons its being opposed but after the various "names from a varuety of c dramas shes watched" i went with sumi and so the gray cat is getting named after ink sticks and i am so certain my brother will be calling it sam but i like Su Mi its cute and fits the cat really well actually. su is a great syllablw for that kitty

anyway cat? cat!!!!!!

[whumpofdory]

The Spoiled Prince, Part 7

CW: vague mention of non-con near the end

Alvard reappeared in his chambers. A guard was waiting for him there, holding a letter. “The correspondence from King Caelex has come in, your Majesty.” Alvard was ecstatic. He’s waited almost 40 years for this moment. I haven’t seen my sister in so long. But that changes soon. 

He took the letter and dismissed the guard. A small knife appeared in his hand and he sliced through the top of the envelope to pull out its contents. He began to read, and his heart sank. 

King Alvard,

I have heard what happened to my son Callum. However much I may care for him, I cannot risk my kingdom and the rest of the world by returning your sister, Kalah. What you would do unhindered by the threat of her suffering, I cannot begin to fathom. She will stay safe in my keep, no matter the pieces of my son I receive. In fact, he is rather a disgrace to my name due to his petulence. Perhaps I should thank you.

Please do not continue to contact me about Callum. Whatever happens to him now is your responsibility. I do understand what that may mean for him. I have made my decision and it will not change. 

Regards,

King Caelex of Thileweld

Alvard’s hands shook. No no no no. This was supposed to work, this was supposed to ensure her return, this was supposed to- 

But he knew Caelex would not change his answer. Despite the man’s many shortcomings, he was not a man who went back on his word, for good or for bad. He would have to wait until the son took over now. Once there was a new king, perhaps the outcome would be different. It would be another 20 years at least, maybe even another 40 before the time was right. Please gods let her know I’m still trying, please don’t let her think I abandoned her there to rot. 

He sat for a long time at his desk, poring over the letter, willing the unforgiving lines of ink to change. Eventually the letter was damp with tears, along with other documents on his desk. He couldn’t bring himself to care. A while after that, when he had no more tears to cry, he went to bed.

The next morning Alvard decided the only thing that could cheer him up was breaking the news to Callum that he’d been left by his father. He put on his favourite shirt to celebrate, and appeared down the hall from them with the letter in hand. 

Evine could hear footsteps along the corridor, and soon the King came into view. He had something in his hand. The ransom letter. Evine was overjoyed, they were finally going to be able to leave this place. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little happy for the king too; having his sister returned would be a happy occasion.

Prince Callum was still bruised and bloody from his beating. He sat up in the presence of the king. The word echoed in his head: respect. He only had to endure a little more of this arrogant king’s power trip before he’d be home with his father and brothers once again. 

Alvard stopped in front of the prince and turned to face him. “ Good morning, Prince Callum. I received the letter from your father. It seems we have plenty more time together.” Callum rolled his eyes.

“So what, he’s not going to be able to arrange the transfer for another week? It should be festival time anyway, he’s probably busy with that.” The prince sounded almost like he was trying to reassure himself. 

“No. Unfortunately, your father has declined to make the transfer at all.” Alvard was deadly serious now, frowning and looking stern. 

“That’s impossible, I’m his son! He has to want me back.”

“Read it for yourself.” The king extended the letter through the bars. Callum inched forward on his bottom to grab it. He snatched it from the king and read it quickly. It was his father’s handwriting… and it sounded like him too. He felt sick. To be left in the hands of someone like King Alvard? To be abandoned to be tortured for some psycho’s enjoyment by his own father? 

Callum numbly handed back the letter and watched as Alvard left without another word. He couldn’t stop turning the one sentence over and over in his head. He was a disgrace. A disgrace to his father’s name for his petulance. The same reason he’d been beaten in the dungeon of his family’s greatest enemy. What if they were right? Was he truly so insufferable? 

Evine froze when he heard the news. Why weren’t they going home? If he’d had limited usefulness when he could be exchanged with the prince, what would he be worth now? Nothing. Now all he could hope for is to have a quick death. Or maybe the king liked him enough he would have another purpose? Evine didn’t want that, given the choice. But what if the only other choice was death?

Taglist:  @whumpy-butterflies  @pigeonwhumps

[lucidmagic]

My gay brain couldn't stop thinking of this so here you go:

Flower shop (Donna) and Tattoo Parlor (Reader) AU-- may likely expand on this in a later fic once done with Phyto's Guide, but anyway here are some ideas I have in mind to hold ya'll over until the next chapter:

Donna's shop is the best in the region, known for its beautiful blooms and healthy plants, it's been passed from Beneviento to Beneviento-- called Beneviento's Blossoms, and people of all walks of life order there for the magnificent flowers.

Everyone claims that Donna is a witch or the very least blessed with her talent to upkeep and maintain such bountiful blooms, even if they are out of season.

However, though Donna owns and operates the store, the face of it is Angie-- a short spitfire with vitiligo-- she often interacts with the customers and the delivery people. Some assume she is Donna at first meeting because of how present she is at the front desk.

How Donna lost her family is up in the air at the moment, but the initial thought was a fire or a sudden tragedy took most of the Beneviento's before Donna was 13-- also leaving her with a scar across the right side of her face. Idk yet.

Anyway, one day, Donna and Angie are opening in the morning and notice that the vacant shop across the street has finally been taken down the for rent sign, and a moving truck is before it.

At the end of the day, the new shop's sign is up and illuminated: Waning Moon Ink: Tattoo Parlor (name may change)

Angie is IMMEDIATELY ECSTATIC AND OVERJOYED . . . Donna not so much. New shop means new people and she has preconceptions that tattoo parlors bring unsavory individuals.

But as the day goes by and people are going in and out of the previous vacant shop, loading tattoo chairs, equipment, and computers, people start talking about the new shop, since it's a bit out of place for the area.

The Dimitrescu Daughters however are just as excited to see the parlor as Angie. They immediately begin hounding their mother for permission to get some.

It is with their and Angie's insistence that Donna gives the new owner a shop warming gift of some kind-- extending an olive branch. After a while, Donna relents and gives Angie instructions to give simple Mayflowers to the new resident.

Angie does and Donna is surprised that she is out so long on such a simple errand.

Angie finally comes back after several hours-- Donna not so hiddenly freaks the fuck out-- and just gushes about the new tattoo parlor and the new owner. Young, dashing, quick-witted, you name it Angie is happy to tell Donna all about them.

Anyway, a few days pass, and Donna is in the back watering and taking care of her flowers and Angie interfacing with the customers. It's a good, long day... until an unfamiliar name screeches past the door. Followed by Angie's incessant voice.

Curious Donna emerges from the back.... oh, there you are, charming smile, kind eyes, beautiful interweaving tattoos up your arms, and a few creeping up your neck....... Donna will never admit it but she was immediately intrigued by you.

Making sure her hair is covering the scarred part of her face, Donna silently comes up behind Angie, who is still talking wildly about tattoo ideas and designs. You're taking it in stride, listening to the newest retention of a skeleton riding on a flaming motorcycle, with a parrot on its shoulder and maybe a pizza in its hand.

You came by to thank Donna for the shop warming gift and maybe repay the offer by getting takeout or dinner-- it's only fair-- the Mayflowers are absolutely beautiful and surprisingly go along with the shop's interior.

...Oh so this is the mysterious owner you keep hearing about... it's her dark eyes that draw you in first-- they're a wonderful inspiration for some tattoo concepts

Angie introduces you two, though mostly you speak while Donna only nods and politely smiles. You remember vaguely that Angie blurted out about her employer being shy and quiet, so you don't blame the other woman for being so silent before you. Maybe if you gain her trust you can finally hear her voice.

So... it became a common occurrence: You visiting during the later hours of the Flower shop's hours, highlighting Angie's (and Donna's) days by your tattoo tales and clients. Sometimes you even help out in the back with some heavy lifting-- for some reason Angie doesn't suddenly want to do

But regardless it lets you and Donna share space and that's all you can really care about. You mostly just talk about nothing and everything while she listens and hums along in acknowledgment. It may be your imagination but sometimes you sneak glances at the other woman and you can swear there is a dusting of red on her cheeks when you heave a particularly heavy box or sack and have to roll up your sleeves.

Donna definitely doesn't stare when you remove some of your outer garments and she can see your intricate inked sleeves-- she definitely doesn't wonder if they go past ou shoulders and continue along your torso.

You specialize in cover-ups, self-inflicted scars, double mastectomies, burn scars, amputations, and other skin conditions, often at a discounted price because most people coming by your shop have been afflicted for so long so it's the least you can do to help them move past. Donna's respect for you skyrockets when you tell her.

Anyways, several months pass and it becomes routine that you visit at least once a week, either helping with some supplies or just stopping by to drop off some take-out and chat.

The shop gives you dozens of ideas for tattoo designs and often you find yourself sketching while Angie talks both your and Donna's ears off. Flowers are suddenly becoming a staple of your concepts.

(You definitely don't sketch out the flower shop's owner when she isn't looking-- nope you definitely don't)

....

I have other thoughts about this AU but maybe in a part two I'll elaborate hehehe

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

snake | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Your parents have no qualms on doing whatever they can to climb the social ladder. That includes assigning you a betrothed you've never met, an offering to the crown prince. You, the one the gossipers whisper under their breath... the Snake Princess.

warnings: implied parental emotional and physical abuse; language; non-idol!AU - prince!Yoongi x aristocrat!reader, ft overprotective (but secretly soft), tattooed, little brother!JK; based on this

–

“I don’t care what our father said, you’re not marrying him!”

You scratched your ear, partly shielding it from the loud voice of your brother.

“He’s an asshole!”

“You don’t know him?” you offered, affixing your earring, somewhat annoyed. The yellow gold wasn’t quite your style. Your parents liked such gaudy, ugly things.

Both in fashion and tradition, unfortunately.

“Do you?” your brother shot back, throwing himself up from your bed where he was yelling at the ceiling about nothing he could change. It was a favorite past time of his, along with following you around like a talkative shadow.

“No, that’s why I’m meeting him today,” you replied dryly. You switched to the other ear, adding the dragon-shaped ear cuff above the gold earring. Your parents hated it when you added such aggressive accessories – they’re not womanly, they would say – but if you were going to be betrothed to some guy on the sole basis that they had ambitions and he was the man who so happened to be the next-in-line for the throne, you weren’t going to lie about what kind of woman you were.

“Aren’t you pissed?”

You shrugged. “Is it so bad?”

“Yes!”

You sighed and flickered your eyes to the mirror, seeing Jeon Jungkook’s furious expression, long black hair tied back with lingering strands framing his high cheekbones, his black and gold robes wild, poorly tied and revealing half of his tanned, toned chest. His dark brown eyes flashed, pressing his cherry-painted lips together, jawline sharp and defiant. That’s how Jungkook always looked, messy, undone, borderline furious.

Everyone called him the Reckless Prince.

You just called him little brother.

“Noona…”

“Hmm?”

You saw him frown and you looked away, running a hand through your hair, browsing your hair accessories. You used to have an aide to help you at one point, but you told your parents to get rid of them, preferring to get ready by yourself. And besides, Jungkook liked to burst in and interrupt you with his relentless tirades about how unfair your arranged marriage was. There was no point in having hired help when you could coerce your brother into doing things as you put up with him.

“Can I brush your hair?”

“You have arms and hands, so you’re physically capable, yes.”

You heard him click his tongue in annoyance and smirked, shifting your eyes to the mirror. He was behind you now, face no longer visible. It didn’t matter. You already knew his cross expression quite well. He snatched the ornate comb from your vanity, the black snake head clearly visible on the side of his right wrist, inked near his thumb. Your parents scolded and beat him for getting it, but Jungkook could care less, breaking the wooden paddle with ease, right out of your mother’s hand.

You hadn’t said anything.

The rumors called you the Snake Princess.

Quick-witted, sharp, vicious. Not to your face though, because that was just foolishness. It wouldn’t be only your wrath they would be evoking.

Jungkook ran the comb through your hair, gently separating the strands, careful not to pull too hard. He was better than any aide anyway. They merely yanked and pulled you into their standard of beauty, ignoring your opinions or input, always citing that it was important to not look like a peasant, important to always look above your status, using your beauty to save face.

Saving face.

You hated those words.

“What if he’s a horrible person?” your brother asked quietly, tucking the strands away from your eyes only for them to slip back stubbornly.

“Then he’s a horrible person,�� you replied, applying your makeup. “And you’ll probably do something about it.”

Jungkook made a noise between an aggravated bear and an injured tiger.

“If he so much as puts one fingertip on you, I’ll kill him.”

You snorted. “I’d hate to tell you what marriage entails, Jungkook.”

The comb in your hair paused.

His anger subsided, just like that.

“You’re really going to do it?” he asked softly. “Really, really?”

You heard the pain in Jungkook’s voice.

You recalled when you received the news many years ago, silent fury as your parents gave you away, turning you into a transaction to raise their own reputation and status. Your reaction was nothing to your little brother’s, him running to your room and crying in your arms, distraught and upset that you were leaving him, declaring he hated your parents, everyone, and everything.

“You’re supposed to protect me,” Jungkook had sobbed, already too big for you to hold like this but you did anyway, patting his head and wiping his tears with your sleeve. “You’re supposed to be here, with me, forever and always.”

He had taken your hand, tucking his fingers in yours, pressing your pinkies together.

“You promised me.”

And you had, from the very beginning, the shy kid always following after you and making you speak for him, your parents yelling and scolding him to be a man, but you defending him, taking the slaps meant for him, sneaking him sweets when he was hiding his tears, telling him it was okay to cry and that noona would stay here and listen to his worries, no matter if it was as stupid as a butterfly flying away or the teacher once again reprimanding him for his poor scores.

The amount of pressure they put on him just because he was the son was immense.

“I wanna play,” he had cried softly. “I don’t have to study anymore.”

“You want to be stupid?” you had teased, patting his head. “What if I had my lessons with you? I can make that happen.”

“R-Really?”

So, you made it happen, telling your parents and tutors that it would be better for him to be exposed to more complex concepts earlier rather than later and watching someone learn would improve his own scores. You made yourself a better student for his benefit and he, in turn, followed obediently, doing what you did, always overjoyed to hear your praise.

You and your snake tongue could made anything happen for him.

“This servant is bothering me.”

You found some questionable information on that servant and they resigned rather quickly.

“I don’t like the girl our father introduced me to.”

Suddenly said girl was no longer interested in Jungkook. For… reasons.

“I wish I could go on vacation, even for a couple days.”

That one got you both beaten for your three-day adventure to the sea, mostly because you had to run away from your duties to do it. But it was worth it to see the smile on Jungkook’s face.

Then Jungkook became a teenager.

You might have taught him that rules were for old people, for the generation too uptight.

He wanted to do a whole lot of things and you made it happen. Getting him out of those sticky situations was a bit tough, but nothing unmanageable. And now Jungkook was a young adult who did not care about anyone’s opinion other than yours, getting tattooed and spending all of his time with his friends, lackadaisical and free, your parents giving up and calling him a disgrace, relying on your marriage to restore the reputation they valued so much, the face they themselves ruined with their own poor decisions, taking out their frustrations on you and Jungkook, sometimes without warning.

You stayed home, playing good daughter so Jungkook could be the bad son.

Ah, maybe it was your fault he was the Reckless Prince.

You turned, looking up at him now from the corner of your eye, up his loose robes and exposed collarbone, up the line of his jaw that was similar to yours, his lips not quite as full, his round brown orbs that were actually much more innocent and purer than he liked to admit, similar to your eye shape.

But not the same.

Because your eyes were sharper, cold-blooded, predatory.

Even with Jungkook, there was no mistaking the power behind your gaze.

“Do you think just because I’m married to some man that he can control my life?” you said with a sly smile, your lips painted lush red. “I’ll come visit you whenever I want. You can come whenever you want. You can live with me if you want.”

You turned back, sweeping your hair and twisting it in place, deftly and quickly pinning it back, leaving some strands loose and messy that your parents would highly disapprove of, but why did that matter? If this man was to be your husband, then he would see you completely undone at one point, so he should get used to it.

Your parents wouldn’t approve of the black and dark green combination you had chosen either, but that’s why you learned how to sew to dress yourself as you liked. You have to be a lady. You were a lady. Just your version of a lady and not theirs. They tried to gatekeep you by saying that the pink and yellow fabrics were all they could afford. They had a tendency to underestimate your craftiness.

No obstacle was too high for the Snake Princess to slither over.

“Really?” Jungkook asked as you stood up, smoothly adjusting the tie at your waist.

You chuckled at him as he began to follow you out of your bedroom.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you.”

-

“You brought your brother.”

“I don’t bring him anywhere. He comes and goes as he pleases.”

Jungkook was sitting behind you, arms crossed, glaring at the dark-haired man sitting in front of you. You had mildly fixed his appearance before entering only from him to push up his sleeves so he could reveal the entire snake tattoo wrapped around his arm, a black snake surrounded by thorned vines.

“Hmm.”

This man had requested to meet you first, alone, without the parents. Untraditional, but as long as his father agreed to the request, it was done. Your father had no say in the matter, although he did protest rather loudly and uncouthly.

You had poured the tea for your future husband and you.

Neither of you were drinking it.

The man before you had a piercing gaze, cloud-white skin, shapely lips. Somehow, he surprised you by being dressed in black and gold as well, although he was much neater than Jungkook, black hair tied back in a the usual, curated traditional style.

“I intend in marrying you, you know.”

He had a deep, rough voice, reminding you of dead leaves and winter.

“Is that not the point of this meeting?” was your dry response.

A dark eyebrow lifted.

Jungkook clicked his tongue dismissively.

Those shapely lips curved into a slow smirk.

“I thought I wouldn’t like you,” the dark-haired man mused, reaching over to the teacup and pulling it to him. “I was fully prepared to refuse this proposal and put your family more in the dirt than your brother has already put them into.”

“You bas–” Jungkook hissed, but you held up a hand, cutting him off.

You kept your eyes on those dark brown orbs, cat-like and predatory. He took a deep inhale of the aroma of the tea, letting out a satisfied, smokey sigh.

“I thought you would be like the others. Prim, proper, begging for me to take your hand.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do I need to beg for? You either will or you won’t. It has nothing to do with me.”

A dark chuckle. “Indeed.”

He took a long sip of the tea, savoring it. You watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing, tongue flickering out to lick his lips. Slowly lowering his head, scrutinizing gaze on you. He made you wait for his words.

“And besides, snakes can’t kneel, can they, Snake Princess?” he purred.

“Don’t you dare call her that!”

“No, they cannot,” you replied calmly, ignoring Jungkook’s outburst, staring into the eyes of the man who was going to decide whether or not you were going to be his wife.

“They can’t pray either.”

The dark-haired man tilted his head, intrigued.

“I have no need for gods to be able to live the life I want, Min Yoongi,” you said quietly, venomous edge to your voice. “The ties you put on me cannot restrain me from living as frivolously or ambitiously as I like.”

Min Yoongi, the man who would decide whether you would live an honorable or disgraceful life, the man who was next-in-line, the crown prince. You were meant to be his, but, unlike you, he was free to refuse. Unlike you, he had nothing to lose. Unlike you, he could destroy your life in a heartbeat with a simple no.

“You believe that?” Yoongi questioned, daring you.

You didn’t back down, small serpentine smile on your lips.

“I do not need to believe when I know.”

Silence.

Then Yoongi’s shoulders shook, raspy laughing bubbling from his throat, smirk on his lips.

“You want me to refuse. You want to ruin your parents’ lives.”

You didn’t say anything, your smile fading.

“Ah, but the problem is, I really do like you, Snake Princess,” Yoongi hummed. “You sharp tongue and you even sharper mind. A simpler man would have been tricked by you.” He tapped his long fingers against the table, keeping his feline poise directed at you. “I did not want some placid, useless little thing but a real woman, someone who isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. Why have a trophy when you can have a weapon?”

He placed his chin on the back of his other hand, clicking his tongue thoughtfully.

“What shall we do then? You absolutely must be my wife.”

“You–” Jungkook hissed, rising up behind you, glaring at Yoongi over your shoulder. “You know she doesn’t want to marry you and yet you’re going to do it anyway?”

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t want to marry me because she wants her parents to pay for using her so carelessly to further their status. However,” he added with a sweep of his hand on the table, palm upward towards you. “Has she actually said she has no interest in me as a person? During this entire meeting, has she declared that I, the crown prince, am not to her liking?”

Yoongi gave Jungkook a sharp look.

“Do you think she would hide her disdain for me if she had some?”

Silence.

“N… Noona?”

“Yes, Jungkook?”

“You don’t like him at all… right?”

Silence.

You let out a deep breath, slow and controlled.

“Hmm, you are very intuitive.”

Yoongi grinned. “You know we would be a good match, you and I. Here,” he murmured, pointing to the table. “On the throne.” Pointing outside, indicating the land. His cat-like eyes locked with your snake-like gaze, lips forming his next words slowly and deliberately.

“In bed.”

Your eyes trailed from those glittering dark eyes to his pleased smirk. Not a malicious expression somehow. An exciting one. You fully expected to be walking into this room to tear down an arrogant, gaudy man with grandiose self-centeredness.

Instead, it was Min Yoongi.

He ticked his chin to Jungkook, now right next you instead of behind you, clutching your arm tightly.

“Do you want him to be with you? That could be arranged. I can make that happen.”

You really thought you would hate Min Yoongi and yet it seemed as if you were being drawn closer and closer to him. You pursed your lips, not ready to give up yet. He continued.

“And, of course, there’s no reason for your parents to enjoy luxuries that they didn’t earn, is there?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Yoongi smiled, calm with an underlying slyness.

“That would reflect on you if you treated your in-laws poorly,” you responded coolly.

Yoongi shrugged. “And so? I still have you.” He tilted his head. “Why take a wife if you’re not prepared to do anything for her?” He nodded to himself, tapping his fingertips on the table once more. “Whatever you want, I can make it happen. Be it your brother tagging along, your parents’ lives in ruins…”

Yoongi’s eyes found yours and there was a kindness, already knowing your and him were meant to be.

You weren’t so sure.

And yet.

His next words made you fall in love.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you.”

--

masterpost

[angstyclowns]

Alpha! Izuku Midoriya x Omega! Reader (Ft.Omega! Ochako)

ANd I saId AhHaHHAHHA AHHHAHHA 

I SaID HeY WhaT’s GOiNg On~~~~

I’m as useless as the G in lasagna on this page I swear.

 I also swear I’m super sorry for the inactivity but I’ve been going on hardcore isolation for four weeks (FUcK TruDEaU HaS A CaCTUs DILdO In My AsS) and I’m losing motivation fast, but I’ll try to get some asks done as soon as possible!

Anyway-

I now present my first attempt at a fic on this page-

Warning! Cheating and alpha heart break. Poor IzUwU.

Heartbreak kid

He knew deep down that she wasn’t the omega for him. He knew it, his inner alpha knew it, hell, he was sure deep down, even she knew it. But something in them kept them together. Neither were sure as to what is was, but it raged like an angry forest fire in both of them, keeping them at each others side even if they knew that something- no, someone- was out there, just aching to be a better match. 

Izuku knew he didn’t want to keep this relationship going, but the girl -He’d say omega, but that would imply his alpha viewed her as such, when in reality,it barely saw her as a person- was adamant on keeping him within arms reach. But lately, it’s taken such a turn, not even the alpha was sure he could keep up. 

Her nest was no longer an acceptable zone, the male not even allowed within a fifteen feet radius of the nest of bed sheets and pillows, her purrs no longer rang throughout the room whenever he cuddled with her, hell, cuddling alone- something both alphas and omegas needed- was so rare, Izuku was shocked beyond words. 

“Are you okay?”

 The words broke his train of though as the sudden coldness of ink disappeared from his bicep. Bright (E/C) orbs peaked up at him, bangs of (H/C) intruding every so often before she brushed them away. Her scent was vanilla sweet and surrounded him so nicely, making purrs erupt from deep within his chest. Her own purrs echoed around him reciprocation, making his alpha yip in joy. 

“I guess. Just thinking...”

The (H/C)ette hummed, resuming her work on his bicep. Somehow the omega below him convinced him to allow her to draw and doodle all over his arm, using skin safe markers of course, acting therapeutic in a way to both of them. 

“About Uraraka?”

He nodded as his purrs immediately softened, nearly disappearing completely. The click of the marker cap shutting tightly rung through his ears but, he remained stoic, eyes tracing over line after line etching onto his arm. Beautiful orchids and leaves trailed up and down his upper arm, highlighting the muscles he worked so hard to get. She even went as far as incorporating the scars into part of the piece of work, making them look like veins trailing up and down the petals of a primrose- the centerpiece of the artwork. The peice was beautiful in every way, and if he could, he’d get it tattoo’d permanently. Hell, his inner alpha was debating buying a tattoo machine just so he could have it done permanently. 

The soft hand on his un-inked arm brought his attention full circle once more, his emerald orbs snapping forward to meet (E/C) ones. Her facial features were lax and calm, and made him smile.  Her mouth moved but he couldn’t hear the words coming out of her mouth. He was too busy watching her facial features, how her eyes shined with whatever she was saying, brows raising in the cutest way, he barely even saw her stop talking. 

“-Zuku? Izuku? Izuku!” 

The alpha shook his head at the sound of his name, quickly flushing red as she giggled, waving him off as he furiously apologized. When he shyly asked her to repeat himself she did so with little hesitation. Thinking back, if he had done the same to his now girlfriend, she’d snap at him.

“I was saying that maybe you and Uraraka should have a movie night tonight. Maybe some time alone would do you both some good. I could help you set up!” Your smile was bright and it made Izuku’s inner alpha whimper at the thought of him and Uraraka alone. He wanted to have movie night with you. Laughing with you as you flawlessly recited lyric after lyric, holding you when the climax of the movie would hit and you would inevitably feel sympathetic for the main character, carrying you to bed after you fell asleep during the credits, cuddling with you until day break. All of these things were things he wanted to do with you. Not her. 

Nodding, he followed you into the dorms (Both of you sitting on the outside porch for some fresh air), thinking back onto his relationship with the brunette. She had asked him to scent something for her about two months back, and he was overjoyed. His inner alpha couldn’t care less, as he had already seen you as his omega, but Izuku knew deep down he wouldn’t get that chance. You were gorgeous in every way and he adored you for your kind hearted attitude. He adored you. But that was a far away fantasy in his mind so he settled for Uraraka. 

In the first few days, his alpha completely ignored the omega, only recently coming around to even think about her as a suitable omega; and then it was if a flip was switched and they were all back at square one. But this wasn’t his alpha’s fault. Uraraka changed completely, making even Izuku question if he wanted to keep the relationship going. And he was going to break things with her, but he didn’t have a reasonable excuse. 

No matter, maybe he could rekindle this dying light with your help. 

Or so he thought. Watching as your skipping form abruptly stopped at the kitchen entrance. His brows furrowed as his alpha pushed to the surface, immediately rushing to your side. His heart dropped at the sight. 

Iida and Uraraka were hurriedly trying to clean themselves up, the appearance of you obviously disrupting their previous activities (Izuku shuddering at  thought of what that could be. But between their disheveled hair and clothes, he could make a pretty good guess). His alpha was snarling wildly and growling, begging to be let out and put that damned omega in her place. Playing with an alpha like that was shameful that in olden days, it was punishable by death. 

But Izuku knew that would nothing but scare you, and he didn’t want that. So sucking up his tears and clearing his throat, he merely let the alpha relish in the look of horror that crossed their faces.  Clutching his hands into fists, he growled lowly before opening his mouth to speak. Yet the words he heard weren’t his. 

They were yours.

“You pitiful excuse of an omega! How in the world could you even think about cheating on an alpha, let alone one as sweet as Izuku?!” You spat the words, snarling as you stepped forward, anger apparent in your words, actions and scent. “Your pathetic doing so! I’m so ashamed of your actions, you almost make me ashamed to be an omega. God, there aren’t enough words in any language to describe how inexcusable your actions have been, much less disgraceful.”

You snapped viciously before turning to face Iida. “And you! How could you do this to one of your best friends?! This is deplorable and surely is enough to tarnish the Iida family name don’t you think?!”

The shocked look the two gave you was enough for you to deem this a triumphant victory before pulling Izuku, who looked seconds away from breaking down to his room. You watched as he let the rivers upon rivers of tears escape the corners of his eyes, eventually leaving him to his own devices, as an angry and upset alpha was also an unpredictable one.

<>~<>~<>~<>

Five days. It had been five days since anyone had seen Izuku. You left him food by his door everyday for every meal, praying he was eating it. Since the stench of death wasn’t constantly wafting from his room, you would say he was. 

You had been in his room once within those five days, hoping to collect the dishes he was obviously compiling. He let you in, but holy shit did he look like death hit him with an iron mallet. His hair was greasy and his shirt had stains all over it; eyes puffy from days of crying. It made your omega whine in agony. You ended up making him a makeshift nest that day before leaving with the dishes. 

Right now, you were wishing you had stayed with him though. Recovery girl and Aizawa stood in front of you, each looking incredibly disappointed.

Uraraka had challenged you to a fight in the middle of the night, and with your omega still being incredibly angry at her, you didn’t get the chance to decline. It had been a long and tedious battle- mainly because she just wouldn’t give up- but you won in the end; with a price however. 

Your eye was swollen and turning darker by the second and the bottom right of your lower jaw was bandaged, and you had numerous other bandages covering cuts all over your body (She had thrown you through a window). 

“I’m sure you both realize how incredibly foolish this was-”

“Y/N!” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of your name, green hair quickly entering your line of vision as a body collided with yours. Pain seared through your side but you pushed through it, just happy to see the alpha out of his room. Your omega purred loudly before you could stop it, Izuku holding you close to his chest, almost in fear of letting you go. A small cough from the male teacher behind you quickly made him let go, but he still kept a hand on your shoulder. 

He sat silently as Aizawa dealt out reprimendments and  punishments, turning to you once more after he left.

If you thought he looked bad before, he looked much worse now. Bags set under his eyes, heavy and deep, and his eyes were much more bloodshot. Tear tracks reflected off of the light above you and you could see the nearly gone remnants of the drawing on his arm. 

You didn’t get to ponder more on it before he laid his head on top of yours, hiccuping as his breaths came in short gulps of air. It didn’t seem as if he were crying, but you’ve been wrong before. 

“Please. Never do that again. When I heard you got into a fight, I- I thought I had failed you again and you were seriously hurt.” His voice cracked, but his arms remained firm, keeping you tightly against him. 

“What about me, Deku?” That very voice. The one that started this mess seemed to make Izuku grip you even tighter.

“What about you?” For a normally docile alpha, the growl that escaped him would send shivers down even Bakugo’s spine. You arms instinctively wrapped around the alpha’s ribs as you nuzzled into his chest. You know he’d never hurt you, but your omega would be damned if he wasn’t surrounding by his scent right this minute. 

He purred lowly before turning his head to face the brunette beside you two, “I trusted you, Uraraka. And you broke that trust. As far as I’m concerned your nothing but a classmate right now. Maybe one day, we could rebuild a friendship, but I don’t see that day happening anytime soon. I may be partially to blame for trusting you so easily, but even then, cheating on me in downright implorable, even for a villain. You destroyed our friendship, destroyed our relationship and tried fighting Y/N. If you knew what was good for you, you’d shut up and leave me and my omega alone right now.”

Without another word, Izuku picked you up bridal style, quickly carrying you out of Recovery girl’s office. 

Deep down, you both knew he wasn’t ready for a relationship just yet- it would take a while for him to get over the harsh reality of a heartbreak. But now, Izuku could look forward knowing you were there to help him on his journey, and when he was ready...

You’d be waiting with open arms and a smile on your face.

[for-the-ninth]

Thanks for the tag @noire-pandora! Writing early today (at least where I am). This is an excerpt from chapter 5 of my first longfic, in which Shielan finally agrees to accept the title of Inquisitor.

After a blessed hour of chatter, gossip, and boisterous laughter, Shielan headed out of the kitchen with a plate full of Antivan smoked cheese and a bottle of sweet wine tucked beneath her arm. She headed straight to Josephine’s office and burst through the door without knocking. True to form, the ambassador was hunched over her desk, writing furiously by candlelight. The heavy smack of the wooden door against the wall made her jolt.

“My Lady Herald,” she said, standing up. As always, her posture was the picture of a diplomat, but her tone was soft, and her words a little slurred from exhaustion. “What can I do for you?”

Shielan thunked down into one of the chairs across from Josephine’s desk and set the cheese and wine between them. She uncorked the bottle, took a long swig, and passed it to Josephine with a sly grin. The ambassador cocked one suspicious eyebrow, but wrapped her hands around the bottle anyway.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked, sipping gingerly on the sweet drink and handing it back to Shielan.

“I’m in,” Shielan replied. “I’ll be your Inquisitor.”

Josephine’s eyes lit up and she clasped both hands together. “Magnificent! I will send out invitations for the ceremony to—”

Shielan leaned forward and put one hand up. “With conditions.”

The ambassador didn’t miss a beat. “But of course, my Lady.” She rummaged through her desk drawers for a fresh page of parchment and a bottle of ink to replenish the well next to her quill. Shielan dictated her terms in between glugs of wine while Josephine’s quill flew across the paper. When she was finished, she looked up at Shielan and smiled.

“A Dalish Inquisitor,” she said. “So many in Thedas will be overjoyed by this news.”

Shielan scoffed and passed the bottle back to Josephine, who politely declined. “I expect just as many will be displeased.” She took another swig of wine and chuckled. “Though hopefully not so displeased as to make another attempt on my life.”

“Another attempt?” Josephine’s voice was suddenly shrill, her eyebrows hurling up to the highest point on her forehead. “Why was I not informed of the first one?”

“Shit,” Shielan muttered. She briefly wondered if she’d accidentally gotten someone—or perhaps herself—in trouble, but considering the attempt was an utter failure and she’d already dispatched the primary assassin, she’d seen no reason to worry anyone over it. “It’s all taken care of, Josephine.”

The ambassador took a deep breath and readjusted her blouse, which didn’t need readjusting, but Shielan supposed she was trying to regain some semblance of dignity after her outburst. Josephine cleared her throat and said, “Tell me you have informed Leliana, at the very least.”

Shielan tore a hunk of cheese from one of the plate’s wedges and shoved it in her mouth. She realized too late that it’d been too big of a bite, but soldiered through it anyway. Josephine tried—and failed—to contain her disgust.

“I did indeed,” Shielan said, nodding and chewing languorously. “She suggested a bodyguard, but I don’t think that’s—”

Josephine leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped beneath her chin. A small, almost patronizing smile tugged at her lips. “I am inclined to agree, Inquisitor.”

Inquisitor. Loathe as she was to admit it, there was a nice ring to her new title. Would people take her more seriously now?

Not when you speak through mouthfuls of cheese they won’t, asshole.

She took another long drink of wine and swished it around, trying to clear her mouth out. Josephine stared at her with a look that Shielan could only describe as dumbfounded. Apparently, the ambassador still hadn’t grown accustomed to her Inquisitor’s utter lack of couth.

Shielan cleared her throat and grinned awkwardly. “Do I have to?”

“I certainly cannot force you,” Josephine said, waving her hand flippantly—as if the Lady Ambassador could be flippant about anything, ever. “But I do insist.”

Shielan sighed. She’d learned long ago that Josephine’s insistence was akin to law in the eye of her advisors. The ambassador was as stubborn as she was, albeit craftier and more diplomatic about it. There’d be no winning here.

“Fine,” she replied. “But I get to choose who it is.”

Josephine was already pulling another blank piece of parchment from her desk and scribbling down names. “I will procure a list from which you can choose.”

“No, no, no”—Shielan wiped her hands on her tunic and snatched the quill from Josephine’s grasp—“I get to pick.”

Josephine looked taken aback, though Shielan couldn’t imagine why. She was far too smart to have convinced herself that Shielan would choose a personal guard from a list of random swordsmen she’d never so much as had tea with. Then again, she hadn’t so much as had tea with most of the people in their ranks, so even by her own standards, their options were limited.

The Lady Ambassador pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, her weariness with Shielan’s antics finally piercing through the well-mannered facade of diplomacy. “As you wish, Inquisitor. But please, at the very least, choose someone who can hold a sword.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little face, Lady Montilyet,” Shielan said, bobbing her head back and forth on “pretty,” and “little.” She picked up the now empty wine bottle and realized she was quite drunk. “I’ve got the perfect person in mind.”

In fact, she had not a single person in mind, and would more than likely put off choosing someone for as long as possible. She was perfectly capable of looking after her own safety, and a bodyguard would only get in her way. But rather than antagonize the ambassador further, she gathered her mess and stood up to leave.

“In any case,” said Josephine as Shielan approached the doorway, “the commander will be quite pleased with the news.”

“He will?” Shielan cocked one eyebrow and turned to face Josephine, slipping another—smaller—hunk of cheese into her mouth, chewing more daintily this time.

“Indeed,” said Josephine, nodding. “Cullen advocated fiercely for your promotion after the attack at Haven. He will be glad to know you’ve accepted.”

Shielan stood in the door, eyebrows drawn together as she silently chewed on the leftovers of her cheese. “Huh,” was all she could manage before throwing the door open and stumbling back to her quarters.

@charmcity-jess @oxygenforthewicked @cleverblackcat @roguelioness (apologies if you've already been tagged!)

[mogwaei]

Hello again! I was wondering if you had a reference for Yin Lavellan's Vallaslin? I'd love to draw him, but i wanna draw our dear man accurately

aaaaaaaaaaa I'm so flattered, thank you for the interest! 😭💚

I shall reply in length below the cut!

So, I must confess - though in my fic he's got very elaborate shiny/gold tattoos, I've yet to actually sit down and really detail it all out. It's changed a lot the few times I've drawn him (like all my OC designs as my skill improves). Here's a super quick trash sketch though of the "current" reference I made for myself. I KNOW, it's a nightmare for anyone who hates too many details. You're also very welcome to simplify it into vague squiggles, or if you are like me and spend hours playing with details, do your own rendition! It's WIP Real Estate!

if you've read this far, here's what's in my head and in the fic:

>biggest symbol is to Elgar'nan, Yin's chosen patron

>all the gods are included (an idea agreed upon between him and Dhrui when they spent a year designing their vallaslin)

>the darker shadowed parts are supposed to be black ink

>I haven't worked out the designs on his arms yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

>don't even bother with his back tattoos, they're more chaotic than the front and I haven't even tried😂

>yes i have an obsession with integrating geometrical designs into my tattoos because...I personally have lots of similar tattoos and can't help it lol

>emphasis/bonus points on designs that exist naturally in nature

Anyway I hope all of this helps and I'm sorry it's not more complete (though I have a feeling you were probably just wanting his face tatts SORRY). I'm a mess. But I am a very flattered and overjoyed mess, thank you for the interest in him even if you decide not to draw him! 💚

Have a wonderful day :D