#Never drawn realistically before and it shows

[infizero]

also having now actually seen the whole thing adventure time has skyrocketed into one of my favorite shows ever. like for real i liked it as a kid and have always had a fondness for it ever since but rewatching it now has made me realize Just how fucking good it is and how unlike anything else it is. its so good and appeals to ME specifically in so many ways please for the love of god if you haven't watched adventure time WATCH IT. WATCH IT RIGHT NOW

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

Radio Dream - Alastor x Reader (platonic or romantic)

"Do you think I can go into that Radio Tower?" you said

"Not unless you want to die again." Husk responded with a grunt.

"Why would you wanna go into dat thing anyway?" Angel said, leaning his cheek on one hand while the other held his drink.

You were sitting at the bar with Angel and Husk, just chatting about random insignificant drunk topics. Then your curiosity of the radio tower mounted on the hotel caught up to you. Leading to the conversation read not too long ago.

Alastor stood around the corner, just out of sight of the bar patrons. His ear flicked and his grin strained when you asked your foolish question, but Angel Dust's question had him pause before he could flay you.

Why did you? Sabotage? Vandalism? Just to be annoying-?

"I was just remembering how much I wanted to be radio show host when I was a little kid." You said in a sigh.

...Ooh?

"Oh? Really? Aren't ya... y'know, not ancient?" Angel said. He took a sip so you could respond. Husk was paying attention to you now as well, giving you a side-eye as he cleaned whatever glassware needed to be cleaned.

You sighed again, long and drawn out. There was a bit of dreaminess to your tone, a bit of longing. "Yeah, that's why I never really pursued it. My folks were like 'that's nice and all but that's going out of style and you can't make a living off of it, be more realistic.'" You snorted a bit in agitation at that, taking another slow sip of your drink. After a moment you continued.

"I used to have such a good time playing radio host. I'd sit in the living room or dining room, wherever people were, and make like a box fort or something with my cd player with me. I'd talk into a stick or spoon or whisk or something and talk about random topics or play music. Sometimes I'd 'take phone calls', which were mostly just me pretending to give myself a phone call." You chuckled "I would start a lot of 'drama' like that. Sometimes my family members would give suggestions and I'd play it up and play whatever song they asked. Assuming it was on one of the three CDs I was allowed to use."

"That's cute." Angel hummed "Other than the CDs and stuff, your show doesn't sound that much different from Alastor's."

Husk snorted "Nah, they're show sounds MUCH less annoying."

You barked out a laugh- clearly intoxicated "How dare you! I'm sure I could be a LOT more annoying!" You devolved into a hysterical giggle fit, your face hitting the bar counter in front of you.

"All right, I think you've had enough." Husk grunted, taking what was left of your drink from you.

"fair." You said into the counter.

The conversation carried on from there, and Alastor slinked away to his tower. He stood there a moment, his arms crossed behind his back as his eyes did a brief scan over the room.

When he was young, he did something similar. Granted it was a record player, not a see-dee or whatever you were rambling about. His mother would play along and encourage him, pretending to send letters in or be a guest on his show.

Hearing your story gave him a bit of a warm feeling in his chest. It was good knowing someone out there still appreciated the medium, even if it was likely unrealistic.

Well... Alastor supposed there was really no harm in it, assuming he was there to supervise...

A couple days later and Alastor trotted up to you, offering a tour of the radio tower.

For a brief moment, your eyes practically lit up - shining in delight. The expression did something to his chest, as it suddenly felt far too tight. But not in an...unpleasant way.

However, the next moment you looked downright terrified.

Not as pleasant. Not even funny. He had no idea why.

"Are you going to kill me or whatever?" You said, slowly taking a step back.

Alastor laughed "Not at all, my dear! I simply overheard your drunken conversation the other night and decided to indulge your childhood fantasy."

You snorted "Yeah I'm not selling you my soul for that."

Alastor waved you off, scoffing "Oh heavens, I wasn't asking for your soul." He gave you a bright grin- one that seemed less like a grin and more like a soft smile. "I simply ask you don't, how do people say now a days... 'wreck my shit'."

You giggled a bit into your palm. Apparently Alastor had said something funny.

"...Really? You'll just...let me look?"

"Certainly!" He put an arm across your shoulders, guiding you down the halls in the direction of his station. "Why it's been- unfortunately- quite some time since I heard such a passionate speech for the radio!"

Your face flushed a bright red "Well, hold on, it wasn't a 'speech'-"

"Nope! More like a couple sentences. But you know how it is," He used his free hand to do a jazzy motion "In show-business!"

You snorted "Mmm.... I guess so. Though, really, i've never been a very 'show business' kind of person."

"Nonsense! Once you have it, my dear, you never truly lose it. It just needs a little spark and then you'll have the flames all over again!"

"Are we talking about showmanship or arson?"

"Why not both!"

You laughed. His chest did that pleasant squeeze again. Maybe he'll allow you to sit in on a broadcast one of these days....Well, that was a future question.

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

Hi it's me the writer. I actually did the things that the reader talked about in this. It was a lot of fun for me and my attention-hungry existence. My parents didn't really dissuade me from it though. But. Uh. I think it was more like a 'entertain the child's whims' kind of thought. Which was fair, because I didn't exactly pursue that long. Though I still had fun playing it and figured i'd write something short about it. The three CDs I used were "Wicked", "Pokemon", and "The Shrek Soundtrack". Favorite songs to play from them, in order "No Good Deed", "The Pokemon Rap", and "Accidentally in Love" That info isn't important to anyone but me so i shared it anyway lol.

[luvvyouforever]

ᡣ𐭩 emily prentiss just wants to breed you so bad that she forks over a large sum of money to get one of those cumming strap-ons.

ᡣ𐭩 she does so much research into them, looking up reviews when you're laying together in bed, and when you ask what she's looking at, she just smiles and says it's a gift for you. she finds a cute pink one because she's never been the person to buy those hyper realistic ones. she makes sure that the "cum" is safe and won't hurt you in any way. she's giddy when she goes and gets her card from her wallet.

ᡣ𐭩 when it arrives, she immediately has to leave for a case. she makes you promise not to open the box and despite your ever growing curiosity, especially spurred on by the label on the box from a sex store, you listen.

ᡣ𐭩 she comes back late at night and even though she's trying to urge you to go back to bed, you immediately beg her to open up the box because you're dying to know what's in it.

ᡣ𐭩 she takes the box and leads you over to your couch. "hear me out, baby," she says, a nervous smile on her face. she pulls everything out one by one, starting with the new, sparkly, pink dildo and the harness attached. you're not shocked yet until you see the liquid and the control for the dildo.

ᡣ𐭩 your mouth is dry, but it's no indication of your arousal and excitement. if anything, the moment you put two and two together, you feel desire bubbling in your lower stomach and core. "em..." you manage to whisper. she smiles and whispers in her low, silky voice, "yeah, baby?"

ᡣ𐭩 the next few minutes are a rush to get into the bedroom. emily's body is sore from the jet and admittedly, you're half asleep, but she's been dreaming about coming back and pumping you full of her cum like she's always wanted to.

ᡣ𐭩 she doesn't want to jump straight into things, though. she wants you to feel good first. besides, pregnancies take better when the partner has an orgasm, right?

ᡣ𐭩 her hands are all over your body, groping and gripping and kissing and squeezing endlessly. it's like she can't get enough of your body. she's exploring every inch of your body and her mouth has already drawn one leg-shaking orgasm out of you.

ᡣ𐭩 finally, when she thinks you're ready, she kisses your forehead and slips away to put on her harness and get everything prepared. she's so sweet when she comes back, asking if you're ready for her. when you nod enthusiastically, she's lining herself up between your legs and starts gently pushing in.

ᡣ𐭩 the strap-on itself is normal, something you're used to, but the anticipation of knowing what's coming (pun intended) makes it feel that much more intense. she's pushing deep into you and her body is practically laid on top of yours.

ᡣ𐭩 and her words are so filthy. "wanna fill this pretty pussy so bad baby," "gonna cum so deep in you pretty girl," "wan' breed you and show everyone you're mine," "everyone's gonna know you belong to me baby."

ᡣ𐭩 you have to cum at least twice around her before she thinks about using the little button that fills you up. she's so desperate for it to be realistic, for you to feel good. it makes the whole fantasy that much more satisfying for her.

ᡣ𐭩 with the way she's talking and moaning and pumping into you, you would think she is genuinely deriving pleasure from fucking you. she's starting to get the urge to fill you up and it's clear with the way her thrusts are getting more urgent and rough. she's right next to your ear, groaning about needing to cum in you. at your first whimper and plead for it, she uses the little control and pushes the strap-on deep in your core.

ᡣ𐭩 the feeling of the cum shooting into you has you writhing underneath her body, whimpering and begging her to keep it in. she's groaning and you're positive that she came untouched underneath the harness.

ᡣ𐭩 eventually, though, she has to pull out and she moves so quickly to see her cum drip out of you and onto the bedsheets. it's sinful and makes her want to fuck you again. she's tired though and knows it's late and knows that you can go again in the morning so she settles for using her slender fingers to fuck just one more orgasm out of you.

ᡣ𐭩 when she cleans the two of you up and puts the strap-on away, she's giddy and positively dazed. her arms wrap around your figure and she's making sure you liked it. when you give her nothing but enthusiastic praise, she feels warm inside.

ᡣ𐭩 it's definitely become her new favorite strap.

[chelseaknoo]

Can you please write that the reader is a singer and has insane vocals and is drop dead gorgeous. So Eminem has a major crush on her (in the 2000's). In one of his interviews he openly talks about her and her music (can you take Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish for example. Like pretend she wrote and sung it the same way). He as usual makes suggestive jokes and stuff. But later finds out that the reader reacted to it and shows admiration in a polite but not rejecting way...... pleaseeeee pleaseeee pleaseeeeeee. I love you ❤️

Eminem x reader

In the 2000s, you were a rising star in the music world, known for your powerful voice that seemed to hit notes only a few could ever dream of reaching. The song "Birds of a Feather" had catapulted you to the top of the charts, its haunting melody and intricate vocal runs taking over the airwaves. It wasn’t just the song itself that caught the attention of listeners—it was your vocal range, your ability to hit those almost impossible notes with such clarity and emotion. Critics raved about your vocal technique, praising your strength, precision, and the way you effortlessly weaved through the high notes that left audiences in awe.

The music video for "Birds of a Feather" became an instant classic. The haunting visuals, paired with your soaring voice, created a perfect storm of artistry that had people talking for weeks. You quickly became a household name, a pop sensation, and your songs dominated the charts, always keeping fans on the edge of their seats, eagerly waiting for your next release.

But it wasn’t just your music that drew attention. Your appearance made headlines just as often. You were known for being strikingly beautiful, but it wasn’t just your looks that made you stand out—it was the confidence you exuded, the way you carried yourself. There was something magnetic about you, a combination of charm and charisma that captivated anyone who came into your orbit. People couldn’t help but stop and stare when you walked into a room, and soon enough, the paparazzi knew your name as well as your fans did.

-

Eminem, already a prominent name in the Detroit rap scene, found himself drawn to you in a way he hadn’t expected. Your song "Birds of a Feather" was everywhere—on the radio, at parties, and even in the background of late-night TV shows. It seemed like your voice was the soundtrack to the city, and the more he heard your name, the more his curiosity grew. The people around him—friends, colleagues, and fans alike—couldn’t stop talking about you, praising your incredible vocal range and the way you had taken the music scene by storm.

At first, it was just idle curiosity. He had heard your music before, sure, but the more people around him mentioned your name, the more intrigued he became. What really caught his attention wasn’t just the sound of your voice or your success; it was the way people spoke about you. There was this undeniable aura around you, a magnetic presence that captivated everyone, even from a distance.

As your song continued to dominate the airwaves, his admiration for you began to grow into something deeper. At first, it was just an appreciation for your talent, but the more he thought about it, the more he found himself imagining what it might be like to actually meet you. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a crush, the kind of crush that, for someone like him, was rare—he’d been focused on his own career, his own struggles, for so long that the idea of being interested in someone else had never seemed realistic. But with every new mention of your name, with every new hit that seemed to climb higher on the charts, his thoughts shifted.

Eminem wasn’t one to openly gush about anyone, especially not someone in your position, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about the way you carried yourself, the way your voice soared above the rest, that spoke to him in a way few things did. He admired your raw talent, your ability to command a room, and the way you stayed true to yourself in an industry that often demanded conformity. It wasn’t just about the music; it was the person behind it, and in that moment, he couldn’t deny the growing fascination he felt.

As the weeks went by, Eminem found himself getting caught up in thoughts of you, his initial intrigue turning into a full-blown crush. It wasn’t just the fact that you were an incredible artist—though that certainly played a big part—but there was something about the way your name kept popping up in every conversation, in every corner of his world. He’d hear your song on the radio, and without thinking, he’d start to hum along to the melody, a subtle smile creeping onto his face as the lyrics played out.

It was clear that you were becoming something of an obsession, a constant presence in his mind. The more he heard, the more he wanted to know. He wondered if you were anything like the image people had painted of you, or if there was more to you than the public persona everyone seemed so captivated by. Either way, one thing was certain—he was hooked, and he couldn’t ignore the pull you had on him.

Today was like any other for Eminem—another press day, another round of interviews—but there was something different about this one. The moment he stepped into the studio, his mind kept drifting to you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed inside him, something he couldn’t quite explain. His crush on you had taken over his thoughts in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and now, during this interview, he found himself talking about you openly for the first time.

The interviewer, a young woman named Tara, was sitting across from him, ready to dig into his latest album, his personal life, and everything in between. She had done her homework and knew all the right questions to ask, but today, she had a specific topic on her mind.

"So, Marshall," she began, her voice smooth and professional, "we've been hearing a lot about a rising pop star lately. Her name's been all over the radio—'Birds of a Feather,' it's everywhere. I have to ask: Have you heard it?"

Eminem leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he shifted his focus to Tara. His fingers drummed lightly on the armrest, but his eyes remained intense, thoughtful.

"Yeah, I’ve heard it," he said, the words coming out slowly, as if he was weighing each one carefully. "Can’t help but hear it, really. It’s all over the place. People won’t stop talking about her, so I figured I might as well listen."

Tara raised an eyebrow, noticing the subtle shift in his tone. "So what do you think? You know, of her music?"

Eminem paused, his mind momentarily spinning as he tried to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t expected to talk about you like this. Normally, he kept his personal feelings under wraps, but something about this felt... different. He decided to be honest, but in his own way.

"She's talented, that’s for sure," he said, his voice low but earnest. "Her voice... it’s insane. She’s got these crazy high notes, like nothing I’ve heard in pop music in a long time. She’s not just another singer, you know? She’s got something unique. And I respect that."

Tara smiled, leaning in slightly. "You seem to be more than just impressed. You've been hearing about her for a while, huh?"

Eminem chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. I don’t really talk about stuff like this, but honestly, I’ve heard her name so much now, it’s kinda hard not to get curious. And when you hear people saying your name over and over again, you gotta see what the hype’s about, right?"

Tara laughed, sensing an opening. "So, you’re saying you’re a little... intrigued?"

Eminem rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Intrigued? Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it," he admitted, his gaze dropping for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "Look, I’m not used to talking about other artists like this, but there’s something about her. It’s not just the voice, though that’s a big part of it. There’s this presence she has. Like, I don’t know—there’s a thing about her that catches your attention, you know? It’s not just about the music. It’s like... she’s got this whole vibe that makes you wanna know more."

Tara leaned back, eyes glinting with curiosity. "You sound like you’ve been paying attention. Could this be the start of a new... Eminem crush?"

Eminem let out a short laugh, his expression a mix of amusement and a hint of something deeper, more genuine. "I don’t know about all that. But yeah, I’ve definitely been paying attention. It’s hard not to when she’s everywhere, and people keep bringing her up. It’s like... I’m hearing about her more than I hear about anything else right now. And I respect what she’s doing—she’s got a style, she’s got a sound, and she’s owning it."

Tara pressed further, sensing an opportunity to get more out of him. "You seem pretty passionate about her music. What do you think it is about her that’s different from other pop stars?"

Eminem sat back, his fingers resting on the edge of the table as he looked off for a moment, thinking. "She doesn’t sound like anyone else, that’s for sure," he said, his voice steady. "A lot of pop singers nowadays, they all kind of sound the same. But her? She’s not following any trends. She’s carving her own path, and I respect that. A lot of these pop stars are just out here trying to sell albums, but she’s actually got something real to offer. That’s rare."

Tara nodded, impressed. "Sounds like you’re not just a fan of her music, but you really respect her as an artist."

"Yeah," Eminem agreed, his voice softening. "There’s something about her whole approach that stands out. And I think people are starting to notice. It’s hard not to, with the way she’s taking over."

A brief silence hung in the air before Tara asked, almost hesitantly, "Do you think you’ll ever work with her? I mean, you two are both huge in your own right. A collaboration could be... interesting."

Eminem’s lips curved into a sly smile as he leaned forward. "Maybe," he said, his voice low but playful. "You never know. I’m not one to rule out anything, but... who knows? If the right time comes, and the right opportunity presents itself, maybe we’ll make it happen."

Tara grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. "Sounds like you’re keeping the door open. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for that one."

Eminem let out a small chuckle, but the glint in his eyes remained. "Yeah, maybe one day. But for now, I’ll just keep listening. She’s doing her thing, and I’m doing mine. Who knows what’ll happen down the road?"

The interview was running smoothly, but Tara knew she’d struck gold when Eminem started opening up about you. He wasn’t the type to gush or openly talk about other artists, so his sudden candor was surprising—and entertaining. She decided to keep pushing, curious to see how far he’d go.

"So, you’ve talked about her voice and her vibe," Tara said, leaning forward with a knowing smirk. "But let’s be real, Marshall. A lot of people talk about how she looks. Do you agree with what they’re saying?"

Eminem grinned, a little embarrassed but clearly amused. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Man, you’re really trying to get me in trouble today, huh?"

Tara laughed. "I mean, you brought her up! I’m just asking the questions everyone else is thinking."

He ran a hand over his face, as if trying to collect himself, but the grin stayed firmly in place. "Alright, fine. Yeah, I’ve seen her. And, uh… let’s just say people aren’t exaggerating. She’s—" He paused, searching for the right words. "She’s got that whole package, you know? Like, she’s beautiful, obviously, but it’s more than that. She’s got this presence. You see her, and you can’t look away."

Tara raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this. "A whole package, huh? Care to elaborate?"

Eminem chuckled, pointing a finger at her. "You’re slick, trying to get me to spill everything. But, yeah, she’s... I mean, come on. Anyone who’s seen her knows what I’m talking about. She’s got this… uh…" He gestured vaguely with his hands, his smirk widening as he tried to find a way to phrase it without giving too much away.

"Are we talking about her curves?" Tara teased, leaning into the moment.

Eminem laughed loudly, shaking his head but not denying it. "Man, I wasn’t gonna say it, but yeah, she’s definitely got, uh, some… assets. I mean, you can’t not notice. It’s like—damn, alright? She’s got it going on. And she knows it, too, the way she carries herself. It’s confidence. That’s what makes it even better."

"Wow," Tara said, grinning ear to ear. "You’re really laying it on thick, huh?"

"I’m just being honest!" he defended, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "What do you want me to say? She’s gorgeous, she’s got this crazy voice, and she’s killing it right now. I can’t help it if I’m a fan."

Tara laughed, clearly entertained. "A fan? Marshall, you sound like you’re one step away from starting a fan club."

"Man, if I wasn’t who I am, I probably would," he joked, shaking his head. "I’d be out here with posters and T-shirts and everything. But nah, seriously, she’s got that whole ‘dream girl’ thing going on. Like, I’m sitting here thinking, ‘Why does she have to be so perfect?’ It’s not fair."

Tara couldn’t stop laughing. "You’re really fangirling over her right now, aren’t you?"

Eminem leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and rubbing his hands together with an exaggerated look of defeat. "I’m trying not to, but it’s hard, alright? Like, every time I see her on TV or hear her song, I’m just like, ‘Man, she’s unreal.’ And then I have to remind myself to chill because I’m out here looking like a teenager with a crush."

Tara grinned, sensing there was still more to uncover. "Okay, so if she walked in here right now, what would you say to her?"

Eminem froze for a moment, pretending to look panicked before breaking into a laugh. "What would I say? Oh, man. I’d probably embarrass myself. I’d be like, ‘Hey, uh… so… you’re, like, amazing.’ And then I’d just stand there awkwardly, hoping she doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot."

"Come on, you’re Eminem!" Tara said, laughing. "You don’t get nervous around anyone."

"Yeah, well, she might be the exception," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, what do you even say to someone like that? ‘Hey, I think you’re insanely talented and also ridiculously beautiful?’ That’s not smooth at all."

Tara laughed harder, clearly enjoying his rare moment of vulnerability. "I don’t know, Marshall, that might actually work. You never know."

He smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah, or she’d just laugh in my face and walk away. Either way, at least I’d shoot my shot, right?"

The conversation kept circling back to you, with Eminem dropping more compliments, both subtle and bold. "She’s got this energy," he said at one point, leaning forward again. "It’s like, even if she wasn’t singing, you’d notice her. She’s just got that presence, you know? And when you add the voice and the... other stuff, it’s game over. She’s unstoppable."

"Other stuff?" Tara teased, raising an eyebrow.

Eminem grinned, leaning back and crossing his arms. "You know what I mean. Don’t make me spell it out. Let’s just say she’s got all the right... proportions."

Tara burst out laughing again, and Eminem shook his head, laughing along with her. "Man, you’re gonna get me in so much trouble for this interview."

"Hey, you’re the one who keeps talking about her," Tara pointed out.

"Yeah, well, can you blame me?" he replied, throwing up his hands. "She’s out here looking like a whole goddess and singing like one too. I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking."

By the end of the interview, it was clear Eminem wasn’t holding back his admiration for you. His mix of humor, flirty compliments, and genuine respect for your talent painted a picture of a man completely taken by someone he’d never even met. And as he walked out of the studio that day, still smiling to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if, somehow, you might hear what he’d said and realize just how much he admired you.

-

A few days after the interview aired, the buzz around Eminem’s comments about you was everywhere. The media ran with it, headlines speculating about his apparent fascination. Gossip columns played up his flirty statements, and rumors began swirling that the two of you might be secretly seeing each other. Whether it was a playful misinterpretation or intentional exaggeration, the whispers grew louder with each passing day.

Eminem, for his part, didn’t seem to mind the chatter. He wasn’t one to shy away from attention, especially if it wasn’t outright negative. If anything, the rumors amused him.

One afternoon, he was in the studio with Dr. Dre, who had clearly caught wind of the gossip. Dre leaned back in his chair, casually tossing a sly grin his way.

"So, you and the pop princess, huh?" Dre said, the teasing lilt in his voice impossible to miss.

Eminem glanced up from the notebook he’d been scribbling in, his expression neutral but his lips twitching at the corners. "What’re you talking about?"

Dre chuckled, leaning forward. "Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. That interview? You couldn’t stop talking about her."

"Man, you’re tripping," Eminem shot back, shaking his head but unable to hide the small smirk creeping onto his face.

"Am I?" Dre pressed, raising an eyebrow. "Because half the country thinks you two are sneaking around now. You got people out here thinking you’ve got a whole relationship going on."

Eminem laughed, setting down his pen. "Yeah, well, that’s on them. I said what I said, and they ran with it. It’s not my fault people can’t tell the difference between a compliment and a confession."

"Compliment, huh?" Dre said, his grin widening. "Bro, you were practically drooling over her."

Eminem scoffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "I wasn’t drooling. I just said she’s talented. And, you know... nice to look at. That’s it."

"Uh-huh," Dre replied, clearly not convinced. "Look, I get it. She’s fine, man. Like, stupid fine. But you didn’t just say she’s talented—you made it sound like she’s the second coming or something. I’m just saying, you’re not exactly subtle."

Before Eminem could respond, Proof walked into the room, catching the tail end of the conversation. "Oh, we talking about the pop star now?" he said, grinning as he plopped down on the couch.

Eminem groaned, shaking his head. "Man, don’t you start too."

"Nah, I’m just saying," Proof said, throwing up his hands innocently. "You’re all over the news right now. People out here shipping you two like it’s their job. You might as well lean into it."

"Shipping?" Eminem repeated, furrowing his brow. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"It means they want y’all to be together," Proof explained, laughing. "And honestly, I can’t blame them. You were laying it on thick in that interview, man. I was watching like, ‘Damn, Em’s really out here catching feelings on national TV.’"

"I wasn’t catching feelings," Eminem shot back, rolling his eyes but unable to hide his grin. "I was just being real. She’s dope, alright? End of story."

"Uh-huh," Proof said, smirking. "You keep telling yourself that. Meanwhile, the rest of us are just waiting for the wedding invitations to roll in."

Eminem threw a balled-up piece of paper at him, laughing. "You’re all idiots, you know that?"

Despite the teasing, Eminem didn’t seem bothered by the rumors. If anything, he found the whole situation amusing. He couldn’t deny that he’d been a little extra in the interview, but that was just how he felt. You were undeniably talented and beautiful, and he wasn’t going to downplay that just to avoid some gossip.

As the days went on, the teasing from his friends continued, but Eminem took it in stride. Whenever someone brought it up, he’d either brush it off with a joke or lean into it just to mess with them.

"So, when are you introducing us?" Dre asked one day, clearly enjoying himself.

"Yeah, let us know so we can start practicing our best-man speeches," Proof chimed in, grinning.

Eminem shook his head, smirking. "Y’all are clowns. She probably doesn’t even know I exist."

"Oh, she knows," Dre said confidently. "After that interview? She definitely knows."

Eminem didn’t respond, but the thought lingered in his mind. The idea that you might have heard his interview—or even just heard about it—made his heart race a little, though he’d never admit it. For now, he let the rumors swirl and the teasing roll off his back, secretly enjoying the idea that people thought there might be something between you two.

-

You were rushing into a bustling studio for your latest photoshoot, clutching your bag and sipping a quick coffee when a familiar voice called out.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N), a quick word?"

You turned to see a young interviewer approaching with a mic in hand, their cameraman not far behind. While you were used to being stopped by press, something in the interviewer’s tone suggested they weren’t just here for small talk. Glancing at your team, who gestured that you had a few minutes to spare, you gave a friendly smile.

"Of course," you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "What’s up?"

The interviewer grinned, clearly eager to dive in. "So, the internet—and every entertainment column—is buzzing right now about Eminem’s recent interview."

Your brow furrowed slightly, though you kept your expression polite. "Oh? What about it?"

"Well," the interviewer began, holding up a notepad for reference. "He had *a lot* to say about you. I’m sure you’ve at least heard a little bit about it. He called you incredibly talented, praised your voice, and let’s just say he didn’t hold back on how stunning he thinks you are."

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before a genuine laugh bubbled out of you. "Wait—he said all that? Really?"

"Oh, absolutely," the interviewer confirmed, their grin widening. "And let’s not forget the part where he complimented your... uh, presence. Some are calling it the most flirty Marshall Mathers has ever been in an interview."

You tried to contain your laughter but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. "Well, that’s... unexpected. But also really sweet of him."

"So," they pressed, leaning in slightly. "The world wants to know—what’s your reaction to all of this? Have you heard the interview yourself?"

You hesitated for a moment, considering your response. You didn’t want to feed into the media frenzy too much, but you also couldn’t ignore how flattering it was. "Okay, I’ll admit it—I did hear about it. A couple of friends sent me clips, and I couldn’t not watch it after all the buzz."

"And?" the interviewer prompted, their eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"And," you said, tilting your head thoughtfully, "I thought it was... really sweet. I mean, to hear someone as big as Eminem say those things about me? That’s a huge compliment. I admire his work so much, so it means a lot."

The interviewer wasn’t satisfied yet—they wanted more. "And what about the more personal comments? You know, about your looks and all?"

You felt your cheeks warm slightly but kept your composure. "Well, he’s not wrong about the confidence thing," you teased, laughing lightly. "But seriously, I think it’s flattering. He was being honest, and that’s refreshing."

"Honest, huh?" The interviewer leaned closer. "So, are you saying you wouldn’t mind hearing more compliments from him?"

You laughed again, shaking your head. "You’re really trying to stir the pot here, aren’t you?"

"Just doing my job!" they replied with a cheeky grin. "But, since we’re on the subject—what do you think of *him*? I mean, everyone’s dying to know if this admiration goes both ways."

You paused, the smile lingering on your lips as you thought carefully about your words. Finally, you decided to give them just enough to keep things interesting. "I think he’s incredibly talented," you said sincerely. "His music has had such a huge impact, and his storytelling is unmatched. You can tell he’s passionate about what he does, and that’s inspiring."

"And what about on a personal level?" the interviewer pressed, clearly fishing for more.

You gave a small shrug, playing coy but letting a hint of playfulness show. "Well... I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think he was kinda cute. But I’ll leave it at that."

The interviewer’s jaw dropped in mock surprise, and they laughed. "Wow! You just made headlines with that one, (Y/N)."

You laughed along, waving it off. "Oh, come on. It’s not that serious. I’m just giving credit where it’s due."

"Fair enough," they said, nodding. "But seriously, you two are all anyone can talk about right now. Any chance we might see a collaboration in the future? Or maybe... something more?"

You raised your hands in mock surrender, grinning. "Hey, who knows? I’m just focused on my music and projects right now. But, you know, never say never."

"Cryptic, I like it," the interviewer replied with a wink. "Well, thanks for stopping to chat, (Y/N). I’m sure Eminem is going to love hearing your response."

You smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. "Thanks. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a photoshoot to get to. But this was fun!"

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel a little giddy about the whole situation. Eminem’s words had genuinely caught you off guard, and now, with the media spinning stories left and right, you wondered what he might think of your reaction. For now, though, you pushed the thought aside and focused on your shoot, leaving the rumors—and the excitement they brought—swirling in the air behind you.

-

Marshall was lounging on the couch at home, the TV playing softly in the background. Hailie, still young and full of energy, sat beside him, doodling on a notepad with a crayon. It was a rare, quiet moment for him, one he cherished.

He wasn’t paying much attention to the TV until your face appeared on the screen. It was a clip from an interview, and the headline below caught his eye: *Pop Star (Y/N) Responds to Eminem’s Comments.*

Intrigued, he turned up the volume, leaning forward slightly. Hailie looked up curiously.

“Daddy, who’s that?” she asked, pointing at the screen.

“That’s... someone,” he muttered distractedly, eyes fixed on the TV.

He watched as you laughed at the interviewer’s question, your voice light and warm. Then, you said it—the part that made his stomach flip.

*"I think he’s kinda cute."*

Marshall blinked, sitting back on the couch, a grin spreading across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to process what he’d just heard.

“Cute?” he said to himself, chuckling. “She thinks I’m cute?”

Hailie tugged on his sleeve. “Why are you smiling like that, Daddy?”

“No reason, baby,” he replied, though he couldn’t stop grinning.

He reached for his phone, his mind racing. He had to talk to you. Now. But how? He didn’t exactly have your number, and showing up out of nowhere wasn’t his style.

“I gotta figure this out,” he muttered, pulling up Dre’s contact on his phone. If anyone could help, it was him.

“Uncle Dre again?” Hailie asked, giggling.

Marshall smirked, pressing the call button. “Yeah, Uncle Dre again. He’s about to help your dad with something important.”

As the phone rang, Marshall leaned back, tapping his fingers anxiously on the armrest. Whatever it took, he was going to find a way to reach you.<3

[lesbomaticlove]

ive talked about it before but i wanna talk about it again and that's

body types in drawing especially in terms of one piece characters

and i know its because official art presents them all the same but it just does not feel right to me, y'know? especially when i look at fanart and it looks like they just drew the same body multiple times with different faces (talent in that yes but god change it up a bit PLEASE)

like with my style i like to draw semi-realistic cartoon type beat, and that means im thinking about an abstract of shape language in the way that i present the characters. i consider their fighting styles and workouts when i think about what their body type would be, not just for op ive done this with mha and jjk characters too because god dammit gege, maki deserves bulkier muscles for her efforts

so here it is. my analysis of more semi-realistic designs for these characters. all my opinion and not meant to be a call out to anyone.

also, not including the women because we all know how unrealistic they look and i dont need to explain that to you im begging just use reference.

LUFFY

rubberhose arms are ESSENTIAL in his design so when i draw him, i never put too much definition in his muscles. real definition should be reserved for gears that alter his muscles

noodly arms and stick ass legs that is his Charm thank you i dont need super definition

ZORO

on the opposite end of the spectrum, zoro.

though, i see many people draw him more bodybuilder silhouette when he should be powerlifter silhouette, youve SEEN how this man works out. stereotypical bodybuilder physique that's all muscle and no fat is EXTREMELY UNHEALTHY TO MAINTAIN and you know theres no damn way sanjis letting someone on the ship watch their weight for the sake of visuals. he should be defined and bulky, but softer edges on the abs.

USOPP

Speaking first on pre ts, what does he excel at most? long range weapons and running.

obviously he gets proper strength training during timeskip, but i really think the best representative for him is olympic sprinters

muscular, but still pretty skinny

SANJI

hear me out. ballet physique.

i see him drawn w the same physique as Zoro and it just feels so wrong. he doesnt train his upper body, so most of his definition would be in his core and legs. not to mention his flexibility tracks with that.

maybe ill come back with a figure study on these later to fully show how it translates into my drawings but. for now. tumblr wont let me add any more images to this post

[incandescentflower]

What I think Miseinen does well that we don't get to see a lot is the equivalent level of emotional and physical desire between Haruki and Jin and how they interplay and intertwine.

For Haruki his true interest starts with the kindness Jin shows. It sparks something in Haruki to get to experience this. It's heartbreaking to know he hasn't truly felt cared for before. And that kindness made Haruki yearn to be close to Jin in a way that was clearly new for him.

I saw someone list out on mdl how Haruki tested Jin's boundaries presenting it in a negative way. And when put without context I can see why someone would feel that way. It's not for everyone, but this kind of push and pull feels so realistic for people who are not used to expressing themselves with words, especially if they are newly experiencing these types of feelings, especially when it's clearly confusing for each of them that they are both men.

The second kiss is really when Haruki goes over Jin's boundaries and he apologies and promises to step back, but when they come together again, Jin has experienced Haruki's absence as well and discovered he doesn't like it.

So the promise although made, quickly disintegrates between them because they are speaking in other ways.

All throughout their story they trade in gestures - acts of service - wound tending, inviting Haruki to come to Jin's place, Haruki smelling nice for Jin, Haruki showing Jin the movie he wanted to see and sharing other movies with him, Jin inviting Haruki to the film screening, Haruki taking care of Jin when he's sick, Jin giving Haruki a gift in return.

All these scream "I think about you" in a way neither of them are used to experiencing. They're both isolated via violence or neglect. No one is choosing them. But they are choosing each other.

When Haruki pulls Jin down on him in his excitement after Jin invited him to the screening he asks "Am I being seduced?" This could be interpreted as simply because Jin has fallen on him and they have that tropey moment when Haruki is flirting, but I take it as being actually sincere, more fueled by this feeling of being chosen that he has never experienced before.

So yeah, Haruki has clearly been trying to seduce Jin, but from Haruki's point of view, everything Jin has done has been a seduction and drawn Haruki to him.

And I really liked how that's played out so far. The emotional center is so strong and earned. I can't wait to see the next episode.

[salamander-spark]

Skeletal Anatomy of a Basilisk

I've been thinking about Basilisk anatomy stuff for my brainstorming, and I thought it would be cool to show what I think their skeletons would be like, cause snakes are cool...

yeah, and I wanted to practice drawing bones and body shapes (fun that I don't have to worry about drawing the pelvis, that thing is such a wierd shape), I've never drawn so many ribs before, but thats what snakes are like.

I know many people have different interpretations on what Vee being smaller/more humanoid than the other basilisks means. Some people say she's a different species (lesser basilisk, hybrid etc), But I always got the impression she was much younger than the rest of them.

Apparently, certain kinds of pythons are able to regulate their body temp and generate heat in special conditions.

I think Basilisks are naturally cold blooded, but can expend magic in order to keep their body temperature high in cold climates. Maybe some who have lived in cold climates for a long period of time naturally have adaptations, like increased body fur and cold resistant scales. The idea of Basilisks being able to adapt to their unique situations is such a cool concept, I wish we knew more about them in the show.

I also like drawing Vee with a more realistic appearance while also staying true to her canon proportions in relation to the other characters.

I liked finding a balace between more humanoid skulls, and more Boa/Python skulls, I think what I came up with was pretty cool looking. They can definitely open their jaws super wide, as shown by the inspector (Or at least greater Basilisks can):

I had fun on these drawings, and coming up with ideas, I'd like to hear your thoughts.

In an earlier post I said I was brainstorming for a potential fanfic. It's been super slow and I can't get my brain to start writing anything. That's always been my weakness, same with school writing. Maybe once summer comes, I can practice more with writing for fun and actually get somewhere. Just average struggles, IDK where I'm going with this and why I'm writing this down.

[penelopepine]

Little Purple Stars

Part 1 Part 2

Ghost x FemReader x Soap

Content: Soulmate AU, fluff, no angst

Everyone had a soulmate; whether that connection was platonic or romantic was entirely up to those involved. Some people even had multiple soulmates, like you did, which wasn’t that uncommon. It happens whenever a person turns 20 yrs old. They are suddenly able to draw on themselves, and have the picture appear on the skin of your soulmate.

You had two soulmates; one of them rarely ever drew on themselves, and if they did it was only with a black pen. Usually said drawing would also be a little black heart next to something that you or your other soulmate drew. You’ve always called this soulmate, Moon.

On the other hand soulmate number two, or Sun as you called them, was much more open and was constantly drawing little doodles all over themselves.

Sun and Moon; basic maybe, but you’ve always felt that it fits them perfectly. 

-

It was your third time entering the Olympics and you couldn’t be more excited. You’re first year you unfortunately didn’t place, second year you won the bronze, and this year you were aiming for the gold. Most of all though, win or lose you hoped that by the end of today you will have made contact with your soulmates.

While getting ready for today you had drawn little stars in various shades of purple around your eyes, making them resemble freckles. Drawing on your face was generally frowned upon, but when events that are going to be televised all around the world exceptions are made.

You tried to give them a hint to watch the Olympics today by drawing the Olympics rings and a TV, but realistically you knew there was no way they could watch the entirety of the broadcast. Even if they did turn it on they could very easily miss your appearance. The only thing you could do now was hope that the two individuals with matching purple stars were watching.

-

Ghost watched as every little star slowly appeared on Soap's face knowing that his face looked the same only that the stars on his face were covered by the mask. It wasn’t until Gaz walked in the office as well and asked about them did Soap even know they were there.

“What do you mean I have stars?” 

“Yeah on your face,” Gaz pulls out his phone and quickly takes a photo before showing it to the Scot. 

“You knew they were there and you weren’t going to say anything?” Soap turns to face Ghost with a playful grin, “Well now you gotta take off the mask; I can’t be the only one walking around here with star freckles.” 

“In your dreams MacTavish.”

Gaz chuckles at the two of them before he sits down in an empty seat, “So I know you didn’t do this,” pointing to Soap, “and you definitely didn’t do this. Can I ask why lucky number three decided to do this?” Directing his question towards the lieutenant. 

“I assume it has something to do with the Olympics.”  

“Aye, they drew that symbol yesterday didn’t they. I guess that was their way of giving us a warning for this; must be for some kind of watch party,” Soap guessed.

“Sounds like my kind of party, the ice skaters are performing in just a bit and I don’t plan to miss it.” Gaz holds his phone showing them the Olympic broadcast already up on his phone before popping in one of his earbuds. 

“I didn’t take you for someone who would enjoy watching figure skating; all it is is watching people move on the ice innit?” Ghost questions, he’s never had any interest in the Olympics before. It was never something he had time to sit down and watch. 

“We can go to an ice skating rink ourselves, and watch Soap try to skate if you want to watch more chaotic skating.” 

“Oi, I didn’t even say anything, don’t go dragging me into this!” 

“You were gonna say something and that’s enough for me!” 

“Yeah yeah whatever,” Soap turns back to the paperwork he had been working on, “I’d like to see you try and skate. Let’s see who’s laughing then.” 

The men chuckle to themselves and all of them focus on items in their hands. It wouldn’t be until an hour had passed that the silence amongst them was broken. 

Gaz’s sudden gasp drew both Ghost and Soap’s attention to him. 

“What happened mate; a skater fell down?” Ghost asks with slight amusement in his voice. He couldn’t imagine himself getting this worked up over anything as simple as ice skating. Continuing to watch as Gaz doesn’t say anything; simply sitting in his seat with his mouth slightly hung open. 

“Gaz?” Soap questions as he steps towards him. 

Very suddenly Gaz shoots up and steps towards him as well, grabbing Soap’s face once he is close enough. Holding up his phone and looking frantically between the two. 

“Aye, wha’ the fuck do you think you’re doing!” Soap swats Gaz’s hand away from his face, “Didn’t your mum ever teach you about personal space.”

“Look!” 

Soap focusing on Gaz’s phone to see what had the man so worked up. On the screen was a woman dressed in purple elegantly dancing on the ice, but what really caught his attention was the fact that she too had purple star freckles on her face; ones that matched his perfectly. “Oh fuck; Ghost!” 

Ghost couldn’t believe what he was seeing for a moment. They had finally found their missing piece. Watching her dance and spin on ice he suddenly understood why people would enjoy watching this. She looks ethereal. 

Looking at Soap he sees an awestruck look in his eyes. He won’t admit but the stars are quite cute on him; on both of them. How on earth did he end up with these two incredibly beautiful and talented people as his soulmates? 

Later all three men are huddled together over the phone watching the award ceremony. The room had gotten embarrassingly loud when it became clear that you had won; Price had charged into the room asking them what had them all yelling for. He had luckily understood when the situation was explained by a sheepish soap, who was definitely making the most noise out of everyone. He was quick to get his energy back though once Price had left the room.

“We have to let the lass know we know we saw her!” Soap rushes to the desk pulling out multi colored pens; waving them towards Ghost. 

-

You had done it! You had really done it; the gold was yours! Standing on the first place podium next to the other medalist you couldn’t help but wonder if your soulmates are watching you. You hope they were proud of you if they had seen your performance.

Trying to subtly check any exposed skin for any kind of sign or acknowledgement that you had been seen, and to your great delight you had been. The sun and moon had found their star. 

There on your wrist was a drawing of a gold medal and right next to it was a little black heart. 

They had seen you, they knew who you were. That thought both excited and terrified you. The only thing to do now was wait for them to show themselves; to find you. 

Stepping down from the podium, and making your way off the ice you give your wrist a kiss and wave towards the cameras.

[halfhoursonearth-writes]

Can you recommend fanfiction that you personally really like?

Yes! Love this ask. I’ve never made a Zutara fic rec list partially because I’ve read so many wonderful stories over time that I find the prospect daunting! 

But there are absolutely certain stories that I have a personal soft spot for, that I return to again and again. And that’s my criteria for what’s included below. This is a sampling of fics that I find myself coming back to, in no particular order. I may come back and add more, because this list is so far from exhaustive. A mix of ratings (marked), so keep that in mind.

Wish I Was the Moon by Like a Dove (T), post-canon: There’s so much that I love about the way this one-shot explores Katara’s character and what she faces post-canon, how she frees herself, strikes out in the world and finds her way home. Her feelings for Zuko, and her inner-conflict around them, are rendered tangibly, both through scene and subtext. A really good example of how an author can show a character’s lack of/journey to self-knowledge without breaking voice.

Refraction by caroes3725 (E), post-canon: When I started reading Zutara fanfic (for me this was in 2020), this was the fic I was looking for—a deep, realistic-to-canon, in-character exploration of how Zutara could unfold after the events of ATLA in a way that gives Katara in particular the arc she deserves. Really well-done development of the Fire Nation court world, well-developed characters, shining dialogue. An amazingly well-worth-it slow burn.

Wildfire by rainstormdragon (E), post-canon: To me this story is kind of a steamy Zutara thesis. The characters are so spot on and alive, their flaws are on full display in a way that feels realistic, and their chemistry is powered by their compatibility���matched in passion and stubbornness, and also in what they want from life. And I think it really gets Aang, too, which is something that can be hard to find in ZK fic. Also really hot, but that's only part of what makes it really shine.

Partners in Learning by evergreenonthehorizon (T), Modern AU: One of the things I love in modern AUs is watching an author weave that invisible string between these characters. Sometimes, it’s by writing narrative arcs that parallel the series, and sometimes it’s by drawing out the personality traits that make the characters both lovable to readers and such a compelling match and watching that spark bloom into flame. This beautifully written story does that so, so well in a really compelling Modern AU setting. Zuko and Katara here are so wonderfully lovable, and it’s a joy to watch them fall for one another, too.

Journeys by Smediterranea (E), Modern AU: In real life, I want to see my friends in relationships with people who can recognize why they’re so particularly amazing. That potential, I think, part of the appeal of ZK as a ship, and that’s part of the special magic of this fic. Watching these two characters get to know one another—really see one another—and fall in love deliciously sweeps the reader up. Plus, really fun, in character cameos from the rest of the Gaang along the way.

Spark, set fire by marijayne (T), Modern AU: literary fanfic, and I mean that in the best way. This story is beautiful and bittersweet, the latter is not often something I seek out in fanfic (where I hide from life), but here it’s gorgeous and worth it. The world building here is really cool—allows the author to explore some of a set of cultural issues/interactions that both echo the ATLA world and ours. The characters are so tenderly drawn (dadko especially)—and the connection between them builds beautifully and tangibly—and the longing is…chef’s kiss. 

Wrong when it's right by nire (T), Book 1 Canon Divergence: Before I read this, I couldn't imagine wanting to read a Book 1 Zutara. After, I wanted more. Bickering, bed-roll sharing, shared heat, tenderness and common ground. A delight from start to finish.

Anyway, thanks for asking and happy reading! <3 And if you want more recs, let me know.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

@zvoiderror000 @sipping-wxterfalls @obsessingoverl This is the full fic that goes with the out of context snippet you all seemed excited about

***************

Darry hadn’t been sure it was even worth putting together the funeral. After all, few folks had loved Johnny Cade, and even fewer had loved Dallas Winston, and most of them were the five who remained, all but three of whom were unemployed. He’d managed to scrape together money for headstones, albeit cheap ones, but a funeral- even a joint one- so soon after mom and dad was more of a strain on the budget than Darry could realistically handle, even with Soda and Steve offering to pitch in.

Then the parents of all those little kids Johnny and Pony saved had contacted him out of the blue, offering to help cover expenses and for all his pride Darry didn’t have it in himself to turn them down. Johnny and Dal deserved a proper burial any way he could manage to make it happen, and if that involved taking a bit of charity, well, for once so be it. It sure as hell wasn’t like Mr and Mrs Cade were going to pay to make sure Johnny was properly laid to rest.

So he’d taken the money and made the same terrible phone calls he’d made eight months ago, contacted the same vendors, and booked the same small room at the same small funeral home, feeling sick to his stomach the whole time. Pony had helped, more than he had eight months ago, had chosen Johnny’s casket from the few they could afford and written a eulogy he refused to show to anyone until the service itself. Darry didn’t begrudge him, trying to tamp down the guilt that came with the relief that cut through him every time he looked at his baby brother. It felt wrong, planning the funeral of two of his best friends, knowing that if the universe had offered him any sort of choice, he'd have still chosen Ponyboy and doomed them both anyway, every time. It’s a hard truth, a horrible one, but Darry has grown used to confronting such horrible things as of late, even if he can only ever confront them in his own head. 

After a few weeks of planning, the day of the funeral seems almost underwhelming. Soda and Ponyboy are once again dressed in the outfits they wore to mom and dad’s funeral, Ponyboy somehow looking twice as lost as he did then for all he’s grown almost half a foot taller. Soda is a shadow of his usual self, drawn in behind the careful mask he dons when he doesn’t want anyone to see what he’s really thinking, but the cigarette in his hand is enough to give Darry a good idea of his tenuous mental state.

Pony climbs the steps of the funeral home in the same dreamlike manner he’s adopted since the night of the rumble, the same cloak of oblivion he’d shrouded himself in for months after mom and dad passed, the one he’d only just started to lift off himself before Darry ruined it all with his temper and that slap. Sometimes he thinks he will never truly be able to undo the damage he caused that night, all the consequences of one despicable rash action.

Soda loiters near the stairs, Steve a supportive, grim faced pillar beside him, their shoulders pressed together and pinky fingers linked in a way they probably think is subtle. Darry wants to tell them they’re too close, warn them yet again about being in public and what people might think, but today he doesn’t have the energy. Besides, it’s not like there's anyone coming. All of them, from Two-bit to Ponyboy, know the only folks this funeral is for is them, the gang. If anyone else shows at all it’ll be a miracle. So he leaves Soda and Steve and the obvious, secret love that could kill them both by the door, and goes inside to check on Ponyboy.

His younger brother hasn’t stepped into the small chapel yet, instead he’s sitting with his back against the wall and his legs sprawled out, half hidden behind a small side table. The picture of Johnny that is supposed to be beside the guest book is clutched in his hands, and silent tears are running down his face, his tiny form shaking violently with suppressed sobs. 

Shit. The sight of it chips another shard off of Darry’s thrice broken heart. This poor kid. This sweet, sweet kid, who’s been through more in the past year than most people go through in a lifetime. Darry can’t help but wonder if his baby brother is ever again going to know a life without pain. 

“Hey little buddy,” Darry’s knees crack as he kneels down beside him, tossing an arm around his brother's shoulders, “how’re ya doin’?

It’s a stupid question, and they both know it, but it startles a choked off, surprised laugh out of Ponyboy, and it feels like a bigger win than winning the state football championship back in high school.

“M’alright,” Pony glances around as if making sure they’re alone before snuggling into Darry’s side a bit. He’s been awful cuddly since he got back home, but fourteen and a greaser is still fourteen and a greaser, and Darry knows Pony would die before he let anyone outside the gang find out about his newfound clinginess. 

“You sure?” Darry tightens his grip on Pony and drops a kiss on his gelled hair. Today is gonna be a hard day for all of them, but things like this always hit Pony worse, and he’s worried about him. He’s still so young, only fourteen. Darry himself had seen some rough stuff by the time he was fourteen- you couldn’t grow up in their neighbourhood and not see some stuff you wished you hadn’t- but back then he’d had dad to talk things through with and mom to lie to him and promise everything would be okay. Compared to that, Pony has nothing, just two brothers who love him but can’t protect him, and now a dead best friend to mourn on top of his parents.

“No,” Pony shakes his head, letting out another watery laugh, this one verging on hysterical, “no, I’m not okay. Sometimes I think I’m never gonna be ok again.”

“Baby…” Darry doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t cut out for this, isn’t meant to be a guardian or a parent or whatever he’s become, and he’s never been good with emotions anyway. It’s always been Soda’s job, since their parents passed, to deal with the feelings while he deals with the bills, but Soda is his little brother too, has decided not to feel today so that he can cope, so Darry is once again all Pony has. He wishes he could be enough, or at the very least think of something to say, but he isn’t and he can’t. Instead, all he can do is rock Ponyboy as he cries and wish the world wasn’t so horrifically cruel. At the very least he wishes he could reassure him…but Darry doesn’t like to lie, and the truth is that lately he isn’t sure Pony will be ok. Lately, his brother seems uniquely broken in a way Darry isn’t sure he can fix. 

Johnny would have known what to do. He and Pony would have gone for a smoke on the porch and talked in low voices, and somehow whatever he’d said would have brought Ponyboy back to himself. But Johnny is gone, isn’t coming back, and Pony might just stay this empty shell because of it. The thought makes something dark and cold creep into his chest, but Darry is a realist and learned a long time ago that ignoring uncomfortable things does not simply make them go away, as much as he might wish they would. Johnny is gone, and Pony is different, and things will never be the same as they were. That’s that.

“I just…” Pony manages once he’s cried himself out, “he- he was the only person who completely knew me without me havin’ to tell him. I’m never gonna find anyone like that again in my whole life I don't think, and that…that’s terrifyin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pony nods fervently, almost begging him to understand, and fuck it, Darry is trying because he isn’t Johnny and he isn’t Soda but he’s still trying his best, “I miss Dal too, of course I do, but losin’ Johnny is just- different. He dug me and I dug him and I just-I’m really gonna miss him. “

“Sometimes,” Pony’s voice breaks, but he soldiers on, “sometimes I wish I coulda died in his place. Or Dal’s. That way we’d at least be together.”

“Don’t say that!” Fear so cold it burns flashes through Darry, and he squeezes Pony tighter, as if the mere thought is a blow he could shield him from, “Please baby, don't ever say that, I couldn’t survive without you. Soda would go clean crazy I-”

“Cool it Dar,” Pony shakes him off, “I know that. I ain’t stupid and I don’t got a death wish either. I just miss him and I…wonder, sometimes. That’s all.”

“Well quit your wonderin’,” Darry scolds. He can hear himself getting harsh, the way he always gets when he’s worried, and tries to even out his tone, “that sort of wonderin’ does more harm than good. I wouldn’t trade you bein’ here for the world and I know for a fact Johnny and Dal wouldn’t neither. Savvy?”

Pony looks at him for a moment, and there’s such fear in those eyes, such grief, and yet so much trust it makes Darry’s heart ache in a completely different way.

“I savvy.” he says at last, and Darry internally sighs in relief. This conversation isn’t over, and Ponyboy has never been one to let things go, but at least, for the moment, he is safe.

The door opens then and Soda and Steve reappear, flanked by Two-bit with his mom and sister. Darry climbs to his feet, pulling Pony up beside him and they take a deep breath and all enter the chapel together.

For a second he stands there frozen, completely caught off guard, heart swelling with an odd mixture of gratitude and something else that isn’t quite grief, but has the same bittersweet tinge. 

There are more people inside than Darry expected, which is to say, there’s people there at all. He’d fully believed the only ones who’d bother coming to Johnny and Dal’s funeral would be the gang and Two’s family, but Tim Shepard and a few of his guys are clustered near the back door, looking uncomfortable, and Sylvia Devares is as cold eyed and sour faced as ever, but present nevertheless, sitting in the second row of chairs, glaring at Dally’s casket as if she expected him to sit up and start cussing her out any second. There’s no sign of Mr or Mrs Cade, but there’s a dark haired girl probably a year or two younger than Ponyboy sitting next to a tired looking man in his forties that Darry remembers Johnny staying with sometimes when he was really little, before Mrs.Cade cut her family out of her life for good. It’s strange, Darry thinks, seeing the love people don’t express until it’s too late. It has to have been nearly a decade since Johnny last saw his uncle and baby cousin, yet here they are, waiting to say their goodbyes.

Darry speaks quietly with the funeral director and the service begins, some local pastor kicking things off with a short sermon. Darry knows Dally probably would not have chosen a clergyman to speak at his funeral, but he also probably would have told them to have a beer in his honour and chuck him in the ground; and knowing how much Johnny had liked going to church with Pony, the sermon seemed appropriate. If he’s being quite honest with himself, Darry isn’t at all sure heaven or hell exists, but he also isn’t willing to gamble when it comes to Johnny and Dally’s souls. If a qualified preacher putting in a good word with the big man could get them a chance at eternal happiness, Darry would gladly sit here for fifteen minutes listening to him talk. If Darry’s being honest, if Dally’s gonna get into heaven, his soul needs all the help it can get.

It’s after they’ve all said a final amen, but before Pony has managed to start the eulogies, that the door creaks open and one final mourner slips inside. She’s clearly trying to be inconspicuous, but the timing of her arrival and the fact she clearly isn’t from around here make it so every eye in the room turns directly on her the second she gets through the doorway.

The first thing Darry notices is how skinny she is. He’s known a lot of folks in his time that are somewhat underfed, but this woman is better described as emaciated. The second thing he notices is how sick she looks, with her pale face, puffy eyes, and hunched posture; and the third is her white blond hair and pointed ears, two features he’s only ever seen on one other person.

“Who’s the junkie?” Tim Shepard sidles over and murmurs in Darry’s ear as the woman takes a seat in the second row of chairs, and Ponyboy clears his throat and starts Dally’s’ eulogy.

“Hell if I know.” Darry murmurs back, and it’s true. Dallas never mentioned anything or anyone from his past, and the gang had always respected that. He has no idea who the girl might have been to Dallas, just figures there must be some sort of familial relation.

“Well damn. Mighta been useful to know he had family who like smack,” Tim shrugs, “coulda got her a decent price at least.”

Darry glanced at the girl’s slumped posture and the way she kept scratching at her arms, and winced. Drugs are an aspect of the east side he’d always found particularly unsavoury, simply based on how visibly they could destroy someone. There were slower poisons, yes, like booze and gambling and hate, but drugs were simply more obvious. There were plenty of addicts that bummed around the train tracks or out near Brumly territory, and much as Darry hated to admit it, Tim’s assessment of the blonde was spot on. She was clearly hooked on smack, and from the looks of it, had been for a while.

Pony finishes the eulogies, voice shaky but more composed than Darry would have expected, but he barely hears him. All he can see is the back of the girl's blonde hair and the points of her ears. For some reason it had been easier to grieve Dallas when he felt like one of the only people who could mourn him properly; but this girl has clearly travelled who knows how far to attend this cobbled together funeral, and now some part of Darry feels like maybe he should have publicized it wider, spent some time really looking for Dallas’ next of kin. Not that he would have known where to look, but maybe it was selfish to just assume their ragtag pieced together family was truly the only family Dallas had. After all, everyone comes from somewhere, right? Maybe he should have tried to learn more about Dallas’ somewhere. 

A voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Dallas himself tells him not to be stupid, that Dallas was a kid who’d left where he came from and never looked back once, a kid who had died after losing the only person he couldn’t stand to lose. This girl may be here now, the voice says, but whoever she was clearly meant nothing to the person Dallas was when he died. It still does little to assuage the guilt slowly curdling in Darry’s heart.

The funeral director smoothly wraps up the ceremony without Darry having to do anything, mentioning the refreshments in the other room and reminding everyone to say their final goodbyes as they’d be closing the caskets in half an hour before moving to the graveyard. There’s a part of Darry that’s grateful that making the announcement didn’t fall on him, and a larger part that dreads the next half hour but dreads the minutes after it even more fervently. 

A line at the caskets forms quickly, the scant mourners each taking a turn to say their own goodbyes, and it would be almost sweet if it wasn’t so grim. 

Mrs. Mathews and Susie go first. Neither one of them glances at Dally for long, but Darry can’t really blame them for that, considering they hardly knew him. Both women linger longer next to Johnny, and Susie drops a tootsie roll into the casket with a sniffle. Those two were buddies, Darry knows. Johnny used to crash at the Mathews’ place almost as much as he crashed at their house, and Johnny and Susie’s matching gentle souls had bonded them quickly.

Tim and his guys go next, and they linger longer beside Dallas. None of them say much really, but there’s a tightness in Tim’s jaw that speaks more to regret than anger when he finally mutters an ‘asshole’ under his breath and stalks away, his gang following behind. Darry doubts he’ll show up to the cemetery, but can’t exactly begrudge him for it. It was good of Tim to come at all, mostly because if the roles were reversed and it was Tim lying there instead, Darry isn’t at all sure Dally would have done the same. 

Sylvia goes next, and her glare doesn’t waver, but whatever rant she’s murmuring to Dallas seems heartfelt for all of its rage. She doesn’t even glance at Johnny on her way out, and it should make Darry’s blood boil, but it doesn’t, not really, because everyone knows Sylvia Devares doesn’t care about anyone but herself, so if Dally meant enough for her to show up at all then she really must have cared as much as she could. Those two were a dumpster fire even at their best, and nothing about them ever gave the impression they were in love, but Darry knows better than anyone that you don’t need to be in love to love somebody in a way that could destroy you. 

Johnny’s uncle and cousin step up the small dais, and the old man says something in the language Johnny’s mom stopped letting him speak the same year she stopped speaking to her family, the one Johnny tried teaching to Ponyboy just to spite her. Whatever he says, it’s a blessing meant only for Johnny, but Darry can feel the weight of it, the love, the regret, the pain, just from the man’s tone. Johnny’s cousin glances once more over her shoulder as they leave, black eyes twinkling just the same as Johnny’s used to, and for a second it’s hard for Darry to breathe.

Now it’s the hard part. Ponyboy, for all his evocative words and stubborn strength, has not looked at Johnny’s body since he stepped into the room, and the second he does he lets out a horrible sound, something between a choked off whimper and and a sob, before darting from the room like something is chasing him. Maybe something is. Darry knows all about how memories can be specters. 

“I’ll go,” Soda stops him from following after Pony with a hand on his shoulder, “you say your goodbyes.”

Dary almost protests, almost tells him to say his own goodbyes while he still can, but there’s shadows in Soda’s eyes, and a strickenness to his face. Suddenly, Darry remembers the way Soda had panicked back when they closed the caskets on mom and dad, how his face had turned white as harsh breaths forced their way through clenched teeth, and he realizes that maybe this is Soda trying to save himself; so he nods and offers him the closest thing he can manage to a smile before Soda turns and follows Pony out the door, leaving Darry with Steve and Two-bit.

Two-bit is blubbering where he stands in front of Dally, and Steve is misty eyed beside him with a hand on his shoulder. Darry knows he should comfort them, play big brother to the brothers who are still his, just not by blood, but there’s something about watching the other people who cared say goodbye that is healing a piece of him, and he can’t bring himself to move. Not yet.

Eventually, Two-bit’s sobs give way to hushed murmurs and begging, Steve’s solemn facade cracking a bit as a single tear finally traces down his cheek. Darry swallows against the lump in his throat, wishing there was a way to make this easier for them and knowing there isn’t. This is one of those things they’re just going to have to feel.

“We’ll see you out there, Superman,” Steve claps Darry on the shoulder as he guides Two-bit out to the parking lot, the redhead already in the process of lighting a cigarette. Not for the first time, Darry is inordinately grateful for Steve Randle and his unmatched ability to be supportive without ever being overbearing.

He steps up the dais, steps muffled by the cheap carpet of the funeral home, but seeming to echo nonetheless. Johnny and Dally are arranged side by side, cleaner and more put together than they ever were in life. Darry hadn’t had any nice clothes to send for them to be buried in, but they wouldn’t have wanted them anyway. They’re both in jeans, Dally in a black t-shirt, and Johnny in a blue one, his jeans jacket pressed and arranged neatly around his small frame. There’s the same uncanny wrongness in their corpses that there was in mom and dad’s that make it impossible for Darry to be able to pretend they’re sleeping or any other such platitude people try to lie to themselves with. Dally’s skin, while pale in life, is now so white it’s waxy, seeming even more stark against the contrast of his shirt. Johnny’s unnatural stillness is so unlike his constant fidgeting it’s almost startling, and his face so peaceful is eerie. Jumpy, gentle, fierce Johnny Cade never looked so calm in life as he does in death, and the realization is a whole new kind of sickening.

A presence at his shoulder is the only thing that keeps a tear or two leaking out. When Darry looks over, the blonde girl from earlier is standing quietly a half pace behind him, her sunken eyes fixed on Dally with such sorrow it’s hard for him to look at. 

“You knew him.” Darry says. It isn’t a question.

“I did,” The girl agrees, “or at least I used to.”

When he was alive, even after years in Oklahoma, Dally’s voice always kept a burr of the yankee accent but this girl is full Brooklyn, and the oddness of it to his country bred ears almost has Darry laughing, despite the seriousness of the situation. Luckily, the girl doesn’t seem to notice, her eyes still locked on Dallas, for all she’s conversing with him.

“How?” Darry wonders. “How did you know him, I mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Not anymore, at least. Not that it had mattered before, but he’d always been curious about Dallas, the only one of their gang whose background was a true mystery.

Silence reigns for a minute. Darry watches a wasp buzz around the flowers on top of Dally’s casket. 

“He’s- he was- my brother,” the girl admits, voice breaking, and Darry can’t keep the shock off his face. He’d thought, based on the resemblance, that she might be a cousin or something, but a sister? 

“My baby brother,” the girl repeats, almost to herself, and Darry’s heart clenches. It isn’t just the bone deep anguish comprised in those three words, it’s the way they force Soda and Pony to the forefront of his mind. Sure, Dally wasn’t anything like either of his hard headed, stupid, secretly sweet brothers, and it’s clear whatever relationship Dally had with his sister isn’t anything like how Darry’s own is with his, but this girl has still lost her baby brother. Darry had got a taste of what it was like to lose Ponyboy for a week, and it nearly killed him. He’d been lucky enough to get Pony back. Dally’s sister will never get him back.

“I..I’m sorry,” Darry chokes, “I didn't know. I would’ve tried to invite you or let you plan stuff, I-”

“Don’t.” She cuts him off, and for a second its Dallas glaring at him. Then he blinks and her glare has faded, and he can breathe again, “You did the right thing. There’s a reason he left New York. He wouldn’t have wanted me anywhere near the planning of this.”

She doesn’t say he wouldn’t have wanted her there. Darry figures it might be implied anyway.

They lapse into silence again. The air in the chapel smells like incense and cleaning chemicals, a stiff, heavy, artificial mixture that seems like a strangely fitting smog over the day.

“He wasn’t always like that, y’know?” Dally’s sister bursts out, like she’d been trying desperately not to say it and been unable to keep silent anyway.

“Like what?”

“Like..he wasn’t always the way he was when he left. The way he was when he found you guys. He didn’t always hate everything.” 

Darry tries to picture it, a Dallas Winston who wasn’t jaded and callous to the point of cruelty sometimes, a Dallas who lived instead of just surviving. Try as he might, he can’t quite manage it.

“What was he like? Before?”

“Quiet,” The barest trace of a smile tugs at her chapped lips. “Smart. Kind, before he forgot how to be.”

“He didn’t forget,” Darry tells her, thinking of the million and one ways Dally had helped out the gang, refusing any and all thanks for it, “he just wished he could have. But he was still kind. In his own way.”

“Well that’s something, I guess,” the half smile fades and she sighs, gazing down at Dally’s still face with so much regret Darry could drown in it. “He deserved better.”

“They both did.”

“Before he left I mean. He deserved a chance, and I…I couldn’t give it to him. Not since that first hit.”

“Oh,” For a second Darry thinks she means an actual physical hit- then he realizes, “oh.”

He’s never been good with words, and right now is no exception. He doesn’t have a clue what to say. Luckily, she just gives him a sardonic grin and keeps talking.

“I was ten when Dally was born. His mom left when he was like, two, and our dad is a fucking asshole, so I kind of raised him. I had to. But I was ten. I didn’t know what I was doing, and he always wanted to know.”

She shakes her head ruefully. 

“‘Raya,’ he asked me once, ‘how come everyone else has a mom and I don’t?’ I didn’t know what to tell him. Then it was ‘Raya, how come Joey’s dad never hurts him like dad hurts us?’ and ‘Raya, what’s in dad’s cigs that make them worse than yours?’ and on and on until he stopped asking because I never had a good answer. Then he started going out by himself, and getting mixed up with the wrong people and then it was too late. He was, what, seven? maybe? the first time he got jumped, and he wasn’t even the littlest kid in our neighborhood it happened to. He never really had a chance. And then I went to that party, and-and I-I couldn’t…and he left. And he never came back.”

“Sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes, “I didn’t mean- I just- I think you were good for him. Better than I was. You and your friends. I saw the pictures of you in the paper, after the fire and the shooting and everything, and there was one…he was in it, with this one,” she nods to Johnny, “and the other little one, and he was smiling. He didn’t smile much, even when he was real little. I figure anyone who could get him to smile and who bothered to plan a funeral must have been good for him.”

“Sounds to me like you did the best you could,” Darry tells her, because hell, he does the best he can and fucks it up, and so does Tim Shepard, and so does every older sibling who has ever had to be a parent when they themselves were still a child, “I think you were good for him as much as you could be.”

“Maybe,” Raya says, “maybe not. It doesn’t matter now anyway.” 

“It matters,” Darry says, because he’s seen too little love to not know how important even the imperfect kind can be, “you loved him, so it still matters.”

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. Her lips purse, causing her sharp cheekbones to stick out even further.

“I need a smoke,” is all she says, casting one last look at Dally’s still face before turning on her heel and stalking out the door without looking back.

Darry doesn’t follow her, even though it feels like maybe he should. He’ll see her when they end up at the graveyard and if he doesn’t, well, he’ll have known she’d said her piece. 

He turns back to the caskets, taking in one unloved boy and a boy who wasn’t loved enough. Boys he’d loved like his own family. Boys he’d let down, no matter how hard he tried not to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it isn’t enough and it never will be but what else is there to say? “I tried.”

He stays there until the funeral director comes, shutting the coffin lids, locking two more of Darry’s family away from the world that never treated them right.

He squares his shoulders. Takes a deep breath. This day isn’t over, and his surviving family still needs him. 

Darry Curtis goes back to trying his best.

[beenbaanbuun]

Hi hi! I hope life is treating you well and you’re drinking lots of water and resting well!

I would love to hear your thoughts on dragon!San the brainrot for him has been real lately 😭💖

so this actually changed the chemical infrastructure of my brain and i couldn’t decide how to write it so i hope this is okay 😭😭

——————————————————————————

so ask anyone who i speak to on a regular basis and this is all i’ve been able to talk about for days because i have so many ideas for it

arguably too many for me to even begin to think about structuring them in a way that makes sense…

but hey, we can try right?

so initially my first thought was ‘omg, i’m going to make this little guy so sad…’ and i will! but i promise it will make sense

so san is a people person—or dragon, i guess—right? sure, he’s a little shy but at the end of the day, you can tell he loves being around people

all throughout his childhood he wanted nothing more than to work with kids, maybe be a teacher or something! he’s good at helping people, right?

it just sucks for the poor guy that as he got older, he started to get bigger, his nails started to grow into something akin to talons, and his canine teeth became sharp and menacing

there’s a reason you never really see any dragon-hybrid teachers…

the day san got kicked off of his teacher-training course was probably the saddest day of his life, but at least he had you at home! the most precious jewel in all of his hoard…

honestly, san would love nothing more than to keep you bundled up in his den, wrapped in all six of his limbs—are wings limbs?—to keep you protected from the outside world

realistically, though, he’s all too aware of a humans needs to keep you indoors

you’re like a houseplant with the way you need sun to survive

he also knows that you need to work, since it’s borderline impossible for him to get a job

he’s too scary to work with people, too drawn to shiny things to work with money and too underqualified to work a 9-5

he always feels guilty that you’re the main breadwinner for the household, but he doesn’t mind being a house-husband all that much

he’s more than content taking care of his hoard, after all, and since you are his most prized possession…

speaking of his hoard, it’s kind of littered about the apartment, although most of it is in your bedroom

necklaces and jewels hang from the living room’s light, making it look closer to a chandelier than a regular lampshade

gold and silver appliances are his favourite making the kitchen look somewhat gaudy in comparison to what it originally looked like

as for your bedroom, it looks rather similar to howl’s…

in fact san was almost giddy when you first showed him howl’s moving castle, pointing at the screen with a wicked grin on his face

“see! its not just me who likes to decorate like this!”

you don’t have the heart to tell him that howls moving castle is just make believe and no one decorates like him…

but you suppose it’s not so bad; san dusts it from time to time and the things that dangle from the ceiling are perfect for you to zone out and stare at whenever san is rushing around looking for something to clean you up with after fucking you dumb :)

because let’s be real, dragon!san definitely has a huge cock to match the rest of his body

and despite his sweet demeanour outside of the bedroom, he’s an absolute demon inside of it

he’s possessive, more than anything, so if you ever come home smelling of anything other than him, then you best believe you’re being whisked away to the bedroom the second you step food through the front door

hands will be on you before you even know it, talons tearing at clothes and stripping you naked before you even get chance to tell him that this shirt is far too expensive to tear

you don’t even get much chance to protest after he’s torn it from you either because his lips will be on yours and his forked tongue will already be lapping at the inside of your mouth like his life depends on it

everything happens so quick because he’s just so desperate to make sure you know that you’re his again

he needs each one of your senses to be filled by him, he needs your mind to only think of him, he needs your pussy to be dripping with him

he knows he doesn’t own you but he needs to feel like he does

when he’s like this, it’s always quick. he needs to fuck you hard and fast before that strange smell that doesn’t belong to him sinks into your skin and stays there forever!

it’s purely instinct driven, really…

and maybe later he’ll take you for round two, only this time he wants to actually savour you

now you smell like him again, he can relax as he forces his cock inside of you

he can take his time kissing you and making you feel like the most beautiful person alive

he can let his hands trace every inch of your body, appreciating every dip and curve you have

and once it’s over, he can sit there with his cock still plugging you up and appreciate your blissed out face as you recover from what can only be described as a heavenly experience

[lisenberry]

The sweat on your skin is better than regret on your heart

Part three! (One and Two) I know I promised smut, but I just got really deep into his tattoos. Part four will finish this up, I swear.

Tattoo Artist!Price x F!Reader

He led you towards the back of the shop, past the reception desk and the waiting area, and behind the black velvet privacy curtain.  You were surprised at how clean it was in his workspace.  Welcoming in its warmth.  You expected neon lights and goth décor.  Crystal skulls and gleaming stainless steel.

Instead, it was a palette of rich, earthy tones.  A supple looking camel-colored leather sofa, maps of the ocean and model ships of every shape and size.  A compass rose painted with elaborate detail on the ceiling.  A stained-glass light fixture at its center. 

“It’s beautiful in here,” you mused, as you spun around slowly in a mix of awe and anticipation.  If you were to get a tattoo, it would be the place. 

“If you give me a second, I can draw you up a few ideas.  The ones you showed me on your little phone are uninspired shit.”  He slipped another cig from his pack and tucked it behind his ear.  Always at the ready.

“I’m actually more worried about the placement.”  You bit your lip for courage.  You couldn’t believe you were doing this.  “Could you show me yours?  Maybe that’ll help me decide.”

You sat atop a padded seat that he could recline forward and backward, raise up and down to suit the best position.  It was comfortable and smooth against the back of your knees. 

“I think we can stop pretending why you’re still here.  You want me to help you forget your boyfriend, don’t you?  Work you up so hard—so good and proper—that you don’t remember his name.”

But even as he spoke, he obliged you.  Tugged his shirt off efficiently, pulling it up from behind his neck and shrugging it over the front of his shoulders, letting it come to rest between his wrists.  It briefly looked like handcuffs before he tossed it on the floor beside him.

His hair stuck up in roguish angles before he could smooth it down with a stiff swipe of his palm.   

“No, I want to remember.  Remember this feeling for the rest of my life.”  You couldn’t look away as he stood so close to you, so proudly as if for an inspection. 

At the swath of hair that curled around the thick muscles of his chest and trailed down to disappear beneath the waist of the pants that hung low where his hands rested on his hips.

“What feeling is that?”

“Empty?”  You reached a hand out tentatively to touch the skin along his side.  To move him closer for a better look.  “But free.”

He was inked in a scattering of places, like memories collected over time.  No rhyme or symmetry to their arrangement.  A snake coiled around his shoulder and sunk its teeth into his collarbone.  A black bird with a long neck and hooked beak sat vigilantly on one bicep while a simple, unadorned dagger with wings claimed the other.

Some more weathered than others, it was hard to tell which was the oldest. 

“What’s the bird for?”  you asked, nodding to his left arm.  Below it was written “You’ll never walk alone” in stylized script. 

“That’s a liver bird.  The symbol of the LFC.”  A football club?  You cracked a smile at the boyishness of it.  You wondered if that was his first one, as a lad staking his claim on his body.  And the world.

“And the snake?”  You took your time tracing his right shoulder with your fingertips. 

“I hate snakes.  Scare me to death.”  Brave then, to carry one around with him always, forever creeping up to bite him. 

“And the bees?  You scared of them, too?”  You noted the collection of realistically drawn bumble bees at his side, fresher and with bright yellow colors. 

“Those are for my nieces.  Beatrice, Brenna and Bailey.”  He pointed to each, with a glimmer of softness in his voice as he recalled their names.

As you slid your hands to his hips, you turned him around to view the larger canvas at his back.  Just as disjointed as his front, your gaze fell to a ghostly face. 

More skeleton than specter, it sat on his right shoulder.  It’s teeth were made of bullets, and it stared blankly back at you.  The pitch black in the depths of its eyes unnerving. 

Beside it was a bear, warlike in its posture.  Its face open and fearsome, ready to consume its foe.  A claymore style longsword, with a thistle design at its hilt held in its massive paws.

One last piece balanced out the trinity.  A Knight Templar, crouched in armor.  On one bent knee, in service to a force unseen. 

They felt significant, inked in a similar style and with a fluidity that bound them together. 

“They’re important to you?”

“To be at my back?  Yeah.  They’re the best.”

From there, your fingers moved lower, to a set of four lions sat on their flanks.  You recognized them from history.  They were the Landseed lions of Admiral Nelson’s monument in Trafalgar Square.  They’d once held names too, like his nieces. 

Peace. War. Vigilance. Determination.

But these had arrows in their backs.  You imagined that each one in the count held a significance.  Not a life taken.  Or a victory.  Not something so crass and boastful.  Instead, something lost.

Below each, he’d had a set of coral red poppies added.  Bright and vibrant and new.

“It’s lovely,” you felt a tear drift down your cheek.  You didn’t know why.  It happened sometimes when you were at a museum or a gallery.  Moved beyond words at something beyond yourself.  The unbridled expression of another.

The last was a lone set of crosshairs, in a style so different than the rest.  Thin and unsure, as if doodled in a dream.  Just below his neck.  Dead-center at the crest of his spine.

“What’s this one?” You grazed it gently with your fingers.  Not entirely sure you wanted the answer.

“That’s the one that finally gets me, love,” he growled as he twisted around and held your probing hand in his.  “You’ve looked your fill.  Now it’s my turn.”

[bloobydabloob]

Any tips on getting better at realism? I've been drawing very cartoony works forever but I really want to branch out and draw more realistically and hone that style but Everytime I try it never feels human 😔

Suuuure. Sorry it’s fairly long, answer under the split thing.

I’d say mainly just practice drawing from reference first. Before I started doing any sort of more abstractive or non referential realism, I spent time practicing with maybe 20 or 30 paintings from reference.

Here are just some that I made during that time. I think they really really helped me to learn the principles of painting appealing realism, different kinds of people, color, skin, lighting, and anatomy.

In terms of actually drawing realism (whether from reference or not) I think the most important tip I can give, as well as the most overlooked ironally, is stylisation. Most realism that I see doesn’t connect at all with me which I think is maybe what you’re talking about when you say your portraiture doesn’t “feel human”.

Learning to draw realism in my eyes is largely about learning how to shortcut every single thing you can. So instead of drawing everything exactly how it is using an image, learn how to stylise realism in your own way. I find that if you don’t find a way to simplify the process, it can end up being A : Busy and B : hard for you to create more realistic images from imagination or from real life instead of photographs.

Here is a 40 minute drawing I just drew from a random photo I pulled off Pinterest + small explanation on what helps me to break down an image. I simplify realistic portraiture by adopting somewhat of an angular style, but the best realism / semi realism artists I know of draw realism using their own stylisation methods.

I also personally find that it helps to start by blocking in instead of sketching with lines, but I understand that this is a personal preference and might not work for you.

I also say this for everything but there is no “cheating” in art and anyone who tells you there is fundamentally doesn’t know anything about drawing, especially in the learning process. Cheat if you want. Use grids to plot where things will be, colorpick, trace, liquify, transform, whatever. Although I do also recommend that you only use this as a way to learn and don’t rely on it as a crutch, it helps a lot to be able to draw independently of all of these factors. But I learned to draw partially *by* being a kid who traced and colorpicked and fucked around. Who cares

This applies to everything too but just practice a lot. I’m too embarrassed to show but when I first starting drawing semi realistic art without reference it fucking sucked. Like *really* fucking sucked because I am extremely extremely faceblind and I mean that. It takes me 3 seasons of a show to recognise an actor’s face. But because I’ve drawn hundreds of faces now I know what I’m doing kind of. I also never post any realism art immediately because oftentimes if I don’t look at it for a day or two, I’ll come back to it and notice that something doesn’t look quite right. I would say that definitely helps.

ALSO very important but look at it from far away or a little version. I always look at my drawing in the digital navigator on FA and it helps me to notice when something looks dumb.

Anyways hope this helped at all… lalala. I don’t know man. Don’t take my words as bible I’m just some guy and I am also not a professional and realism is definitely not my strong suit. Tutorials are bullshit and if you think any of this advice sucks for you then don’t take it and forge your own path. Bless

[snakes-and-fluff]

Milgram drought be hitting hard... Anyway I was thinking what an anime of each prisoner's personal story might look like (assuming all isolated from each other and Milgram as a facility does not exist) ((also assume each 12 episodes long)) also assuming they're psychological dramas because. Milgram

Haruka: The main appeal is the artstyle, drawn like animated child's drawings for most of the time but a few scenes an episode is instead depicted in starkly realistic illustrations (not animated). It's told from the perspective of Haruka who keeps insisting he has a good life even as all the facts point otherwise, finally culminating in the murder late in the show, at which point the artstyle changes to be a strange mix of the previous two

Yuno: What first presents itself as a peppy slice-of-slice soon devolves into a painfully raw story of a teen girl. The winner of many awards but not that popular with most people who claim to find it too dry and boring

Fuuta: The murder happens towards the end of episode two but it isn't revealed to the audience exactly what happens until much later. Fuuta's behaviour clearly changes after that point and he keeps getting harassed by people who were previously friendly with him, but the actual flashback reveal is only in ep 8. The show leans very heavily into the "is he a bad person?" question and the fandom is known for starting debates about it in the comments of completely unrelated posts

Muu: It was a dark setup from the start but not many people expected a murder in episode 7. The anime switches POV between Muu and Rei until Rei dies, then it switches between Muu and a student counsellor (who doesn't know about the murder and is just trying to solve the bullying but the tension comes from the fact that the audience and Muu keep being worried about her potentially learning about the murder)

Shidou: The most niche of the bunch, some people weren't a fan of how medically accurate it was while others rejoiced in that fact. The whole thing is a flashback as it's established that Shidou has left the medical industry in the first episode but it is slowly revealed why and the circumstances behind his family's deaths as it goes on

Mahiru: Yuno's might have been a bit misleading at first but everyone who saw the promo material knew what was going down. Mahiru's managed to keep the dark twists under wraps, genuinely being sold as a cute love story though there were hints from the start. It's unclear when exactly the death happened because as it goes on it starts timeskipping and flashbacking without warning and it's clear that Mahiru isn't quite sure herself of what is actually happening

Kazui: Hinako is dead before the series even starts and it is actually told from the perspective of someone who works with Kazui slowly uncovering what happened out of morbid curiousity. Kazui is the very definition of unreliable narrator and nobody knows what to make of whatever information comes directly from him. Some fans don't like the way the show never seemed to decide on a single answer as to what happened while others praise it for it

Amane: The fandom is small but loud (though it is always recommended as "this one will tear your heart out"); the tale of a child embroiled in an awful home life, using a unique visual style of poppy colours and thick outlines to sharply contrast the horrible things being portrayed. The murder happens at the end of the last episode, giving the closest thing to a "happy ending" they could achieve for Amane, though it is left ambiguous what would happen to her next

Mikoto: Told in a non-chronological style, the reveal of the murder is towards the end (around episode 10) leaving the rest of the time as wrapup as Mikoto finally comes to accept the truth of the situation. There are still arguments in the fandom years after it ended if the murder was metaphorical or not

Kotoko: She's presented as a really cool vigilante at first but then it slowly unravels as she reveals more of her violent side and that her kill count is a LOT higher than previously thought. Her personality is divisive among fans but everyone can agree that the opening is a banger

DISCLAIMER: I just realised that some of these can be read as me throwing shade on the fans of a particular character; I promise 100% that isn't the case this was just a fun thought experiment!

[parisoonic]

I'm in love with how you draw characters (especially when you draw sniperscout and demoman in general), I'm unsure if you've answered a question like this before, but how do you figure out what to do with face shapes? It's hard to explain but the way you over-exaggerate certain features to make their design pop is so cool to me and I've never been able to do it for myself. That, and making faces look like.. well, faces.

thank you so much!!! hopefully i'm understanding you right...

Regarding the face shapes in TF2...we're all standing on the shoulders of the (excellent) design work already done and laid out. The characters have really nice distinct face shapes with some general overlap before you even consider that a lot of them have facial accessories which you can pick and choose from to help push facial silhouettes and peel apart characters that are a little similar.

Naff threshold filter heads to show silhouettes lol In order to exaggerate them - it's mainly about pushing and pulling the existing proportions and ratios of their faces IE: Making Medic's/Soldier's/Heavy's stupid large-chins even longer but sacrificing some of their forehead or eye-region. Varied proportions have a lot of 'rhythm' or 'appeal' and typically the human face can break down into the forehead (+ hair), eyes (I like to do a Batman style mask but people will often use the nose to form a triangle too) and then....everything else (chin, cheek etc).

Soldier, Heavy and Sniper all have REALLY similar proportional ratios but their silhouettes are really different (in both the x and z). When you add in that the 'default' way to view Soldier and Sniper is with their accessories they're all really nice and different. Funnily enough Sniper's 'eye mask' is teeny tiny with his visors off but this relationship changes with his sunglasses on. Kinda interesting... I sometimes like to think of visual vibe-based 'archetypes' when i'm drawing the tf2 guys. I don't have one for everyone yet but Heavy is sort of like 'handsome caveman' to me. Archetypally, cavemen are drawn with thick brows, small low foreheads and big chins. The 'handsome'-ness comes in when you apply a delicate approach to eyes, cheekbones, lips and with careful posing. Having this kind of visual-archetype in mind informs how I view the character as a whole and thus how i depict them! HOPEFULLY even if I drift away from how they actually look because the vibes are right...it feels right you know? There's also a sliding scale to me as to HOW you represent them. If the character is doing something goofy/stupid, drawing them less handsome and toonier can add levity. Obviouslyyyy you can have your handsome depictions making a dick joke (and that's its own sort of visual gag) but you'll notice in a lot of my images the straight-man gets drawn a little more...realistic? on-model? than the butt of the joke. It just feels more appropriate to me haha I'm using 'toonier' here to mean not only am I drawing fewer details but also exaggerating those ratios between areas of the face away from their 'default' ratio. like with most drawing-y things it's practice AND experimentation! i draw these guys differently depending on my mood and how generous i'm feeling towards their looks lol if you wanted tips on the construction of faces I really recommend checking out Griz and Norm's 'Tuesday Tips'. They're incredibly clear, concise and very approachable (and cover a variety of subjects!) Hopefully this link works? but if you search them on Pinterest and grab a cuppa, there's some AMAZING tips to be had here: https://www.pinterest.co.uk/search/pins/?q=griz%20and%20norm&rs=typed

[ranticore]

thinking about characters fursonas is always more fun to me than directly anthro-ifying them because it's not just a question of "what animal would they be" since before you can even ask that you have to figure out how they would pick a fursona, and i almost feel like that says more about a character than what animal they choose.

like. would they want an animal that represents their ideal self? something that represents how they see themself to be currently? and how well does that perception match up with these actual reality? or would they pick based on something less complicated like "favorite animal"/"movie character they liked”.

all that leadup to ask, how do you think your mvf guys would pick their fursonas?

💯💯💯 literally it's one of the most fun characterisation exercises you can do, it tells you SO much about them, how they view themselves, what they want others to think of them and so on. all that good stuff. and then you get to delve into furry subcultures, influential artists etc

so on to the actual fursoneys themselves

Jean-Baptiste - aforementioned hummingbird with a suit from idk clockworkcreature or something. the subculture/art style is realistic but very humanised, basically a bird head on a feathery human body, no wing-hands, with a Georgian style of dress (potentially with steampunk elements) and named after a famous scientist from the period. He would not be an artist, but he would be one of those ppl who's a bigtime engineer making huge money who invests heavily in commissions of art (usually traditional media like oils, colouring pencil, etc) and writing about this character, who is a kind of inventor/old-timey scientist with a highly detailed backstory and canon setting. He chose the hummingbird because it's beautiful, precise, and tenacious, and also just because he likes the 'rare fursona species' aura. He has VERY strong negative view on poodling (when someone wears a partial fursuit with their skin showing) and has been posting to the same old rp forum for the past 20 years. Rude and bitchy but one of those guys who always pays well and tips for commissions because money is no object. an important part of the economy

Bowman - exactly the opposite to everything above. His fursona is a retriever-ish dog called Dog or Mutt or something with a single-colour palette and the art style is new school big toothy grin etc. fursona exclusively wears board shorts. He draws at a beginner level and he's obviously having a blast with it. The muscles are very detailed (so's the bulge) & the art is clearly bara influenced, especially around the eyes. He wouldn't have any interest in suiting i don't think but you will find him at the furry rave in a neoprene harness. He wouldn't have much money to commission with and his twitter feed would be mostly reposts of other people's art (without permission)

Islin - ok you know that one genre of art style used exclusively by dragon furries where it's got realistic scale textures, backgrounds, and the ref sheets are usually incredibly detailed and the dragons in their anthro forms are always absurdly ripped. He can draw this, i know it in my heart. The design is pretty generic western dragon, all things considered, I don't think he has the imagination for more (sorry). Character's name is something appropriately fantasy-ish like Xyrgoryx. He could definitely take commissions as a side hustle but as a perfectionist and professional worrier it would overwhelm him easily. You would probably not find him at a convention at all, I'd say such spaces do not appeal to him. He's been on Furcadia tho.

Félix - generic twinky fox in a thin-lines washboard abs disney-inspired art style with an absurdly deep backstory which we never get to see because the character is only ever drawn being railed. He can draw but more importantly he knows how to take the commissioner's money and run, delete his account, and remake under a different username. Was able to afford a fullsuit from Made Fur You and that alone gave him enough clout to continually avoid allegations of past misbehaviour. Every so often someone goes "hey isn't that a known scammer" when they see him at a con but it never sticks. Later he would get cancelled immediately for saying he "didn't care about" right-wing furries as long as their art was cute.

Senca - Almost certainly a feline-based original species or hybrid. The art style is very goldenwolf with spiritual/neopagan influences, mostly traditional media and ACEOs in oil pastel so it's got a kind of smudgy look. Her character has the same name as her and she considers it a 'truesona' of sorts. She's an established artist and well-respected but struggles to keep up with what Tha Youth are doing and her personal website has looked the same since the year 2006. She has a realistic partial suit but doesn't wear it much anymore, preferring to vend at the dealer's den instead. She always knows way too much gossip about any given person you could point out to her but she insists she isn't involved in what she'll delicately & vaguely refer to as 'drama'.

Léa - she was attracted by the promise of easy entry into a supportive and friendly readymade community and bought an expensive Closed Species design to be her fursona. She tried to participate in events but instead got sucked into a cesspit of petty warfare between her CS community and a very similar CS with design elements that may have been inspired by hers (after all, 'dog with kinda long pointy ears and a big fluffy tail' is VERY copyrightable). She goes along with it, afraid of losing her space in the panopticon discord community by voicing a dissenting opinion and it'll eat her up from the inside. until one day she wakes up and realises she paid €400 to gossip and participate in a group that bans you from adding horns to your fursona's head (a legendary trait restricted to the CS owner and their favourite sycophants) whose main form of bonding ritual seems to be reposting their enemies' art to mock it and colour-pick to prove the palettes were copied. She explains all this to Bowman in one big tearful rant on their first offline date at Eurofurence and he helps her get away from that community.

Helena - that was her copyrighted closed species. and she IS litigious about it.

Erica - it's a pine marten in a modern sketchy "just got an ipad and procreate" style, really cute, fun design, good coordinating outfit, honestly ticks all the boxes but then 5 days after he posts that awesome themed ref sheet he's got a brand NEW fursona and this time it's a cute lil jackdaw, again lovely design all around looks great but wait no in 5 days time it's a roe deer, no wait it's an otter, it's a gecko, it's a

Pascal - a sick as hell cartoony golden eagle with an electric guitar and sunglasses and you can imagine it airbrushed onto the side of a campervan because that's where it lives. he's strictly offline, doesn't know what a furry is, never been on twitter, but he is 100% certain in his heart that this bird is a true representation of himself