#Shadow and silhouette drawings my beloved

[probablyanalienindisguise]

Bugs ‼️‼️

[marsbutterfly]

Too Sweet

Summary: For the past few weeks, Hanji has locked themselves away in their office, away from prying eyes, including your own. But your heart can clearly tell when something is wrong with your beloved.

a/n: hey everyone <3 this story is entirely based on the cover art by my amazing artist friend @kylekoraki ! please show them some love and everyone say "thank you" to kyle for drawing this! <3 here's their twitter as well <3

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: canon setting, fem!reader, non-binary!hanji zoe, no warnings really, just some heavy kissing. not really beta read, we die like men <3

 ao3 | wattpad | cover by: @kylekoraki | wc: 4.2k

You knock on the door. Once, twice, thrice. No answer. A grunt escapes your lips and you roll your eyes, repeating the action. Once, twice, thrice. Nothing again. Now a frown takes the place of the smile that used to rest on your face, you know they are in there, you can hear the papers being shuffled around, the tapping of their pen, the shadow of their body as they pass by the door, even faintly the sound of the ice that clinks around their whiskey glass.

You raise your hand to knock again, but before you even have the chance, the door opens. Barely enough for any light to make it through but you see the faint silhouette of Hanji's lips pouting. "You know that when someone doesn't answer, it means they want to be left alone, right?" Their voice is low, almost as if they are making sure to remain quiet to not attract any more unnecessary attention.

"But... it's me.." you respond just as softly, a pout of your own forming, "I'm not like other people."

“y/n…” They begin, moving their glasses from the spot on their face towards the top of their head, pushing their bangs backward in the meantime. Their brown eyes stare at you for what feels like forever, their mind hiding behind an ocean of thoughts and an expression you can’t quite decipher this time around.

They want you to stay, to hold you in their arms as they sit here in the comforting silence of your presence, but instead, they shake their head, trying their best to remove any thoughts of what your warmth would do to them. A heavy sigh makes its way past their lips, the eyebags under their eyes more present than ever as they begin to talk again.

“Please, I’m fine,” they respond. What Hanji fails to realize is that their voice did a slight tremble, not noticeable to anyone else but you know them better than the palm of your own hand. They are the pure representation of your heart beating outside of your chest, so seeing them in such distress is enough to make you act against direct orders, consequences be damned.

“You are not,” you respond. Their office is a mess, their research papers scattered around with drawings and models of flying boats, new weapons, and ways to improve the Survey Corps all around. A thousand and one ideas, some connecting and some just scattered around the wind. 

The whiskey bottle that until a few weeks ago rested full to the brim on their bookshelf now finds itself on its last few sips, the curtains are drawn so no amount of light other than the small candles at the edge of their table can exist in the room and you even notice a few shards of broken glass, probably meaning that they have dropped a cup or two, either from exhaustion or from not being able to see in the dark.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” You ask, gently taking the whiskey glass out of their hand. You notice a small blush creeping its way onto their cheeks as their eyes pointedly avoid yours and, by these simple reactions, you can tell it has been a while, “You’re losing weight.”

They try to reach for the glass once more but you shake your head, pulling it further away. Even though they are stronger than you and could easily take it back if they wanted to, they don't. Instead, Hanji leans against their desk, crossing their arms in front of their chest as they let out a heavy sigh. They want to lie, to tell you they are fine, and pretend like nothing is wrong, but before a single false promise about their well-being can make its way past their lips, you speak up again.

“I can tell you haven’t been sleeping,” your voice is soothing, not an ounce of frustration or anger behind it, just plain worry. You take a step closer, fully prepared for another rejection but it doesn’t come this time around, though you still don’t dare take a deep breath until the moment your fingertips brush against their left cheek, just slightly beneath their eyepatch, “you look exhausted.”

“Now that’s just rude!” An exhausted chuckle escapes their lips as they nuzzle their face into your hand, their expression contorting from anguish to a somewhat relaxed one and it causes your heart to nearly stop for a second before between at three times the usual speed, you are convinced they can hear it from where they stand. “I’ll have you know that I look awesome.”

It’s your turn to chuckle, your worries melting away for simply a second before coming back at full force, knowing way too well that redirecting attention and humor have always been Hanji’s favorite ways of avoiding a serious conversation.

“Hanji…” You start, your tone of voice sounding just as exhausted and defeated as theirs. It drags a loud sigh out of their chest, but as their mouth opens to complain, you continue, a begging tone in your voice as your eyes fill with unwashed tears, “Please, just talk to me.”

That look is enough to cause a painful bang to shoot throughout their body, their heart dropping to their stomach with the knowledge that it is their fault that you look this way. So, without even realizing it, they are already taking a couple of steps forward, hands tightly grasping at your hips as they lean their forehead against yours.

“I’ve just been so busy,” they whisper, the broken tone in their voice creates a tight knot in your throat and the sensation only grows stronger as they continue to speak, “Paperwork, meetings, and any free time I have I go to the lab, trying to complete some old experiments I’ve had from years ago. Even if I try to sleep, I just… Lay there, staring at the ceiling, maybe getting two or three hours here and there.”

You sigh, your arms immediately wrapping around their neck as you pull them close. Their eyelashes bat against the skin of your neck as they close their eyes, a shaky breath escaping them as they inhale your scent, focusing on the way your body feels and smells.

At that moment, an idea hits you. Without disturbing the hug, you look around the messy room, quickly taking in the setting before noticing that, for once, their couch rests next to the window, uncluttered and undisturbed. 

Reluctantly, you pull away from them and the first thing you can hear is a grunt of disapproval. Once your eyes meet again, their pupils are so big, they could only be compared to a puppy dog that has just discovered steak for the first time, pleading, begging even, “Why’d you do that?”

Without an answer, your hand slides with theirs, fingers lacing and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Their palm is slightly wet, though you can’t quite place if it is from the condensation from the whiskey glass they held earlier or if it is from nervous sweats. Regardless, all you can focus on is how warm their presence feels close to you.

You don’t speak, instead, you just guide their body towards the couch, their feet dragging behind you, “what are we doing?” They ask, their eyes already fighting to remain open in a combination of the exhaustion and the fuzzy feeling from being drunk, the comfort you bring them doesn’t help either. They are clearly forcing themselves to stay awake, wanting to spend all of this time with you instead of stubbornly trying to push you away.

“We are not doing anything,” you respond, taking a seat on the couch. Your free hand brushes against the spot next to you and they quickly catch onto what you are hinting, your words finally clicking in their head as they flash you a confused look, “You, on the other hand, are going to sleep for a while.”

Their eyes widen for a second as your words take them by surprise, a small groan of protest making its way past their chapped lips, “mmmmm, noo, I can’t… I have so much work that I need to get done… I don’t... Have time to sleep.”

Carefully, you bring your hand towards the back of their head, pulling the ponytail holder out of their hair to make sure they are more comfortable for the next step, which includes guiding their head down towards your thighs. It doesn’t take much effort nor does Hanji put up much of a fight, their body is completely exhausted after all.

“Mmmm,” they whine, their voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and stubbornness, almost like a child who refuses to lay down for nap time, but once again, they don’t put up a fight, “damn it, how could I ever say no to you?”

“You can’t,” you chuckle, your fingers beginning to comb through the knots in their hair, detangling the strands, your nails gently scratching their scalp while you are at it, “I promise I will be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your words are soft, carrying so much love that it is almost impossible for Hanji not to melt on the spot. The warmth of your legs combined with the feeling of your fingers going through their hair is finally enough to relax their overly exhausted body, their eyes finally closing and you use your free hand to remove their glasses, hanging it up on the neckline of your shirt.

“Finnneeeee,” Hanji whines once more, turning their body over so their face is buried in your stomach, their slim body now curled into a small ball on the couch and you can’t help but smile at the sight, “but do not let me sleep for more than thirty minutes. An hour, tops.”

You lift your eyes slightly to take a look at the clock on the wall, a gift from Kiyomi to celebrate your relationship. Silently, you take note of the time and look back down at your beloved, a soft, whispered “okay” leaving your lips.

“I’m serious,” Their voice starts sounding more sluggish by the second, their mind already starting to drift off but they fight back sleep for a few extra minutes, just enough to finish the conversation between the two of you, their voice extremely drowsy, “I’ll be mad if you don’t wake me up.”

“I would not dream of doing such a thing,” you respond, unsure if they recognize the mischievous tone in your words or not, but truly hoping that, if they do, they are simply choosing to ignore it. Even so, the way you speak brings them so much comfort, a sense of peace they haven’t felt since becoming commander, “just sleep, my love. I’ll be here.”

The moment Hanji hears you whisper that promise, the certainty that you will be here when they wake up, it’s like a switch flips inside of their mind and they finally allow their body to relax against your touch. Much like a cat, they purr as you continue to run your fingers through their hair, unable to avoid the smile that is now stamped on their lips.

“Thank you, love you,” they whisper, their voice is barely audible and you almost miss it. You don’t even have time to respond before they are completely asleep, the weight of the countless sleepless days finally catching up with their body.

When the first hour passes, you look up from your book, your eyes landing on the clock before making their way down towards Hanji’s face. They look so peaceful, their breathing is so calm and even that it soothes your own worries away and it takes every ounce of your strength not to lay down and nap with them. 

The decision to let them continue their slumber is an easy one. Eventually, you notice a small smile that tugs the corner of their lips in their sleep and you can’t help but wonder and hope that they are dreaming of you. Nevertheless, your fingers continue to go through the strands of their hair, even if it makes flipping the pages of your book a bit difficult, you manage to find a solution by placing it down on the armrest of the couch before using your pinky and ring fingers to hold the object down while the remaining digits flip towards the next page.

Another hour goes by and you start to ponder if you should wake them up. Maybe letting them sleep for this long wasn’t such a good idea, especially since you know they have to return to their duties as commander of the Survey Corps, such as continuing their research and sketching plans for the flying boat. But you can see it in their expression, the small specs of the bubbly person they used to be finally showing back up on their features as they sleep, small reminders of the bright light that has saved you from darkness more times than you can count.

You gasp softly when Hanji stirs slightly in your lap, your heart clenching in your chest as you continue to look down at them, scared that you moved too much and it caused them to wake up. Their expression is still undisturbed, almost like a cat that has just found the warmest spot on the window sill and you catch yourself smiling at them. A silly, love-sick smile that only they can bring out of you.

As the third-hour rolls by and you are trying to convince yourself that it is time to wake them up, you hear a knock on the door and your entire body freezes. You find yourself torn by the two options:

1) Do you say something loudly enough for the person on the other side to hear and risk waking Hanji up in a stressful way before throwing them directly into a situation in which they need to be the Commander, and not the bubbly Hanji Zoe you once loved so dearly.

2) You silently hope that the soldier on the other side will either go away soon or open the door quietly. The couch, though it is by the window, still has a perfect view of the front door to their office, so the person would quickly notice the situation and you would be able to calmly wake Hanji at your own pace, without any negative or stressful interactions.

A second, more forceful knock comes and you notice Hanji slowly starting to shift on your lap. The annoyed expression on your face morphs into one of anger and, as the shadow on the door side moves to knock for a third time, you decide to throw a pillow at the surface.

The person stops midway with their movements before their hand slowly comes to rest on the knob, twisting it slightly as the door quietly swings open. In front of you stands a very nervous scout, one of the new recruits, who hasn’t even been able to choose a specialty yet. His hands are trembling and he nearly drops the stack of papers he holds in his grasp, eyes bugging out of his skull as he looks at you and the sleeping figure on your legs.

“P-paperwork… F-for the C-Commander…” His voice is quiet and trembling, almost as if he is stepping directly into a monster’s lair. You realize in this moment just how intimidating Hanji is in everyone else’s perspective but your own and you can’t help but smile. You nod and gesture your head towards their desk, placing your index finger in front of your lips.

“I-it’s from… Instructor S-Shadis,” he says in the quietest of whispers, but you could already tell. Keith Shadis’ ugly handwriting was something you could identify from a mile away if you had to, “r-reports about… T-the ranking c-ceremony.”

“Thank you,” you mouth the words softly, your fingers moving on Hanji’s hair. They look so small and calm, almost like a harmless kitten, a direct contrast to the authoritative figure that can command an entire room with just a single look in their eye.

The boy nods, his trembling legs making their way towards the wooden table and carefully placing the new stack of paper next to the old ones, trying his best to make sure it is neatly organized while desperately avoiding eye contact with you. He does a quick salute towards you before eagerly exiting the room and you can nearly hear his breath of relief once he is out of sight, outside the closed doors.

You shake your head before looking down at Hanji once more to see a smile on their face. You roll your eyes, “how long have you been awake for?”

The smile on their face grows bigger, their eyes opening slowly to look at you, still a blurry image from the lack of their glasses but still enough for their heart to beat slightly faster, “since the first knock.” Of course, you think to yourself, “How long was I asleep for?”

You look at the clock, and a part of you wants to lie, say it’s only been thirty minutes or so but when you look out the window, you realize the sun has already started to set, making it impossible for such a thing to be even remotely believable. You sigh again.

“Around three hours…” You respond in a sheepish voice, avoiding their gaze. Immediately, Hanji sits up, placing their glasses above the bridge of their nose and looking at the clock on the wall. Once they look back at you, you can see the slightly irritated expression on their face and you feel like you could just shrink and disappear under such a harsh gaze.

“y/n, you promised!” They blur out and you can tell it isn’t anger or irritation… It’s an intense pile of anxiety, hidden behind the harsh facade they attempt to put up. They’re scared that something went wrong in the period they have been sleeping, like the Survey Corps might have fallen apart and they were doing something so useless such as taking a nap. A single thought is going through their mind, those words they have been chanting like a mantra since the fateful day in Shiganshina.

Erwin Would Never.

You stand up a mere second after them, watching closely as their hands grip the edges of the desk and their head hangs low, hips tilted forward in a desperate attempt to hold themselves upright. It breaks your heart to see them like this and, no matter how much you agree with Erwin that Hanji should be the next Commander, you can’t forgive him for leaving such a massive responsibility on their shoulders.

So your arms wrap around their waist, your cheek finding a perfect spot in the area between their shoulder blades. You nuzzle your face against their vest, nearly purring as you do. The smell of Hanji’s skin, mixed with a little bit of sweat as a result of their nap awakens the butterflies in your stomach and the only thing able to bring you out of your thoughts is the broken sound of their voice.

“How long were you going to let me sleep for?” They whisper, a hint of desperation behind their tone and you notice they are shaking. You tighten your grip around them.

“For as long as you needed,” you respond and, at the sound of their quiet sob, your heart shatters. “You haven’t been eating or sleeping, you are drinking in the middle of the day and, well, you are pulling away from me.”

With a long sigh, they turn around, a defeated expression on their face, “Y/n, I’m a mess. I’ve always been a mess. I’m always overthinking things, I’m mean, I’m stubborn, please. I need to catch up on my work, it’s so much paperwork and it just keeps piling up…”

“Hanji, you’re spiraling,” you whisper, fingertips almost featherlike as they brush against their arm. You hope and pray and nearly fall to your knees begging that they will listen to your voice, that they will give you time to make your case and prove that they are so much more than anything they are thinking, but they continue.

“Erwin’s one mistake was making someone like me the commander,” they whisper in the most defeated tone you have ever heard. It’s like something in your mind snaps and you immediately grab a hold of their wrist, flipping them around before pressing your body against theirs on the table.

“Now you listen to me and you listen good,” your voice is stern in a way Hanji had never heard before, it’s filled with pain, heartache, and still so much love, “Erwin wouldn’t have made you Commander if he didn’t think you would be a perfect choice. And I agree.”

Hanji wants to protest, they want to contradict you but the desperate look in your eyes convinces them to remain silent. Instead, they focus all of their attention on your words, into the amount of effort it takes you not to break into tears as you listen to their self-deprecating words, the doubt in their mind. They focus on the way your lips move and how desperately they want to kiss you.

“You are the reason why we were able to eradicate titans outside the wall, you created the thunder spears that were enough to scare off the armored titan,” you continue, the trembling in your hands is so intense you can barely contain your grip on them but you don’t let go nevertheless, “Moblit sacrificed himself for you because he believed you could guide us towards the world outside the walls. Erwin entrusted the Survey Corps to you because you are the most brilliant person any of us has ever seen. Please, just… Tell me you at least believe me.”

They don’t respond, not because they don’t want to, but because their voice won’t come out. It’s as if their brain has lost connection with their vocal chords and all they can focus on is the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes. 

So in one swift move, Hanji grabs a hold of your wrist and immediately switches places with you. You can’t help but yelp quietly, especially when you feel their hands grasping at the back of your thighs as they lift you. Your hands reach behind you, carefully assessing the area while trying not to mix any of their paperwork, but Hanji doesn’t have a single care in the world that isn’t you at this moment.

Their eyes hungrily stare at your lips and, with a silent nod of their head, you push away all the papers that were once so neatly organized on their desk. Once you are sitting down and your legs wrap around their waist, Hanji wastes no time in sealing their lips with yours, a delighted hum escaping your body once they do.

You wrap your arms around their neck, allowing your fingers to venture through the messy strands of their hair. Their fingers dig into your hips, strong enough to nearly leave a few bruises but neither of you care, the need you have for each other overwhelms any and every other one of your senses.

Their tongue slowly glides on your lower lip before they gently take it in between their teeth, pulling the skin towards them. After a few seconds, they let go and immediately begin to silently beg for entrance, using the tip of their tongue to nudge your lips apart and it doesn’t take you long to indulge.

They pull you closer to themselves, your bodies pressed together without a single inch of free space as they hold you, nearly afraid that you might disappear the second they loosen their grip. It’s the first time you have kissed in what feels like forever, even if it has been just a few weeks.

You can’t help but focus on the taste of whiskey in their mouth, it’s completely different from anything ever made inside the Walls. It nearly tastes “expensive”, for the lack of a better word. It’s been hours since they have last taken a sip and the flavor is still so vivid on their tongue. So much so that it nearly burns once your saliva begins mixing.

It’s only when the need for air becomes unbearable that the two of you pull away, a small string of saliva connecting your bodies. You run your tongue over your lip, breaking that connection and still getting one last taste of them. The sight causes a shiver to run down Hanji’s spine and they smile, gently placing their forehead against yours.

“I needed that,” they whisper, a smile stamped across their face and you nod, “I’m sorry for pushing you away, I’m just… Having a lot of big feelings that I couldn’t express but I have you now.”

“It’s okay, just don’t forget that I am here for and with you, okay?” You whisper back in a love-filled voice and they smile once more, nodding their head as their grip around you tightens ever so slightly, “You still taste like home.”

“Yeah? And what does that taste like?” They chuckle, nuzzling their nose against yours, enough that you can feel their glasses against your face.

“Like expensive whiskey,” you respond and Hanji laughs, the sound you’ve missed most these past few weeks and you are reminded yet again that home is whatever, wherever and whenever you are with them. No matter what.

[hisui-dreamer]

Okay I spent a while thinking of flowers and decided that I'd rather be simple, and give Jamil a bouquet of Gladiolus and Morning Glory based on our birth months ^^ (also, a thought- there's no reason for these same flowers from our world to exist in TW, maybe similar looking ones, but not the same. So imagine prefect cultivating flowers to look like flowers they know, specifically for their beloved 😭💕)

clandestine meetings and longing stares

Pairing: Jamil Viper x gn!reader

Synopsis: your love for each other was never allowed, but that never stopped your feelings for each other

Tags: secrets relationship, pining, fluff, reader is not yuu

Word count: 1k+

Notes: so sorry this took so long kirexa!! my assignments put me in an a really bad slump,,, i hope you'll like the direction i took for the flowers hehe <3

Masterlist

flowers of choice:

gladiolus: secret meeting

morning glory: reunion of lovers

The gardens of the Asim estate hold secrets woven into their very essence, secrets that only unveiled themselves beneath the soft shroud of night.

Tonight, like many nights before, you tread the familiar path, the same path you’ve always walked with your heart pounding with anticipation. With bare feet, you move briskly, aware of each step, careful not to disrupt the delicate silence of the night.  

Anticipation and adrenaline run through your veins like wildfire, fuelling your steps as you ventured deeper into the heart of the gardens. The moon casts its ethereal glow upon the landscape, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. Each rustle of leaves, each whisper of the wind, seems to beckon you forward, urging you to hasten your pace.

Arriving at the secluded alcove, your heart soars with elation as you behold Jamil standing amidst the ethereal glow of the moon. His silhouette seems sculpted by the soft radiance, a vision of serenity amidst the night's embrace.

"Jamil," you breathe his name like a prayer, relief flooding through you at the sight of him.

"Ya amar," his voice, soft as a breeze, wraps around you like a comforting embrace.

In mere moments, you find yourselves entwined once again. You melt into his embrace, his touch enveloping you in a comforting warmth, a sensation that instantly makes you feel at home.

Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent symphony of emotions cascading between you, conveying depths of love that words could never adequately express. In the stolen moment, you allow yourself to forget the rigid boundaries imposed by your stations in life, the weight of your familial expectations, and simply exist in the blissful sanctuary of Jamil's arms.

All the weariness of weeks spent apart dissipates like mist under the morning sun, replaced by a sense of wholeness that only his presence can provide. As you reluctantly pull back, your breaths mingling in the cool night air, your foreheads pressed together in a silent affirmation of your connection.

"I've missed you," Jamil confesses, his words a balm to the ache in your own heart.

"And I, you," you reply, reaching out to cup his face, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features as if committing them to memory. With a soft smile, you pull back slightly from his embrace, gazing into his charcoal-grey eyes with tender curiosity. "Tell me," you urge gently, your voice barely more than a whisper in the tranquil night air. "How has school been? Are you adjusting well to the second year?"

Jamil's expression softens as he meets your gaze, a flicker of warmth dancing in his eyes. "It's been... challenging," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness.

Each word he utters is painted with the hues of his experiences, drawing you into the vivid tapestry of his school life. He begins to weave intricate tales of his persistent classmate, the one who incessantly seeks his assistance in his business ventures, caring for your older brother, ensuring his well-being and academic progress, and many other intriguing classmates.

You listen intently, a soft chuckle escaping your lips from time to time as you find yourself captivated by his tales. His voice, smooth as silk, washes over you like a gentle caress, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort and familiarity. It's a voice you've always cherished, one that resonates deep within your soul, and in this moment, no recording could ever compare to the warmth of having him speak softly into your ears.

“I feel a lot better now, being back home, with you..." He trails off, a fond smile gracing his lips as he squeezes your hand gently.

In response, you tighten your grip on his hand, leaning in to nuzzle your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so glad you're back," you murmur softly, your words a whispered prayer of gratitude.

Oh, how you ache for the freedom to love him openly, to cast aside the heavy cloak of secrecy and fear that weighs upon your shoulders. To intertwine your fingers with his in broad daylight, to lose yourself in the depths of his gaze without the lurking shadows of doubt. To bask in the radiant glow of his affection beneath the sun's golden rays, unencumbered by judgment or retribution.

But how could you? Your families, entrenched in generations of tradition, would recoil at the mere suggestion of your union. To reveal your love openly would be to invite catastrophe, risking the fragile harmony of their world. You know all too well they would send Jamil away, far, far away to somewhere you could never reach, before marrying you off to someone else they deem suitable to fully extinguish the flame of your love.

And yet, you still find yourself yearning for more – for the liberation to proclaim your love from the highest rooftops, to unveil the depth of your devotion to the world without hesitation or constraint. It’s not lost on you how attractive your lover is, his captivating dark features that could ensnare anyone’s heart, and his perfect competence in all facets of life. He would make a brilliant husband.

Just the thought of him marrying another, belonging to someone else, ignites a fierce flame within your soul. The thought of him caring for another sets your heart ablaze with an intensity you cannot ignore. You find yourself holding him tighter, as if by sheer force of will, you could keep him tethered to you.

“Jamil?”

"Hm?" he paused, placing tender kisses into your hair.

"How much longer?" you murmured into his neck, the words carrying the weight of your shared longing, your shared struggle.

He didn't need you to elaborate. Jamil understood the depth of your question, the ache that echoed through every syllable. How much longer must your love remain hidden, relegated to stolen moments beneath the cloak of night, until he could proudly declare to the world that you belonged to him?

"... I don't know, ya amar," he replied, his arms tightening around you.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Dawning Oasis ILLUSTRATION BY ROBYN!!! *falling over in happiness*

I do not know if there is a greater joy for a writer than for a beloved artist to have drawn something from their words. I was able to commission @haykebyr aka @dredgensimp and of course I begged for Drifteris.

To my great delight she chose to draw a scene from my story A Dawning Oasis.

The Drifter’s eyes shifted as he talked to a visiting guardian in the Annex, tracking movement behind them. For just a moment his entire face lit up in uncharacteristic glee and then he resumed his usual detached-but-friendly expression. His smile never faltered as he accepted the dark chocolate motes being gifted to him.

He nodded appreciatively at the guardian transmatting away and then his eyes flicked back, snake-like, to focus on the silhouette of an additional shadow in the Annex doorway, his smile becoming a delighted grin. Eris Morn stepped out of the darkness, her green glowing orb in her hands.

“And here I thought my Dawning couldn’t get any better!” The Drifter flipped the coin in his hand into the upturned helmet on his work table, landing it perfectly without even looking at it, as he stepped forward, arms wide offering a hug he knew she would decline. “How’s everyone’s favourite former Hive god doin’ today?”

“Germaine,” Eris glanced over her shoulder before walking up to him swiftly until she was close enough to reach out and lay her hand lightly on his wrist. “I have come seeking refuge.”

“Any time, anywhere, Three-Eyes,” he said, his voice flirtatious while his eyes flicked over her face, carefully analyzing. His gloved hand shifted to brush his armoured knuckles up against the inside of her wrist through her own gloves. She did not flinch away.

“I find myself wearing thin, my composure fraying. It is worse than usual this year. I seek solace… a respite from the near-constant persecution.”

A look of concern came over his face. The flirtatious grin was gone. “Of course Moondust,” he said quietly. “Is it… nightmares?”

“No. I can handle those. I can handle the screaming of the Hive through the ascendant plane. I can handle the whispers. What I cannot handle is…” She looked up at him and sighed deeply, her hand on his arm tensing. “...the cookies.”

The Drifter threw his head back and laughed. “Sick of ascendant oatmeal raisin already? Wanna trade? He spread his free hand out and indicated the set of small boxes piled up on his work table. I have enough dark chocolate motes to last me for the next century. Don’t tell our heroes, but I’ve been sneaking down to the Eliksni quarter every night and redistributing the Dawning cheer.”

“I have nowhere to redistribute mine. They are in piles everywhere. On my work tables, on my ritual surfaces, on the bed, the counter, the floor. I trip on them when I wake. I stumble over them when I try to go to sleep. Even now I fear well-meaning guardians will find me here with you and inflict more upon me.” She stepped closer to him, her voice a low whisper. “If I were to never see an ascendent raisin again, or any raisin for that matter, I would not sorrow.”

His eyes glittered in delight at her willing invasion of his personal space.

“Got a gambit match starting in seven minutes,” he said quietly, not wanting her to move away. “Come up to the Derelict with me and watch the show? Best seat in the house, and��� not a single cookie on the entire rig.”

He raised an eyebrow enticingly, tilting his head.

“None at all?” Eris asked hopefully.

“Derelict’s a cookie-free zone, Moondust. Not only that but anyone transmitting on board, that ain’t with yours truly, goes straight to the gambit ready room. They won’t be able to find ya if you’re with me. No festivities. No decorations. No well-wishers. And…” He waved his hand with a dramatic flourish. “...not a single baked treat to be found. A veritable oasis in the overwhelming oppression of holiday cheer.”

He grinned and leaned forward playfully as he spoke, expecting her to draw back or bristle in her usual frustration with his constant flirting. She did not move away.

“I would very much appreciate coming with you.” Her three green eyes stared at him earnestly from behind the cloth wrapped around them, her hand still on his wrist, a look of relief on her face apparent even through her perpetual black paracausal tears.

Time seemed to slow as they lingered in each other’s space longer than was necessary or normal for either of them. He caught his breath and leaned in even closer. She still didn’t pull away.

The obnoxious clang of the Drifter’s pre-game alarm rang out and Eris jumped back with a start, her now-free hand frosting over instinctively to defend herself.

He swallowed, blinking, a frustrated smile on his lips over the ruined moment.

“Five minutes till go time,” he explained, wistfully.

Eris relaxed, the frost dissipated from her fingers.

“You comin’ with?”

She nodded.

“All aboard the escape-from-Dawning express!” He held out his hand once more.

She took it eagerly and firmly in a way that made him briefly hold his breath without realizing he was doing it.

The world shimmered around them as the Drifter’s transmat kicked in and transported them. They appeared in a small room with consoles on three sides and sixteen monitors all showing different views of the same area.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back,” he said, squeezing her hand and releasing it with reluctance before walking through the door, out onto the catwalk.

Eris watched him through the doorway, out of view from the people below. The rogue lightbearer stepped up the metal stairs to his usual platform, tumbling his coins across his knuckles.

“All right, all right, all right. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He looked back at her with a grin and a glint in his eyes briefly before turning back to the guardians assembled for the game. “Hive!” He held up the coin. “Bring a sword.”

Eris heard the murmurs from the participants and listened as several of them swapped out their weapons and gear while the Drifter continued with his pregame patter.

“I’ve always wanted a pet Hive.” He said as he tossed a coin from one hand to the other, flipped it in the air and bounced it off of his ankle. “The ascendent plane must have all kinds of…” He spun around with a grin to wink at her before turning back to the group on either side of him. “...I’m oversharing.” He whirled his arms at the elbows and pointed forward. “Transmat is go!”

He sauntered back into the room with a grin.

“A pet Hive?” she asked him. “Really?”

“I mean, outside of the mass-murderin’ psychopathy and universe-spanning genocide, they’re really just overgrown shrimps, right?”

Eris Morn, Bane of the Swarm, from whom the Hive had taken everything, glared at him reproachfully.

“Besides,” he continued as he walked past her, turning to look into her surgically and magically implanted eyes as he moved toward the console, “on the right person, Hive eyes can be weirdly cute.”

Eris tensed and the soulfire-glow in her eyes flared.

“Not to mention,” he continued, “...cook ‘em right and they’re delicious, make ya see colours for days.”

“Watch yourself, Rat,” she growled through clenched teeth.

He picked up a headset and pushed a button by his ear. “Lock and load, hotshot,” he spoke into the microphone. “Bring those motes to the bank.” He pushed the button again.

“Awww don’t be mad-mad, Moondust. You know I only tease you so much cuz I like you.”

She tilted her head in surprise at the forthrightness of his statement. He stepped close to her, gently touching her elbow. She looked down at his hand and back up at him but did not pull away.

“I’ve got maybe two minutes before I have to say somethin’ again.” His voice was warm now, gentle. “Let me make it up to you. Can I start ya some tea?”

She sighed deeply, her irritation leaving her. “An acceptable peace offering. I would like tea, yes.”

“Sit down in the chair. I’ll be right back.” His eyes sparkled as he walked backwards into the hall before slipping through a doorway.

Eris stood still for a moment, considering his offer. Then she walked to the chair at his console and sat down stiffly, resting her soulfire wreathed Ahamkara bone in her lap.

Not much later, the Drifter reappeared beside her to push two buttons which lit up blue when he touched them. He tapped the mute button on his headset. “Hostiles, incoming at the beach!” he barked excitedly into the microphone. Then he hit the button on his headset again.

“Water’s set to boil.” His voice was soft again. “When’s the last time you ate, Crota’s Bane?”

“I… do not remember. Probably this morning? It was this morning, yes.”

He crouched down next to her, folded his arms on the arm rest for the chair she was sitting in, looking up at her. “I got soup in the crock pot. Been cookin’ all day. Hot and ready. I was gonna have some for dinner now. There’s lots. Will you eat it if I bring you some?”

“Is it made of Hive eyeballs?”

“No. It’s made of chicken, lentils, vegetables and a creamy coconut curry. It’s good. You’ll like it. Trust.”

“That… does sound nice.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes.”

He half-stood and reached across the console, leaning across her and bringing his face close to hers. Eris tilted her head quizzically at him but did not move away. He pushed two more buttons which turned blue like the first two. He then pressed the button on his headset, his nose still inches from hers. “Incoming hostiles, at the trees,” he called out before clicking the mute button again.

He stayed there, close, his eyes lingering first on her lips, then looking back into her eyes, and then back to her lips. The corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile. The Drifter’s eyes half-closed and opened his mouth to say something when a shrill continuous whistle pierced their ears from the hallway behind them. They both flinched away from each other in alarm.

He blinked several times, the frustrated smile once more on his face.

“Hmmm…” There was a hint of gentle amusement in her tone.

He opened his mouth as though he were about to say something to her and then shook his head, standing up.

“Incoming tea, from my kettle,” he said it the exact same way he’d have announced it in gambit, as he walked briskly out of the room.

A few moments later he was placing a steaming mug into her gloved hands and pushing more buttons on the console.

“High value target’s on the field. Hunt it down and put some rounds in it,” he said into the headset before re-muting himself.

“Is that team down one person?” Eris asked him, pointing at a screen.

“Yup. The one that jammed out’s getting a warning for that. That’s rude.”

“Do they always lose when they’re only three?”

“Depends on how good the ones are that’s left behind. Mostly yes,” he told her. He pushed the mute button. “Portal’s up. Go say hello!” He waited and then pointed at one of the screens with a grin as Eris watched one of the three-person team run to the other side.

“Embrace the Darkness,” he told the invader.

Eris leaned forward to watch.

“Well done,” she murmured appreciatively as the hunter took out two guardians with headshots from a sniper rifle. Then she gave a small gasp in delight as they danced around the remaining two, dodging and swapping weapons before bringing them both down with a submachine gun.

“Wooo!” The Drifter leaned back and whooped into his un-muted headset.

Eris’ face split into one of her rare open-mouthed smiles at his infectious glee.

“Your invader's back and they just took out the entire opposing team! Glad they're on your side.” He hit the mute button. “With an invader like that, those poor bastards might just pull this off. I’m excited to see how this turns out.”

“As am I,” Eris said quietly, her smile subdued but still present as she watched intently with him, sipping her tea.

He pointed to a progress bar on one of the screens. “When this gets to 100, press this button here,” he reached out, took her hand gently, and placed it on top of the button.

“Won’t you need to know when to talk?” she leaned in as she asked him while he was standing.

Her nose brushed against his ear.

He froze and sucked in a shuddering breath. She smirked and leaned back.

“I um…” He swallowed and gave her a small, almost shy, smile. “I’ll be able to hear it on the feed.”

“Hmmm…” She let her chin rest on her other hand, smiling back at him like she had just won something. “And this is so you can go get the soup?”

He stared back at her, the smooth charismatic mask temporarily gone, his expression uncharacteristically soft. “Yeah,” he said, as though he had forgotten what he was doing entirely and she’d just reminded him.

Shortly after he disappeared into the hallway behind her the number of motes hit 100 and Eris pushed the button, as directed. From down the hall she heard his voice with his usual practiced gambit tone, “Opposing team’s got a primeval. They kill it, they win.”

Eris continued to watch as the other team's mote bank also approached 100 and found a very similar button on that side of the console. As they hit their target she pressed it.

“Ok, you can still win this. Focus on that primeval,” she heard him talking into his microphone behind her. Eris turned to watch him enter the room walking slowly, a bowl of hot soup in each hand. As he placed a bowl on a flat spot in front of her, he silently mouthed the words ‘thank you.’ He placed his own bowl next to hers, flipped a different switch, said “Portal's up. Grab your gun,” to one team and then, with another switch, “Invader's on the field. Get ‘em!” to the other.

Eris smiled at how he always sounded like he was supporting the side he was talking to as she removed her gloves. She ate a spoonful of soup. It was warm and delicious, the taste of it shifting on her tongue, giving her too many flavors at once to process.

“It's very good, but also very complex,“ she said quietly.

“All good curry is,” he whispered before pressing the button on his headset again and continuing to call the match from a stool he’d pulled up next to the chair she was sitting in.

The three-person team had only just begun to damage their primeval when the Drifter pointed out to Eris how their opponents were on the last leg of the primeval damage phase.

“Alas,” she said softly into her soup. “They tried.”

“Oh, it ain’t over yet.” He leaned in closer to her again. “I mean, it might be, but let’s see what our hotshot from earlier can do.” He reached across her and flicked a switch. “Portal’s up,” he said through his headset, “Go make a mess.” He clicked the mute back on.

“There’s no way they can possibly win at this point.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna bet?” His eyes sparkled in glee.

“I have nothing to wager.”

“If the underdogs win, you come over here for dinner tomorrow night. And before you ask, no screeb guts or Hive eyeballs. Actual dinner with actual food.”

She frowned. “A… date?”

“Yeah,” he tilted his head to look her in the eyes. “A date.”

“I do not date.”

“I know. That’s why it’s a bet.” He shook his head side to side slightly to accentuate each word.

She pursed her lips. “And what do I get if the other team wins?”

“Whatever you want,” he said quietly with more intensity than he’d intended.

“Hmmm… if they win…” she began.

“Yeah?”

“You ‘redistribute’ my cookies for me.”

“Deal.”

The four-person team converged on their taken primeval, guns blazing. Eris and the Drifter watched as the primeval’s health indicator decreased rapidly. The hunter from the three-person team ran in, jumped up, and flung two kami into the middle of the fray, summoning a stasis whirlwind.

“Ugh. Too slow,” Eris critiqued. “That will not kill them quickly enough.”

The Drifter reached behind her to flick a switch swapping one of the screens to an over-the-shoulder view of the invader. He left his arm draped over the back of the chair. Eris noted the positioning of his arm while swallowing another spoonful of soup, but said nothing.

The invading hunter switched to their heavy weapon slot, pulling out Xenophage. Eris sat up straighter and smiled grimly as the first opponent fell with one shot, feeding the primeval and raising its health up from a sliver to a still-manageable, but significant chunk.

The Drifter chuckled in her ear as another guardian fell to Xenophage, feeding the Primeval further. “That’s your gun, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice proud. “It is Omar… from my fireteam. His spirit is within it.”

“Still a badass.”

“Yes.” her voice was warm. Then she sighed in disappointment as the invading hunter was taken down by a well-placed punch from a solar titan.

Still holding his soup bowl, the Drifter held up one finger away from it and pointed, drawing Eris’ attention back to the screen focused on the primeval. The stasis whirlwind was still going.

The hunter who had invaded was resurrected on their own side. They immediately began emptying Xenophage into their own primeval from across the map as they ran in. As Eris watched, alerts of the four-person team’s deaths popped up on the screen and their primeval’s health bar skyrocketed back up to full.

“It continues after they are dead!” she said excitedly.

“Yup. There’s a reason people hate stasis hunters more than most in this game.”

The four-person team’s portal came up and their invader ran in, but the three-person team made short work of their primeval, dancing together as the Drifter praised them for their hard-fought win.

Eris leaned back in the chair against his arm. He stumbled over his closing commentary when she touched him. She smiled and finished her soup as the Drifter continued to tell the exiting gambit players how well they would be paid.

With the game over and all participants transmatted away, the Drifter leaned forward and tapped several buttons, killing the feeds and opening up a single screen with a list of people waiting in the queue. He took his headset off and set it beside his empty bowl on the console, his arm still draped over the back of the chair.

“Want more soup?” he asked her gently, leaning in more than was necessary.

“Perhaps later,” she handed him her empty bowl.

He turned back to her after nesting her empty bowl within his just as she leaned forward and their faces once more became far too close together.

They smiled at each other, neither one moving.

“How long until your next match,” she asked, touching his face with her fingertips.

“Ten minutes,” he whispered, staring into her eyes through the cloth that was covering them.

She curled her fingertips slightly and he leaned forward, his eyes fluttering closed as their lips met in a gentle kiss.

After a few moments he pulled back slightly, sucking in a shaking breath. She leaned in further and her hand slid around his neck to press their mouths together again.

Kiss after kiss followed. Reverent. Hungry. Teasing. Soothing. Hard. Gentle. He clung to her as though she might disappear at any moment. She pressed her lips against his tightly, drinking in his affection like he was water in the desert.

Eventually they had to breathe for a bit, but, loath to separate, they instead panted softly against each other’s necks, still holding tight. At some point he had slid off the stool and was partly in her lap, one knee on the floor. Her fingers were laced into his hair. Their breathing was in sync. The Drifter’s hands were soft and trembling, brushing against her face, her neck, pulling her close. Eris’ hands were cool and almost claw-like in how tight she held on to him.

“Hey-o! Drifter! Time for gambit!” someone shouted from one of the platforms in the ready room.

She felt his eyelashes blinking against her skin. He felt her lips smile just behind his ear.

She leaned back, cupping his cheek in her hand, her fingers buried in his beard.

“Driiiiifter!” someone else called.

“You should go start the next match,” she whispered.

“Screw the match,” he whispered back. “Is… is this real?”

She kissed him again. “Yes. Go start the match. I will wait.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.”

He got up to go and then sank back down to his knees, kissing her one more time before backing away, shaking his head, adjusting his headband, willing the mask of the meretricious rogue back in place.

Cheers echoed through the doorway as he appeared, his coins tumbling on his knuckles once more.

Eris had followed him and stood to watch, just out of sight.

“Took you long enough!” someone called out.

“Ya know what, just for you…” the Drifter pointed and snapped his fingertips, holding out the coin that had appeared with his trademark sleight-of-hand. “Scorn approaching.”

Everyone groaned.

Eris laughed silently and the Drifter’s eyes twinkled as he glanced back at her through the doorway before returning his gaze to the people assembled below.

"Never trust a Scorn!” he told the group as they were preparing for the match. “They're little balls of instinct. Shoot first, talk to it later.”

“You had to piss him off. Scorn are the worst,” someone said on the left.

“You ain’t seen me pissed off, brother.” the Drifter pointed at him. “For both our sakes, let’s hope you never do. Prepare for transmat!" He whirled one arm around his head and sent them off.

Eris handed him the headset as he stepped through the doorway. He put it on and then immediately pulled her into a kiss, pressing his whole body against hers.

He broke away from her lips reluctantly, tapped the side of his headset, spouted off some words of encouragement, and re-muted it so he could sink back into her lips again.

Three matches later, Eris was comfortably snuggled against the Drifter in his lap, pressing buttons for him with calm precision as he called the matches between tender feverish kisses, soft clinging touches.

Here they were, two of the most hardened, vicious, efficient killers, survivors of more horrors than any reasonable person could withstand and, for the first time in longer than either of them could remember, they were both content, smiling, quietly drunk on being gentle with each other.

. . .

The next evening, after a long shift at her post in Sanctuary on the Moon, Eris returned to her living quarters for a few moments of solitude before she would need to leave for the dinner she’d promised to attend for losing her gambit bet: her ‘date’ with the Drifter.

As she entered through her doorway she froze. Something had changed. It took a moment for her to realize what it was. She stood in the middle of her rooms looking around, first in surprise, and then genuinely impressed. There was not the slightest trace of an ascendent oatmeal raisin cookie anywhere.

At some point while she was working, the known thief, conman and criminal she had spent the last evening passionately kissing had snuck in through her perimeter defenses, skulked undetected past the many guardians who had been visiting her all day, bypassed the locks on her doors, and stolen every single one.

“A happy Dawning indeed,” she whispered to herself as she prepared a Hive portal to the Derelict, a small smile on her face.

[kissingghouls]

SOFT PROMPTS ok ok...how about "you're shivering. here, take my jacket" with Mary x Reader ORRrrrr Secondo x Reader?? I can't decide

beloved anon. you were so right about this 💖✨

Winter Chill - Mary Goore x Reader

no warnings, relatively fluffy, kinda soft Mary, he/they Mary, first kiss, 2300 words

-x-

“He’s a dick,” a familiar voice states behind you. It’s followed by the tell-tale sound of spit hitting the pavement.

You’re not exactly surprised to find the silhouette of Mary Goore appearing like a ghostly apparition in the dim light of the porch. It was in their nature to just show up like that—especially when there was something to be said about your ex—but you were surprised by the lack of singsong taunting in their tone. Mary didn’t usually hold back when it came to voicing their distaste for him.

It’s obvious from their presence that they’d seen the confrontation inside—a fact that makes you feel slightly embarrassed as he shuffles around in the dark. The rotting wood of the aptly named Chaos House creaks under his boots, the thick soles landing with a thunk! thunk! thunk! as he stomps down a few steps and drops next to you. They shoot you a crooked, toothy smile and gently nudge you with an elbow.  “But you knew that already.”

“You’re a little late for an ‘I told you so,’ Goore,” you warn with a sigh. The breakup between you and that asshole was well beyond old news. There was next to no way Mary hadn’t heard and probably celebrated by now. Gossip travels fast in small towns, even faster in small social circles like yours.

“Aw c’mon,” he groans, arching his back to stretch his long legs like a cat. He pats down the pockets of his tight jeans and produces a pack of smokes and an old lighter. With a cigarette tucked between his teeth, he draws his knees back up before turning to you. “I’m not here for that.”

“Why are you here, Mary?” you ask softly.

Inside, the party swells with sound. A cluster of people all shouting to be heard while a metal band starts their set in the basement. It’s a mix of rumbling bass and the crack of drums with the occasional scream. The noise is just as normal as the hint of stale beer and body odor that permeates the old house. It’s as natural as the stains and cigarette burns on the weirdly orange tinted carpet that covers the stairs. Neither of you bat an eye as cymbals crash under your feet.

Mary flicks the lighter over their thigh, sparking it to life and drawing the flame toward their lips. They breathe deep, inhaling the toxic burn before leaning back on their elbows and letting out a puff of smoke. “To offer you a ride home.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to the metalhead sprawled on the porch next to you. Pale, bony knees jut out from the holes in his jeans. The trademark leather jacket covered in bright patches and studs hangs loose around his skinny frame as he reclines against the steps. Underneath their battle jacket the faded, well-loved t-shirt older than either of you is barely held together by more than a few threads. A shock of dark hair styled haphazardly hangs over those pretty green eyes that hadn’t moved from your face since he sat down.

It was a well-known fact that Mary couldn’t be trusted to operate a vehicle. Every time they’d tried had ended in varying degrees of disaster—one of which included a cliff.

“You can’t drive,” you remind him through a laugh.

“No, but I got you to smile.” He sounds triumphant, proud almost. “You got a good one, you know?”

“What?”

“Your smile. It’s…I dunno.” He shrugs and waves his hand through the air. “It’s…nice.”

“Goore,” you level. “Are you drunk?”

They shake their head and take a long drag. The orange glow of the embers hits just right, illuminating the places on his face painted white. The shadows are darker, the blurry edges of makeup smeared into the hollow of his cheeks look more intense in the dark like this. It’s a look you’ve appreciated once or twice before at other house parties or in the dim light of the local dive bar while you pretend not to notice how they only charge you for every other drink they slide your way.

Your heart skips as he grins up at you, dried fake blood cracking on his face.

“I’m sober as a judge, sweetheart,” they tell you as they sit up, a well-practiced smirk playing on their lips.

There’s a tightness in your chest again, a feeling so familiar around Mary. While this thing between you started a long time ago, you never took it too seriously. After all, you couldn’t take Mary seriously half the time. So, the teasing and light flirting never really meant anything and that was how the two of you had operated for as long as you could remember. It never went further than that because neither of you ever seemed to be single at the same time.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t found yourself a little curious from time to time.

The rumor mill spun both ways when it came to Mary Goore. Some days the story was they were some delinquent hellbent on burning the entire town to the ground. Other days there were tales of kindness that extended as far as feeding the feral street cats that lived in the alley behind their apartment. He was a loyal friend to the point of violence on more than one occasion, but everyone who dated them considered them a caring partner despite their apparent fear of commitment.

In your estimation, Mary was no different than anyone else—not all good or all bad, just another human trying to get by. When it came down to it, you’d rather have Mary in your corner than not. The fact that they were out here with you now, well, that just meant they already were.

“As a judge, huh?” you ask and lean forward to pluck the burning cigarette from his fingers. His eyes follow your movements as you set the filter between your lips and take an easy drag before offering the thing right back to him.

“Careful darlin’,” he warns, fingers brushing yours as he accepts. “These things are worse for you than I am.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

They raise an eyebrow, half-expecting you to follow up with a “just kidding” or a “not like that.” When you don’t their composure slips, and they struggle to hide a look of surprise mixed with a little bit of excitement. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, soft as the stubble poking through his makeup.

Those green eyes sparkle in the moonlight, watching as you stand and stretch your arms over your head. The wind picks up, carrying the undercurrent of much colder weather slowly moving in. It should be snowing by now, but the air is just a mist of wet fog soaking into everything without the beauty or smell of rain. The lawn is soft under your feet, little more than an oversaturated lump of clover and weeds that fails to connect the muddy patches from one end of the yard to the other. It’s all still as green as Mary’s eyes somehow, still thriving and you’re standing outside in a t-shirt next to Mary Goore in December.

The end of the cigarette whips past you and lands in a shower of orange sparks near the driveway. Mary leans up, the last little bit of smoke curling from their lips as the hole in the left knee of their jeans rips loudly.

“Aw, fuck,” Mary whines helplessly, leg now exposed halfway to the calf.

“C’mon,” you offer with a soft smile and hold your hand out to a guy who might or might not be trouble.

“Where are we going?” they ask, wiping their hands on their jeans as they stand.

“No idea,” you admit with a shrug. “Somewhere else.”

“Alright then,” Mary agrees with a grin and takes your hand.

You make it to the end of the block before you realize neither of you have let go. Their hand is warm and much larger than yours, their palm an odd mix of soft in places and calloused in others. For every step he takes, you take two to keep up though there’s no real destination in sight. Maybe you should have thought it through a little better, but being around Mary always made your brain a little fuzzy. And maybe that was why you’d avoided situations like this before—because the fear of something was too great. The risk of Mary was like jumping into a body of water completely blind. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Thrilling. Incredible.

The two of you walk east toward the river, passing patrons on the main drag crawling from one bar to another. A few toss looks your way, judgements whispered under their breath as they hurry by. If Mary notices, they hide it well. Their shoulders never seem to sag with the weight of what everyone else thinks you and him should be.

At the crosswalk you wait to pass and he rather impressively digs out another cigarette, lighting it one-handed. You’re unsure of how many cars pass under the stoplight or how many times the two of you miss your chance to cross, but you’re acutely aware of the way Mary looks wrapped in a haze of smoke and the city lights.

It’s not bad.

“Do I have something on my face?” they ask with an eyebrow raised, using the hand holding yours to pull you closer.

“Yeah, actually,” you respond playfully.

He frowns and pretends to swipe at his face. “Better?”

“Eh, your face is still there,” you tease with a shrug.

He tugs you even closer. “Don’t act like you don’t like my face, sweetheart.”

“It’s ok. I guess.”

“Just ok?”

It’s a question you barely hear. It’s not the rush of traffic or the random people walking past, but your heart hammering away in your ears that nearly deafens you. Warmth radiates off Mary like he’s the fucking sun. You know because he’s so close, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne under the nicotine and leather. And god those eyes, with them fixed on you like this you spot the soft flecks of gold they hide from everyone else.

You nod carefully. “It’s a good face. Ten out of ten. Would look again.”

He breaks first, averting his eyes as he struggles not to laugh. “I guess I better stick around so you can keep looking.”

“I appreciate the effort, Goore.”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

You shake your head and let the moment fade as you pull them across the street.

Mary leads now, their other hand placed carefully at your hip as they guide you down the wet stairs. It’s dead quiet by the water. There’s never much of a crowd on the riverfront but this time of night it’s completely deserted. Traffic roars across the bridge overhead, a stream of bright red brake lights stretching across the river. You feel like you’re in another world entirely, tucked against Mary Goore of all people. You stand still, watching the gentle current roll over the rocky shore and pretend not to notice the way he moves closer and closer.

Winter arrives and surrounds the two of you within seconds as the wind picks up again. A blast of frigid, arctic air that smells like snow bites at the exposed skin of your arms. It’s cliche but as tears sting your eyes, you can’t help the chill that seeps into your bones.

“Huh. I think it’s gonna snow.”

Mary’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, barely more than a whisper. It’s a sharp contrast to all those times you’d seen them growl their way through songs about blood and corpses, but it makes the butterflies stir in your stomach all the same. Maybe there was something behind all those free drinks and flirty words. Something different.

The thought sends a shock through your body, the electric hum of realization. You like Mary.

He shifts slightly, turning his body toward yours. “Shit, you’re shivering. Here, take my jacket.”

Before you can say anything, they’ve shrugged out of the thing and wrapped you in soft, worn leather. You hide your hands in the sleeves, but they itch to reach out, to pull him in. The lining is still warm and it’s heavier than you expect, but none of it matters as Mary’s gaze falls to your lips.

But they don’t kiss you. At least, not in the way you thought they might.

“Goore?” you ask as they pull away slightly.

“Uh-huh?”

“Did…did you just…kiss my forehead?”

“Yep.”

“Instead of like…actually kissing me. You kissed my forehead?”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I’m not just gonna put out for you because you expect me to.”

“Oh my god,” you huff with an annoyed roll of your eyes. “You—hmph!”

Mary cuts off your complaints by grabbing the lapels of the jacket and smashing his lips against yours. Your arms loop around their neck, pulling them as close as you can. There’s a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, under the jacket and under your t-shirt. Mary’s other hand tangles in your hair as they break the kiss to speak.

“Sorry darlin’,” they whisper. “You’re just so fuckin’ cute when you’re annoyed. I can’t help it.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Goore.”

It’s rough and brash when his mouth claims yours, and you think Mary kisses like he plays guitar—aggressive with a practiced ease. He nips at your bottom lip, practically melting against you when you let out a little whine in response. His tongue brushes yours and he tastes of smoke and something sugary you can’t quite place. It doesn’t matter anyway because your senses are filled with all things Mary and you’re content to keep them that way.

“Mm, I always knew you’d be trouble, sweetheart,” they groan as you press your body against theirs.

“Aw Goore, do you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, actually. For so fucking long,” he admits freely.

You grin and lean up to kiss him again as tiny snowflakes begin to collect in his hair.

[lostbetweenvampiresandmusic]

Hii could I request Paul and Marko with a reader who is like Lisa Frankenstein? Just some head canons if you don't really know who she is

Okay, listen, I just finished watching the movie, and I can't stop thinking about it - that last scene? Beloved wife? I told you I would hold your hand - iconic. So yeah, eh there are some spoilers here for Lisa Frankenstein.

It has gotten a little bit linger than i thought, and it's a bit more Marko x reader than Paul x reader x Marko, but the pairing is definitely there! 😅 Hope you like this!

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

"Where are you going?" Trent looked at me. His schoolbag was hanging from one shoulder, his sunglasses slowly sliding down his nose. I shrugged. "For a walk."

"Mum said you had to be home by five."

I rolled my eyes, sighing. Ever since my dad had decided to not only date but marry Trents mom, my life changed. Of course, it had already changed before. That kind of tends to happen when your mom decides to leave. And then die.

"Fine." I walked away from Trent, away from the stuffy schoolbuilding filled with people I didn't want to know. I didn't want to move here, I had liked my - miserable - life back in Santa Cruz. But, with dad being married and all, I had little choice. Moving to Santa Carla, it was. Trent was okay, I suppose. He didn't force me to hang out with him, and he'd let me be - mostly. His mother, however, was overbearing, always wanting to know everything and controlling everything. It gave me an odd, almost claustrophobic sense. And dad? Well, he was more focused on keeping his wife happy than he was worried about me. Luckily for me, it wasn't all bad. I had found a small little sanctuary hidden within the woods.

"Hello again," I said softly as I found my way through the woods. Hidden between several thick trees and bushes was a headstone. The stone itself was rather sober, only a name etched into it. On the ground in front of it, however, was a small bust of a devilishly handsome face. I assumed the face and name went together. It was a shame, really, that this guy had been dead. Had he been alive - well, damn... But he wasn't, and besides, there was this guy in my history class - Michael Emerson? - who was actually kind of cute?

I sat down next to the stone, making my homework, reading in some books, and finally feeling a little at peace. I looked up when I felt a raindrop fall on my nose, quickly grabbing my stuff. "I'll see you later, Marko!" I said softly before running off. The rain started to really pour, and I ran as fast as I could to make it back home to my place.

That night, a storm raged over Santa Carla. Rain, winds, and heavy thunder rolled over the small town. Lightning striked multiple times, but there didn't seem to be any fires anywhere. I lay on my bed, ready to go to sleep. I stared at my window. Lightning flashed again. In the bright flash of the light, I saw a shadow appear in my window, a silhouette. I shot up, looking straight straight my window. Red eyes stared back at me.

I screamed. The red eyed silhouette waved at me, motioning for me to be quiet. Who was he to tell me to be quiet? Angrily, I stepped towards the window, ready to give him a piece of my mind, when suddenly my window flew open. The man stepped inside. I froze. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out. I just looked at him. He looked at me, then at my room. The bed that was slept in, the clothes laying on the chair, the walls filled with drawings and sketches...

He slowly but surely moved towards my art wall, tilting his head as he looked at one of the drawings.

"What is it?" I asked, not sure what to do.

He just pointed at it. It was the drawing I made of Marko's headstone and the bust. I frowned. "So? What about it?"

He pointed at it again, then at himself. I frowned. Surely he didn't mean that-

"You're Marko?" I asked in a whisper. With a sly grin, he nodded. I froze, frowning. "How? Why are you here?"

This time, he gave me a genuine smile. He made a C with his hand and then waved. Puzzled, I looked at him. "Because I said see you later?"

The next morning, I was woken up early by dad. "We need your help."

Once again, he nodded. I took a deep breath.

"I- Hiw? I didn't mean for you to come and see me? I mean - you're dead! I meant I'd come back to your grave?"

Marko looked at me, a hurt expression on his face.

"Sorry! I'm sure you're an alright guy if you were actually - you know - alive?"

I could have sworn I saw his expression turn even more sad. I sighed, deciding I could deal with zombie emotions later. Right now, Marko - or whoever he really was - desperately needed a shower and some clean clothes, and I was in desperate need of some sleep.

I sighed - the woman he married had been working in the meat industry, selling blood. I didn't know why, nor did I want to know why. I had tried to tell my dad that I didn't want to help with the work on the farm, what with me not eating meat anymore and all, but apparently that was not a conversation I could have. I had no say in the matter, I had to help.

Thirty minutes later, I showed up in the barn, begrudgingly starting the work of cleaning them, when a loud metallic clang caused me to look up. One of the many pipes through which the bodily fluids moved had made the sound. I looked up, screaming when the pipe snapped and gallons of blood were poured on top of me. I dropped the shovel I'd been holding, running out of the barn, leaving bloody footprints everywhere I went. I quickly went into my shower, cleaning the blood off of myself.

When I got out of the shower, dressed in my bathrobe, I noticed Marko sitting in a dark corner of my closet. He had changed his muddy clothes for some bright coloured pyjama trousers and an old band shirt I'd gotten from Trent. He looked at me, a certain hunger in his eyes.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded, then shrugged.

"Oh! You need food!" I was already halfway through my room towards the door when I stopped and turned to look at him. "Eh - what, what do dead guys eat?" I asked.

I froze when Markos hand grabbed my wrist, finding the one spot of blood I'd missed, and slowly licking it up. I pulled my arm away from him, disgust written all over my face. "You can't just lick people!" I hissed before realisation dawned on me. "Wait, you need blood?"

That evening, Marko and I sneaked out of the house towards the barn. I had spent the whole afternoon dragging an old and rusty bathtub into the barn, placing it under the broken pipes. I told Marko to wait by the tub as I opened the faucet. It didn't take long, or blood ran into the tub, filling it quickly.

Marko nodded, grinning. I sighed. "I can get you some blood tonight, alright?"

The more Marko drank, the more handsome he became somehow. I couldn't help but feel a warmth inside me when I saw him drink, heard the moans of delight...

"What the hell are you doing out of bed, young lady? And turn the faucet off! It's bad enough that you made us lose so much product today!"

I jumped, freezed, and looked at my stepmother, not sure what to do.

"And who the hell is that? Is he drinking blood? I told your father that I didn't want you to bring your kind over to this place. He wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I knew that morbid loving people like you would only bring trouble, you freak!" She was about to scream, but before I could do anything, Marko was already upon her. Her neck was ripped open, her blood was drunk, and then her lifeless body fell to the ground. I stared at Marko, not really knowing what to say. 'Thanks' felt wrong in this situation. And yet, it was somewhat right?

"You just killed -" I stopped talking, not sure what I was going to say. "We need to bury the body," I decided, grabbing her feet, smiling shyly as Marko easily lifted the dead weight in his arms. I lead the way to the forest, back to where his grave had been - and I couldn't help but feel rather content when he dropped her body in the grave.

"Is it bad, down there?" I asked. He shrugged and then nodded. I grinned. The woman deserved it. Just a little bit. "Good."

One night, he stopped me when I was about to enter the barn. I stopped, puzzled, before realising what he wanted. "You want human blood?"

In the days that followed, every single night, I sneaked him out of the house unseen, making sure he could drink more blood. The more blood he drank, the more whole he became. The more time I spent with him, the more I realised I liked him beyond his looks. And yet, he was still dead. And yet, I still fancied Michael Emerson.

"You know, at the party two weeks ago, he spent a lot of time talking to me? And you'd think it was great, because at the time it was, but then at school he just ignored me? As if we didn't spend three hours connecting? Like, who does that?"

Marko looked at me, clearly telling me that it was Michael Emerson who did that.

"Maybe it was because I was drunk and ran off to throw up, but still. How hard is it to get a guys attention?"

Marko shrugged. I agreed - it shouldn't have to be so hard. But even with his presence, even with his clothing suggestions - no matter what I did, Michael ignored me. I sighed as I pulled the bathtub into the barn again.

He nodded.

After that meal, Marko finally began to talk. His voice was hoarse, but he could tell me about him. How he enjoyed art, how he had been turned into a vampire in the early 1900s, how his vampire family was probably still alive. In the four hours that followed Michael's death, I couldn't help but realise I had never loved Michael. It was Marko. I wanted to make him happy. It was him I wanted by my side. I took his hand in mine as we walked down the forest towards his old grave.

"Shit. I can't just give you human blood, I mean, I wouldn't even know where to get it and -" he was already gone. Quickly, I ran after him, not wanting to abandon the creature I'd come to see as a close friend. He ran towards the boardwalk, the beach - and he found a lone man. Before I knew it, he had bitten the man, draining the blood out of him. It was over surprisingly quick.

The next evening, we spent some time outside the house, lounging on the roof, when I saw Michael riding up to the house on his bike. "What's he doing here?" I asked out loud, looking to see what was happening. Downstairs, the front door opened, and Trent stood there, grinning. Not only that, but within seconds, he was kissing Michael. I looked at it with wide eyes, before jumping off the roof and screaming.

"You motherfucker!" I launched at Trent. "You knew I liked him you fucking piece of-" I stopped when I heard a pained groan beside me. Marko held on to Michael's body. His teeth latched onto his neck, draining him dry. I looked at Marko, a small smile appearing on my face. I then looked at Trent, who was about to either scream or faint.

"You're going to be fine. Just don't tell anyone about this, alright?"

"We can try and find them?" I offered.

"They'd kill you upon sight."

"But you'd be reunited with them."

He chuckled. "You may not value your life, but I've come to value yours quite a lot."

I froze. "You do?"

"You saved me."

"I didn't mean to," I admitted. "It purely happened by accident."

"Happy accidents do exist."

I smiled, laughing when he pulled me close. "I think they do."

"Are you going with?"

"Sure. Do I need to bring the shovel?" I asked, a bit enthusiastically. Of course, killing was bad, I knew that, but there was something about it that gave me an indescribable thrill.

"Nah, we'll find a bonfire." He grinned as he took my hand, leading me towards the boardwalk and the beach.

I'd started a fire while he fed, enjoying the warmth of the flames when I suddenly felt a strange presence behind me.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?"

I looked at him. "Waiting for a friend."

"I can keep you company if he's running late."

"Don't worry, he's right on time." I grinned, knowing that Marko wouldn't say no to a second meal.

"Shame he isn't here yet, " the young man chuckled, "he might have enjoyed the sho-"

I screamed as he grabbed me, pulling my head to the side, feeling his teeth grazing my skin. I struggled in his grip, moving as much as I could, trying to hold him off when finally I heard his voice.

"Get the fuck off of her!"

Within seconds, I was freed. Marko was standing protectively in front of me, staring at the other vampire. "Paul?"

"Marko? You - you were dead, man! How did this happen?"

"Lisa did. She's a bloody Saint-" I groaned at his pun. "- If it hadn't been for her, I'd be buried still."

"So you saved my mate?"

"Your mate?" I spat the words out. Marko could have told me something about that before leading me on. For weeks he'd been sharing a bed with me, for weeks I'd helped him kill and cover up, for weeks we'd been circling around each other, and now?

"You didn't tell her?" Paul asked, and then he looked at me again, a look of compassion but also curiosity in his eyes.

"Tell me what?"

"Only a mate can save a vampire from the death." Marko said. His eyes softened as he turned towards me. "I didn't want to overwhelm you more than I already did that first night."

"What does it mean being your mate?"

"So, how is he-" I pointed at Paul, "- connected to us?"

"You're one of the loves of my life."

"Aaawh!" I grinned. "That's why you killed Michael? For us?"

Marko chuckled and nodded.

"He's also my mate. And yours."

I grinned. Sure, him almost eating me was quite bad - but if you looked past that, he seemed to really care about Marko, and maybe he could also do that for me?

"So... we - the three of us? We're a thing?"

"We can be," Paul said with an enthusiastic grin. "If you want that is."

"How about I get to know you first?" I asked, smiling as Marko stood next to me. Paul chuckled. "Want to go out for a kill?"

[dummiebrat]

𝗚𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿, 𝗧𝗼 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗗𝗮𝘆

Mistress!Agatha Harkness x Brat!Rio Vidal

Word Count: 1,1K

Summary: After a mischievous prank involving glitter and slime, Rio faces Agatha’s wrath, leading to a prolonged punishment of restraint and enforced silence.

Notes: Power Play, Brat Taming, Punishment, Aftercare, Longing, Affection.

Author’s Notes: Play with glitter, kids; it's fun until Agatha finds out. I swear I’ll diversify soon, but Brat!Rio has officially taken up permanent residence in my mind. I can’t resist writing about their dynamic. I know I need to expand, but... not today.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe room was a sanctuary of shadows and secrets, lit only by the soft glow of flickering candles and the occasional flash of green that now speckled every surface. The remnants of Rio Vidal's mischief glimmered in the dim light, a constellation of glitter strewn across Agatha Harkness' most precious belongings. The ancient grimoire, once pristine and bound in dark leather, now sparkled with an obnoxious green sheen. The potions shelf, meticulously organized, was dusted with shimmering specks that caught the light like tiny, insolent stars. Even Agatha's beloved raven-feather cloak was not spared, now twinkling absurdly in a way that mocked its former elegance.

Agatha stood in the center of the chaos, her posture a rigid silhouette of simmering fury. Her breath came in slow, deliberate draws, the only indication of her struggle to contain the storm brewing beneath her calm facade. The room was silent but for the faintest sound of dripping — a viscous emerald slime, courtesy of Rio Vidal, oozing lazily from a tipped-over vial, defiling the hand-carved wooden floor.

— Rio. — Agatha intoned, her voice a low, dangerous whisper that seemed to suck the air from the room. It was not a question, nor even a summons, but a sentence unto itself.

Across the room, lounging with the air of a feline who had just spilled milk, Rio Vidal lay draped on Agatha’s antique chaise longue, eyes sparkling with that infuriating mix of mischief and defiance. Her lips curled into a grin, a portrait of unapologetic glee. — You called, my lady? — she purred, as if she were the epitome of innocence, as though she hadn’t turned Agatha’s sanctuary into a carnival of glitter and goo.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed, the storm within her eyes gathering into a sharp, electric blue. — Do you think this is a game? — she asked, each word enunciated with a precision that could have cut glass.

Rio shrugged with a nonchalance that bordered on insolence. — Depends on how you look at it, — she mused, eyes alight with a challenge. — You did say you were bored. I was just trying to… brighten your day.

The corner of Agatha’s mouth twitched, a flicker of something that could have been amusement, were it not overshadowed by the tight line of her jaw. — Brighten it, you certainly did. — she conceded, her tone dangerously soft.

But before Rio could bask in her small victory, Agatha moved, swift as a shadow, her fingers snapping in a gesture of pure command. The magic was instantaneous — a shimmer in the air, followed by the sound of leather straps materializing and tightening around Rio’s wrists and ankles. In an instant, the brat found herself pinned upright against the wall, her arms spread wide, her defiant grin faltering only for a moment as she tested her bonds.

— Oh, come on! — Rio protested, but there was a glint of excitement in her eyes, her voice laced with mock indignation. — What’s the matter? Can’t handle a little sparkle in your life?

Agatha didn’t dignify the comment with a reply. Instead, she turned away, her movements deliberately slow, her cloak swirling behind her like a shadow given form. She moved to the center of the room, where an overstuffed armchair waited before the softly glowing hearth. With a flick of her wrist, the remnants of the glitter-storm swept themselves into a neat pile, leaving the space before her pristine once more, save for the bound brat quivering with restless energy in the corner.

Agatha lowered herself into the chair with the grace of a queen taking her throne, eyes flicking briefly to the bound figure across the room. — You wanted to play, pet? — she murmured, picking up the ornate remote control with the same reverence one might offer a wand. — Very well. Let’s play.

She pressed a button, and the large enchanted mirror on the wall came to life, its surface rippling before revealing a scene from one of Agatha’s favorite, albeit lengthy, historical dramas. The kind that moved at a glacial pace, each scene stretching on with languid elegance. Agatha settled in, her expression one of serene contentment, as if the sight of her lover bound and writhing was the most natural thing in the world.

Rio’s eyes widened in horror as she realized the true nature of her punishment. — No, no, no, not this! Anything but this! — she groaned, tugging futilely against her restraints. The hours of archaic dialogue and slow, intricate plotlines were a torment to her restless spirit. It was the ultimate form of discipline: to be ignored, to be made irrelevant in the presence of her Mistress’s calm indifference.

Agatha’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips as Rio squirmed and shifted, her need for attention, for the spark of their usual fiery exchanges, growing with each passing minute.

The room filled with the sounds of a bygone era, noblemen whispering conspiracies and ladies-in-waiting practicing courtly grace, all while Rio's patience began to fray like a delicate thread stretched too thin. Agatha could feel the brat’s frustration radiating off her in waves, a silent symphony of protest that only served to amuse her further.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours, each passing second an exquisite agony for Rio, who huffed and sighed dramatically, attempting in vain to draw Agatha’s attention. But the witch was a statue, her eyes never leaving the screen, every so often letting out an exaggerated hum of appreciation for the boring, slow-moving drama.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Rio let out a whimper, her voice laced with a vulnerability that was as rare as it was genuine. — Please… I’m sorry. — she whispered, her earlier bravado crumbling into dust. — I promise… no more glitter. I’ll be good.

Agatha allowed the silence to stretch just a moment longer, savoring the way Rio’s resolve melted like wax beneath the flame of her quiet dominance. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she set the remote aside, letting the silence settle like a velvet shroud.

She rose from her chair, her steps measured, and approached Rio with the air of a predator who has cornered its prey. — Do you know why you’re being punished, my little mischief-maker? — she asked, her voice a low murmur, almost a purr.

Rio bit her lip, eyes dancing with a flicker of defiance. — Was it... because I didn’t use enough glitter? — she quipped, a playful smile curving her lips.

But the joke died in her throat the instant Agatha’s eyebrow arched, the silent command slicing through the air like a whip. The bravado crumbled, and Rio’s voice softened, a whisper of surrender, — No, Mistress... it’s because I disobeyed you.

Agatha’s smile was slow, predatory. — Precisely. — she purred, one hand reaching out to gently cup Rio’s chin, tilting her face up to meet her gaze. — And what happens to naughty pets who disobey?

— They get… punished. — Rio answered, her voice quivering on the edge of anticipation.

— Exactly. — Agatha breathed, leaning in to brush a feather-light kiss against Rio’s lips, just enough to make her shiver. But then, just as quickly, she pulled back, leaving her brat longing, straining for more.

[speaker-of-the-void-cats]

"When he reached a displacement of eight he told us he was dead."

"He sees the wolves have formed up around him. Eight of them."

"The greatest gaiaforms of our solar system are eight in number—or, if you prefer, [N]ine—but asteroids and minor planets have them too. And in their sidereal generosity, these gaiaforms will protect us, if we ask them."

Fist of Eight Moons

"Only in the Ascendant Plane—where a well-defended idea is a reality—do these moons, in this small way, still exist."

"Eight Barons and an Awoken prince - and only one of you. I so dislike betting on the underdog… But you are resourceful…"

"The man turned to his left and saw a familiar, weathered face staring up at the eight Barons of the Tangled Shore."

[...]

"’Sundance’ appears to be the victim of a single, catastrophic wound from a Devourer Bullet, modified to fire from a Scorn launcher. Projectile classified as ontological.”

“Define Devourer Bullet.”

“Payload matches the ballistics of a Weapon of Sorrow or a comparable Hive implement.”

"We are all pinched silhouettes impaled on the twitching of infinitely long spiderlegs."

"You must reckon with yourself. Can you see the path ahead?

Do you know the shape of your trial?"

Auseklis

Ogdoad

Guñelve

Arevakhach

Schläfli

Compass rose

Isotoxal | edge transitive

Eightfold Path

The Star of Lakshmi

The Star of Ishtar

The morning star

First light of the new dawn

Venus

[Consult Cryptarchy's pre-Golden Age stacks for more information]

"Is it a simple answer? Perhaps none who serve you have the capacity to grasp your vision. And so, rather than waste more of your time and attention on explaining something they will never hold, it is enough that they act as you will. The Witch and her Hive carving single-mindedness out of the cloth of the universe, that whispering Nightmare seeking the fullest gamut of existence, the Upender destroying all differentiation. Shadows on the wall.

In this case, it would be hubris to think I have understood your work, that I alone among your Disciples have grasped what purpose it is we serve. All of us must see darkly reflected.

But there is relief in simplification. There is kindness in winnowing. So then, why is this proliferation permitted?

The shadows, showing the truth by their casting. [...]

There: I have resolved the conflict within my thoughts, and I am at peace again. Once more, I am only your violence and nothing more.

The Final Shape will realize us as we strive."

—Unknown Disciple of the Witness, Inspiral

Who am I?

Call me Coyote. Call me mantis, serpent, Cagn, Anansi, call me Sri-cleans-his-brother's-stomach. Call me the grandmaster of semiosis, the jeweler's hammer which gilds the signal, a purposeful mob none of whose members know its purpose, the infinite regress of enigmas, a self-questioning answer, the word not spoken, black ice, cataract of mimes, the ache and fever of overthought while bedridden with illness, the intolerable thorn of frustrated inquisition, gray regret at the end of a fruitless day, the thing which is unlike your beloved but arbitrarily recalls your beloved to agonizing effect, architrave of the no-window, needle driven in flush with skin so that desperate fingers cannot pull it out, sweet petal, unmemorable, crystal death, the provably improvable.

Here at the center, I lie to you the truth. You have everything you need to know it, but I will give you a clue, as the duelist gives warning before she draws. The answer you seek to the Dreaming City is simple, not complex.

In primordial space, timeless creatures made waves. These waves created us and the others. Waves were the battles, and the battles were waves. Fleeing all W'rkncacnter, Yrro and Pthia settled upon Lh'owon. They brought the S'pht, servants who began to shape the deserts of Lh'owon into marsh and sea, rivers and forests. They made sisters for Lh'owon to protect and maintain the paradise. When the W'rkncacnter came, Pthia was killed, and Yrro in anger, flung the W'rkncacnter into the sun. The sun burned them, but they swam on its surface.

Marathon 2, Six Thousand Feet Under terminal: ax1-40^23<094.95.28.85>

Oryx went down into his throne world. He went out into the abyss, and with each step he read one of his tablets, so that they became like stones beneath his feet. He went out and he created an altar and he prepared an unborn ogre. He called on the Deep, saying: I can see you in the sky. You are the waves, which are battles, and the battles are the waves. Come into this vessel I have prepared for you. And it arrived, the Deep Itself.

Books of Sorrow

XXXI: battle made waves

Verse 4:1 — battle made waves

[greyghoulette]

my notes on the reckoning of new york demo (spoilers of course)

new character redesigns -

•D’Angelo with the vape pen my beloved

•Thomas wearing RED and that COAT, they did that for me thank you for everything draw distance.

•Ok Qadir I see the vision with the outfit, love his redesign. Miss his suit though, but I guess it’s chilly outside so.

•Aisling looks really young, younger than she was. She was 25 when she was embraced and to me she now looks around 20. I don’t want to come across as nitpicky I just wasn’t expecting it.

•I’m kinda glad they’ve went with a natural skin tone with Panhard, her face to me is unique! Her outfit is cool

•Julia in JEANS, she looks so fuckingn cool I love my loser gf so much

•Payne and his servant p much the same

•So glad they gave Torque his hat back, I missed it

•Valerie…. is Valerie not much to say on that

new characters -

•Kali is already a fav, love her inner dialogue yet with the trailer I have SO many questions about the similarities in outfit and accessories with the character appearing to feature in Padraic’s route

•Very intruiged for Padraic’s route, esp with him being a mediator and on Torque’s side. From the trailer there is another chatacter who is quite important to him who I think we won’t see at all (apart from being mentioned) until Padraic’s route

•Love Padraic’s fashion (also more Irish rep? We love to see it)

•It seems we’re going to be getting a lot out of this game, esp with the additional route where we play as Padraic. Maybe there will also be a third route that wraps things up?

•The hunters are interesting, don’t really have much to say about them as of right now

•Hound’s character description saying he just wants to play video games he’s so me

•No name for him yet but the guy basically cosplaying Blade, I respect that

•The menu music and the trailer music is so fucking good I can’t wait to obsess over the soundtrack when we hear more of it

•The backgrounds we’ve seen so far in the demo and the trailer are STUNNING, I can’t wait for an art book release

story notes -

•We are in 2024 now, going into 2025. The last game was in 2020, we can assume a lot of shit has went down but Panhard is still prince

•Kali attempting to use Awe in Elysium. Kali my sweet summer child.

•I’ve seen multiple ppl mention that Padraic could be a Malkavian caitiff which I find very intriguing.

•Also Padraic is apparently a mediator and he’s an anarch seemingly? If Torque is bringing around Padraic and not Mia then that seems odd but time has passed maybe something happened

•Where is SAMIRA GAME WHERE IS SHE WHERE IS SAMIRA WHERE IS SAMIRA

•Thomas yap yap yapping we are so back

•We love to see more of Panhard, but I feel it will not end well for my girl this game

•The Shadows of New York good ending being canon, again thank you for everything draw distance

•So they mention that two duskborn have been killed and another kindred, from the Ventrue Clan “Just last night, two Duskborn and a fledgling from your clan were reduced to ashes”

•Are Hunters the main threat here? Knowing this franchise I doubt that’s the case. It sounds like there’s been an issue of multiple kindred dying over the past couple years

•…Is Larson alive? He was completely absent in Shadows, and in Coteries he COULD seemingly die depending on what choice you made in D’Angelo’s route on how to deal with Sana

•I just love the Christmas setting, going into new year. It’s like they’ve read my mind.

•The art style initially put me off, but it definitely matches the tone their going for, which I feel we would lose with the previous games style

•The trailer showed clan symbols in different territories and I don’t know much about the geography of New York, but the Tzimisce symbol was on Ellis Island right ??? (interesting because in New York By Night, Isaac’s sire Vaclav resides there)

•So that was definitely Reyner with Aisling at the very end of the demo right? Looking at it, the silhouette doesn’t match with anyone else

In conclusion, I am so hype for this game. Yet with it being the final one I’m also so nervous for how it’s going to end, like I’ve been way too invested in these set of games and sometimes I feel embarrassed about it, but these games really helped me through a horribly shitty time in my life so their a comfort for me (even though there is no comfort in them but y’know)

[crescencestudio]

hi there! i'm so curious about this and unsure if you've answered (but really want to know), if van is placed in a situation similar to orpheus and eurydice, him in orpheus's place, would he look back or continue walking forward?

❝ A love that transcends lifetimes... ❞

-------

“It’s a shame. His works were so good before they died.”

“I heard he went to hell and back for them. Like, literally Hell.”

“What? Don't tell me you believe that? Rumors nowadays… People just say whatever they want.”

-------

I poured over my new drawing. Black, charcoal etchings swept over the canvas, filling in the crevices left behind by my forceful strokes.

The pieces came faster now. Ironic, given my muse was...

Gone.

But this was the only way I could still feel their presence. The only way I could remember the warmth of their skin, or the safety in their caress.

If I wasn't creating art, the only thing I would feel was their absence.

"Your grief is unbearable."

Who--? The new voice tore me from my drawing, and before me stood a figure clothed in obsidian robes. The shadows lapping at their feet, the smell of ancient, untouched dust, the chill of the room. This was...

"Death."

"Hades, actually. Death is Thanatos."

They stepped forward, and with that simple movement, it was as if my bones turned to ice.

"You artists and your grief--your love that surpasses even death itself. Can't you give me a break? I'm just doing my job."

"Give you a break? What do you...?"

"I could feel your grief from the Underworld. Calling for me. Pulling at me. Nothing could be more aggravating."

"...Shall I make you an offer?"

Hades wanted to make me an offer?

"I'll let you into the Underworld, and you can retrieve your beloved. If both of you make it back to the land of the living, they can return with you. But keep in mind, you may only look forward, never back at them. Fail, and you can never be with them again, not even in Death."

"Fair warning: artists like you never succeed."

"I'll do it."

-------

"Remember. Only look towards the land of the living. Never back to the land of the dead."

"I remember."

Next to me, my love shifted in and out of vision--a mere shade of the person they once were. But it was them nonetheless, that I was sure of.

And we were going to make it out of here. That I was sure of.

When they were ready, I walked forward. I focused on nothing but the light of our realm to guide me.

The journey was longer this time, more strenuous. Was it because Hades wasn't here to guide us?

We passed Elysium and the River Lethe, crossed River Styx and the guardian Cerberus. The rocks around us were familiar now. No longer were they tainted with the shadows of Death. Now, there was light.

Behind me, my love's steps were heavier now. The shade of Death was dissipating, replaced with the weight of the living.

We were close.

Through the caverns we walked, until sunlight broke through the crevices. It took everything in me not to start running--I couldn't leave my love behind now of all times.

The air was warmer now! Just a couple more steps and--

I stumbled on the rocks beneath me and crashed harshly onto the ground. There were hands on me, helping me and lifting me up again. Their words were nothing more than a whisper on the wind, yet I could understand them clearly:

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm..."

As I turned to reassure them, I realized my mistake too late.

The shadows of the Underworld rushed forward, grabbing hold of their silhouette and pulling. All semblance of life they had regained faded in an instant, and they were returned to the shade they once were. I called their name, reached out to take hold of their hand.

But it was futile.

Death took hold of them once more, and I was left alone. Again.

"Do not despair."

Something whispered to me. Voices upon voices layered upon each other, echoing off every corner of the cavern.

"Who...?"

"Your Fate does not end here."

"What are you talking about? Who are you?"

"We have watched your plight for generations upon generations. For as long as Time itself has existed. You and your Fated lover."

"Tell us. When you asked for the Fates' help all that time ago, did you foresee the pain it would bring? The destiny to relive this very moment over and over?"

"I don't understand."

"We suppose you would not. The River Lethe is known to have that effect on mortals."

"It is no matter. We look forward to seeing how the Strings of Fate determine your destiny in the next life."

"There's no point in seeing the next life if I can't be with my loved one."

"Do you say that because of Hades's offer? Do not worry, mortal."

"Even Death must abide by Fate."

-------

❝ ...but not one that transcends Death ❞

[bluelightning16]

Hello! Love your latest drawing, is it possible to ask more about the witch au? I was staring at the lights until I looked close enough to see the human heart and the blood lol

Of course!! As with all the rest of my silly little AUs, it's a rather horrific one <3 Fair warning, I got a tiny bit carried away with my writing below…

Basically, Silver is an orphan belonging to a small, impoverished village located smack dab in the middle of nowhere, its only distinguishing feature being the vast amount of forest surrounding it. Though the locals there will never admit it to any foolish outsiders, many of them still believe in their ancestors' paranoid whispers of magic; so much so, in fact, that it's become a staple of their everyday life. Children are taught lessons through morbid fairytales and outlandish stories, miscreants pray desperately to be purged of their demons during Catholic mass, and the town gathers monthly to roast all suspected witches on a stake. Overall, having a holy, united front against the work of the Devil fosters peace and harmony throughout—unless, of course, one were to be born with the unfortunate curse of being different.

On his luckier days, Silver is simply ignored and left to tend to the church’s gardens on his lonesome (the job that has been oh-so-generously provided to him by the orphanage directors encouraging him to repent), with only an occasional titter about his “vacant, nixie eyes” to puncture the silence. However, more often than not, he is sought out by his more vengeful peers as soon as the lunch bell is struck, and beaten to a bloody pulp; their vapid, vulture-like mothers watch on, cruel speculation of his bloodline running as rampant as ever. His porcelain skin is surely vampiric in nature, they hiss between painted lips, those colorless wisps of hair a key part of his lycanthrope lineage. But, perhaps worst of all, are the rumors that deny him even the weakest links to being human—while the other creatures are still, at the end of the day, offspring of former mortals, he simply must be a changeling through and through, what with his unnatural irises, suspicious sleeping spells, and holistically predatory beauty.

…No matter their reasoning, Silver always ends up miserable and alone.

Thankfully, by the time he’s seven, salvation comes in the form of an unlikely trail of lights, bobbing about ethereally under the deep cover of night. Why he decides to promptly clamber over his windowsill—from which he had initially spotted the path, during his nightly Bible study—and venture after them, he doesn’t quite know… There’s just something so homely and beckoning about them, he supposes. (Later, he’ll chalk it up to equal parts desperation and childish fantasies, borne from the happy and friendly and good storybooks that the more mischievous choir boys have been stowing between pews like contraband.) The grass is cold and wet against his feet as he pads across it, pushing past the church gates to make for the dark, all-encompassing line of trees that he found so terrifying only hours before. Strikingly different from the huntsmen’s drunken tales of monsters and human-repelling growth, the forest swallows Silver with a quiet murmur of excitement. Unlike them, he is welcome here.

The lights lead him over a small brook and between luscious vegetation, pulsing brighter with every step he takes onward. At the very end of his journey, he finds a cottage tucked in the shadows of two large, wooded hills. Three figures stand before it, ready to greet him: a slight, beaming man, the horned silhouette towering above him, and a child his age leaning heavily against the former. The first ushers him in with the heady promise of pie, blankets, and crackling fire… and the rest is history.

From then on, Silver works tirelessly for his new family; in exchange for their love, provisions, and tutelage, he cleans up around their cozy little hut, despite any reservations his beloved Papa may have. It’s the least he can do, after all…! Eventually, this gives way to Lilia training him alongside Sebek, versing him in the complex albeit beautiful mannerisms of magic. (At some point, they had revealed to him that they are all a part of the Diasomnia coven; he can’t quite remember.) And although he may not be able to manipulate the delicate fabric of reality himself, he is instructed by Malleus to take pride in how quickly he’s taken to botany and navigating their inventory. Silver soon secures an oath to be taught the advanced art of potionology when he’s older—though he’ll have to be shown how they source their precious ingredients, first! (He assumes that some must come from his old hometown, or other adjacent ones. Why else would his father return smelling of iron and smoke and oil?)

All in all, it’s the most perfect, wonderful, idyllic life he could’ve ever hoped for. With the smooth, comfortable weight of a broom rolling between his palms, he begins to hum as he mops up their latest spill of crimson potion. Crystal stars glimmering overhead, scattering rays of brilliance against their floor with Malleus’ lights dancing in tandem, he pauses mid-task to grace his family—his world—with another smile.

.

..

…

(He was the right choice to make, after all. With a few more years of blissful, unwitting cultivation, they’ll finally have the elements they need: virginal blood, auroral eyes, and the purest of hearts.

And then he shall remain a part of their life force forever.)

[waterdeep-weavemoss]

The darkness seems to splinter as it caresses the rapid beating of your heart. One flutter purrs in satisfaction, yearning for your return – satisfied, knowing you draw nearer and nearer. The other, however, aches; both in gratitude and pain. The shadow cannot seem to keep a firm grasp on either of its contrasting feelings, the two wrestling for control over the glimmer that lives within you. 

As you approach the cave mouth, your companions look at you wide-eyed and panicked. They seem to know the words that live on your tongue before you can say them. 

“I will trail behind you,” Astarion says, disappointedly resolute. “Keeping a blade close. The others will follow at my signal.” 

You nod, swallowing hard. There aren’t enough words in all the realms to express your gratitude for their loyalty. They seem to feel it radiating off you. These companions love you, and will stand beside you through it all. 

The shadows curl at the base of the cave mouth, spilling out in all directions. The hissing is louder now. Though you fear what lies beyond, you can’t help the tetherline from urging you forward. With a breath you take a step into the darkness. 

The cold swarms your skin. A frigid embrace, intimate and bitter, but an embrace nonetheless. The darkness is welcoming you home. You feel icy shadows snake up your arms, around the delicate skin of your neck, curling at the shell of your ear. A gentle purr rings out, louder than the other dissonant voices as you slowly continue forward. 

“Yes…” the voice drawls, dripping with pleasure. “Yes, my darling, sweet Doe…” The voice grows drunk with power as you take another step, the air growing colder the deeper you traverse into the cave. Your breaths begin to form frosty clouds as you exhale, your breathing becoming more rapid as your fear rises. The light from the warmth beyond the cave mouth grows smaller as you turn to look behind. You see Astarion’s silhouette, keeping his distance. 

The shadows curl around your jaw, gently turning your gaze to continue forward. 

“Come to me, my love…” Shaking, you continue on down the dark path. “Yes, Doe…my sweet Doe…” 

The hissing becomes frantic for a moment as another voice cuts through the sensual whispers of the darkness. 

“Doe… Can you hear me, my love? Doe…” The familiar voice is scared, but tries to steady itself. “Doe, please… help me…” 

“ENOUGH!” 

You drop to your knees as the cave goes black as night all around. That familiar voice is snuffed out, at least for now. Your body wracks with tremors, hands shaking as you try to steady yourself. 

“Beloved…do not fear me…” You inhale and exhale, mastering your fear. “Come closer to me…” 

You stand determined. This darkness cannot have him. You will not lose him. 

You take another step forward. 

The darkness seems to smile bag, tugging on the shadowy tetherline curled in your chest. 

“Yes…” It seems to say as you move further through the dark. “Good girl…”

Her teeth chatter. She grits them together, balls her shaking hands into fists. Her nails bite hard into her flesh, drawing blood. She feels it drip to the cave floor. It steams.

'Sh-shut u-up-' This perversion of the man she loves is terrifying. She doesn't want to move. She wants to turn and run. She wants to reach back and take Astarion's hand and leave. She turns her head again to find him, can see nothing but the dark. Feel nothing but the cold and her blood and the pain.

'Th-th-this is en-nough n-now,' she says haltingly, the cold making speech difficult. 'You don't h-have to d-do this. Gale... I m- I miss-' She can't finish the sentence, dissolving into sobs. Her knees hit the floor and she curls in on herself, crying softly.

I don't have the strength.

Gale. I love you. But I don't have the strength to pull you out of the dark. Forgive me.

[almaadst]

for the artist ask: 2, 4, 5, 8, 14, and 17~ :3c

@andeborg Billy my sweetheart! <3 Thank you for your questions and patience 🙏(But like they say "save best for the last" <3) Although most of the questions I already answered here: 2, 5, 8, 17) but here are the other two:

4. Favourite things to draw?

That's a tough question actually! I think it will be female faces and female bodies overall and long hair 'cos I love making them nice shapes '3'

14. How has your art changed over the years?

That will be fun to answer! I have to open the folder with my old art and I will show you! '3'

<2010 I started my drawing journay with drawing animals like lions/wolfs I tried imitating "Lion King" style but I do not have any artwork from this time ;; But I have artworks from 2012 which I think I was quite good already (*￣∀￣) Here it is, my lioness OCs: Xena and Hexa! (daughter and mother)

2011 (left) - I started drawing humans (manga style) after watching Pandora Hearts anime. Anatomy was really wanky - I clearly didn't know how to properly draw the shoulder/chest area, the clothes design was "edgy" 'cos I was 14yo lol, and of course, I was hiding hands 'cos I couldn't draw them all! And I didn't have a graphic tablet back then so all was traditionally made with crayons. I mostly drew character designs and my OCs, here is Alex.

2012 (right) - I already got a tablet and I was making digital drawings. I had the courage to try drawing hands, but the whole silhouette was really long and thin, and I was afraid to put more decent shadows but I started doing a little background.

2013 (left) -I was making more complex pieces but I didn't know shit about perspective and composition lol

2014 (right) - It was definitely a "gap year" in my art life I didn't draw much back then but definitely, I started using photo references to improve my artwork

2015 - 100% art block year ;; I stopped drawing, using DeviantArt, and just quit for a while

2016 - I was drawing again thanks to Metal Gear Solid games - It was the first time I was so involved to draw fan art (before I was worried that "my ugly art style will ruin my beloved characters" lol) and I made Tumblr account for it!

2017 (left) - Was completely dedicated to Ao no Exorcist manga, it help me make art again and enjoy M&A again but I stopped drawing my OCs thou I practiced more while doing study characters, sketching more, teaching myself from YouTube, etc

2018 (right) - Here I was switching to My Hero Academia fandom but also I was making fan arts/ crossovers for different shows and I was improving my coloring/shading style etc and started making commissions

2019 (left) - Burnout year again;; I was drawing VERY little and mostly it was sketches for series I watched

2020 (right) - I decided to come back to drawing and open commission - I was doing mostly My Hero academia commissions and thanks to that I seriously started working on my background in artwork and my skill overall and I think it was a time when I realized that drawing come very easy that I had a certain level/skill which made less frustration about how and what I drew

2021 > I mostly focused on commission and improving my artwork!

That was a long post but so fun to make and reflect a little bit! Thank you to all people who sent me asks! I was really supries how many itwas (that's why I took me so long! ;;) I will do it againg in the future for sure! but maybe with questions made by me? who knows! (*￣∀￣)

Love you all, Alex 🌷

[danbisroom]

Ep. 26 (Half 52) - We’ll Bask In The Shadow Of Yesterday’s Triumph

Hello my beloved fellow souls,

welcome back to Danbi’s Room, your weekly dose of safe space. Go grab a cup of something warm and get yourself cosy.

I hope you got to see a lot of beautiful things in the past two weeks. I hope you had the energy to slow down and look fondly at the positive that will come into your present if you let go of of the negative past. Don’t look back in anger my loves.

I’m sorry, in the end I failed you and ended up being absent for two weeks. I…was a bit sick last Monday and Tuesday and I couldn’t really keep my eyes open…forgive me.

I was thinking about a concept I’ve seen floating around in the past few months, which is that we get to a certain point in life, sooner or later, where we lose all contact with our own perception of life; we become disconnected from reality, alien to the present moment. Anxiety kidnaps our body and soul and we’re deprived of the magic which had been surrounding us. We don’t shine anymore even if deep within the Sun is still inside us.

Now we’re like inside a black hole, we’re swallowed up by darkness, As I’m not a physicist I’m not gonna delve into the specific properties and characteristics of black holes but there’s two things I find particularly fascinating. First of all we don’t actually see black holes: we can observe their silhouette through the “light” emanated by the deadly fate the celestial body around them meet.

That, at least in my view, directly leads me to the second object of my fascination: eye pupils. Black holes absorbing light engulfed and defined by jagged colours unique to each and every one of us. I’m not gonna get too deep with this, it’s just yet another reminder that “as above so below; as below so above”. It’s a very practical and substantive quote. As always what surrounds us and what constitutes us are one the mirror of the other. In my opinion that does add the sparkle of magic back, the magic of the small things: if the cosmos is magical so are our eyes, so is whatever they gaze upon. Everything shines, so shine and laugh and be wild. Embrace and welcome all the facets of the diamonds adorning your skin, all of the layers of your luscious petals. Bask in what others might call delusion but to you it’s the truthful vision of dreams, suggested to you by the gentle whisper of the sea breeze. Look at the Moon and bathe your hair in her silver rays while loving shadows caress your head. Free yourself of perfection ‘cause it doesn’t exist and, most importantly, it doesn’t matter at all. To be honest, as far as I’m concerned, I’m not very fond of symmetry. Given that perfect symmetry on a face is physically impossible there are still many faces around which are fairly symmetrical. Might be ‘cause I love drawing portraits but lopsided faces are so much more beautiful to me. So much more charming. They tell stories. A smile tenderly curving towards the right side of a visage lovely followed by downwardly slanted eyes, paused by a crooked nose decorated by messy curly hair…I’m always going to choose that over everything else.

Maybe you learn to love faces the way you learn to appreaciate food from different cultures and new genres of music. New art. You just need to domesticate yourself to it until you find the key of the immense amount of love you can pour inside of it. Something that completely changes your life and your outlook. Sometimes you don’t even notice its light making its way in your soul like a stream but one day you wake up, you feel it and you just have the sensation of being fuller and lighter and you start seeing colours again. Like good news after a year of numbness.

It might seem impossible but I can guarantee it’s possible. Miracles happen all the time and when they do we must be ready to see them, so we can go to the triumphs of our childhood and lay our bare feet on the soil again.

Today song recommendation is Shine On You Crazy Diamond by Pink Floyd. It’s a favourite of mine and it’s beautifully evocative in all of its parts. Just lay down and spoil yourself with 25 minutes of bliss.

I hope you enjoyed this episode and that you have a beautiful week ahead of you!

I’ll see you in the next one, big hug!

With love, yours,

Danbi

[taylorprintssussex]

Unveiling Beauty: Abstract Digital Painting of Seaford's Splash Point

As an artist deeply connected to my local surroundings, I'm thrilled to share my latest digital masterpiece with you all. Inspired by the natural beauty of Seaford's Splash Point and the majestic Seaford Head Cliffs, this abstract digital painting captures the essence of this beloved local beauty spot in a truly unique and captivating way.

Using the intricate editing tools in Photoshop, I embarked on a creative journey to reimagine Splash Point through an abstract lens. Drawing upon the vibrant colors, textures, and shapes found in nature, I let my imagination run wild as I crafted each brushstroke with meticulous detail.

At the heart of the painting lies the rugged silhouette of Seaford Head Cliffs, their towering presence a testament to the enduring power of the natural world. Against the backdrop of the azure sea, the cliffs stand as guardians of the coastline, their weathered faces bearing the marks of time and tide.

But it's not just the cliffs that take center stage in this artwork – it's the dynamic interplay of light and shadow, the subtle shifts in color and form, that bring Splash Point to life in a whole new way. From the gentle curves of the shoreline to the frothy waves crashing against the rocks, every element of the landscape is infused with energy and vitality.

As you gaze upon this abstract digital painting, allow yourself to be transported to the rugged shores of Seaford, where the beauty of nature unfolds in a symphony of color and texture. Let your imagination roam free as you explore the intricacies of Splash Point and Seaford Head Cliffs, and discover the hidden depths of this beloved local treasure.

I invite you to experience the magic of Seaford's Splash Point through my eyes, and to revel in the beauty and wonder of the natural world that surrounds us. May this artwork serve as a reminder of the power of art to capture the essence of our world, and to inspire us to seek out beauty in every corner of our lives.

[orbmanson7]

Oh, sleep you well Oh, sleep you well Oh, my little perfect son Can’t understand what you have done for me...