#also there’s no need to even draw anything 😭

[speaknow-sw]

THE POET AND THE ROSE

Content : light description of injury, stitching. Plot with plot.

A/N ; Sooo here I am with chapter 2 and I’ve decided to say : FUCK THE HATERS !!! Here’s a 4.1k word king chapter WITHOUT smut for the real people pleasure. Anyway guys I swear I’m getting better with English poetry but this chapter really shows that English is not my first language. 😭 (just let you know that I’ll still cross post this story on ao3)

꧁ Chapter 2 : Bound in Silence ꧂

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Two hearts bound by duty’s chain,

Silent as the falling rain.

Walls we’ve built, cold and high,

Guard the truths we both deny.”

As the days turned to weeks, the initial passion and tenderness shared between you and Anakin faded like a distant memory, replaced by an unsettling void. He was consumed by his duties as General, often riding out at dawn to attend to the needs of his men and the villages under British protection. You were left to navigate the labyrinthine castle and the complexities of the British court alone.

The castle was a sprawling, ancient edifice filled with echoing corridors and shadowy alcoves. The air was always thick with the scent of beeswax candles and the faint, lingering aroma of history. The servants regarded you with a mix of curiosity and wariness, unsure of how to address the French princess who had become their lady.

At court, the British nobles eyed you with a combination of disdain and fascination. Whispers followed you through the grand halls, and you could feel their judging stares boring into your back. Not a single soul approached you, and you were left to wander the lavish rooms alone, a solitary figure amidst the glittering tapestries and ornate furniture.

Anakin's absence left you with an aching emptiness in your chest. You found yourself longing for his presence, for the warmth of his touch and the depth of his gaze. But as the days stretched on without a word from him, you began to wonder if you had imagined the connection between you.

Late one evening, as you sat alone in the grand library, poring over a dusty tome, you heard a soft knock at the door. Startled, you looked up to see a young page standing nervously in the doorway.

"Your Highness," he stammered, his eyes downcast. "Lord Skywalker left you a letter."

Anakin's name sent a jolt of anticipation and trepidation through you. You set down the book and rose to your feet, taking the letter with trembling hands.

My wife,

I have news from the front. The Scottish have launched a surprise attack on a village near the border. I need to lead my men and repel the invasion. But I cannot leave without ensuring your safety.

I have arranged for a contingent of my most trusted men to remain here and protect you in my absence. They will be stationed around the castle and will escort you wherever you need to go within the palace walls. Additionally, I have instructed the head of the household staff, Lady Fawcett, to assist you with any needs or concerns you may have during my time away.

I regret that I cannot be here to attend to you personally, but I assure you, your safety and well-being are of the utmost importance to me. I expect to return within a fortnight, barring any unforeseen delays or complications on the battlefield.

In my absence, I would ask that you remain within the castle walls and avoid drawing undue attention to yourself. The British court can be a treacherous place, and as my wife, you may face opposition and resentment from those who oppose our union.

I have also left instructions with the royal treasurer to ensure you have access to any funds you may require during my time away. If there is anything else you need, please do not hesitate to send a message to me through one of the soldiers I have assigned to your protection.

I know this is not the honeymoon either of us envisioned, but I assure you, my thoughts will be with you always. I will return to you in approximately three nights.  

Yours,

Anakin Skywalker

General of the British Army.

The days dragged on, each one blurring into the next as you wandered the castle's endless corridors, your footsteps echoing in the cavernous halls. Anakin's letter, once read, now felt cold and impersonal, a mere formality to satisfy some sense of duty rather than a heartfelt expression of devotion.

As the week mark approached, you found yourself retreating to the castle's art studio, a room filled with dusty canvases and faded paints. Here, amidst the splattered palettes and rough sketches, you discovered a solace you hadn't known before.

You threw yourself into your work with a fervor bordering on mania, the frustration and loneliness that had been building inside you pouring out onto the canvas. Vibrant strokes of blue and gold swirled together, each brushstroke a testament to the tempest raging within your heart.

Days turned to weeks, and the paintings began to pile up around you - landscapes of the French countryside, portraits of imaginary figures, and abstract interpretations of the emotions you couldn't voice. The servants whispered amongst themselves, marveling at the princess's talent and the raw, almost desperate passion in each piece.

Yet even as you lost yourself in the throes of creation, a part of you remained acutely aware of the emptiness that had taken up residence in your chest. The ache of Anakin's absence was a constant companion, a dull throb that refused to dissipate.

You longed for his touch, for the warmth of his hand in yours or the strength of his arms around you. But as the days stretched on without a word from him, you began to wonder if you had imagined the connection between you. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of passion, a dream that had slipped away like mist in the morning light.

The frustration grew with each passing day, a bitter taste on your tongue that no amount of paint could sweeten. You had married a stranger, a man who seemed more at home on the battlefield than in the castle with his new bride. The realization stung, a painful reminder of the gulf that yawned between you.

Late one evening, as you stood back to admire your latest work - a swirling tempest of emotion rendered in shades of black and crimson - you heard a soft knock at the door. Startled, you turned to see one of Anakin's soldiers standing nervously in the doorway.

The soldier stood at attention, his eyes downcast as he delivered his message. "Your Highness, I am to escort you to the small gathering of ladies in the rose garden."

With a sigh, you set down your palette and followed the soldier through the winding corridors of the castle. As you approached the rose garden, the tinkling laughter of the ladies reached your ears, a discordant sound that set your teeth on edge.

You entered the garden, the heady scent of roses thick in the air. The ladies, a gaggle of British nobles, fell silent as you approached. They regarded you with a mix of disdain and curiosity, their eyes raking over your paint-stained dress with disapproval.

You took a seat on a wrought-iron bench, feeling the weight of their stares and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. The conversation continued in hushed tones, but you caught snippets of rumblings about French unrest and discontent with the treaty.

"...heard whispers of rebellion in the countryside..."

"...the common folk grow weary of British rule..."

"...perhaps it is time we remind the French of their place..."

The words sent a chill down your spine, and you hugged your arms around yourself, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable.

As the gathering drew to a close, you excused yourself, eager to retreat to the solitude of your chambers. You bid the ladies goodnight, but your words fell on deaf ears as they continued their hushed conversations, oblivious to your presence.

The castle halls were quiet that evening, the distant sounds of servants preparing for supper muffled by the thick stone walls. You had wandered further than usual in search of solace, your thoughts preoccupied with Anakin's sudden departure and the icy distance that lingered between you. It was this distraction that led you down an unfamiliar corridor near the great library—one you rarely visited.

As you turned the corner, the low murmur of voices caught your attention. Instinctively, you pressed yourself against the cool stone wall, heart quickening. Voices carried easily through the narrow passageway, and you strained to make out the conversation.

"You can't keep delaying," came a sharp, familiar tone. It was your father’s emissary, Gaius. His voice carried the edge of urgency, as though chastising his companion. "The treaty is nothing more than a formality. It served its purpose—peace to distract the British, but the real work must begin."

"I understand, but you underestimate the General," a second voice replied, smooth and measured. You recognized Count Aulbry's distinctive cadence— the French nobles who had attended your wedding. "Skywalker is no fool. He’ll sense something is amiss before long. And the princess..." Aulbry let the word linger, almost derisively.

"The princess is irrelevant," Gaius interrupted impatiently. "She was always a pawn in the larger game, and she’s played her part. Her marriage softened the General enough to open the gates. We’ve bought time, and that’s all we needed."

A cold chill ran down your spine. They were speaking of you—of your marriage. A pawn? Softened the General? You pressed your hand against the wall to steady yourself, swallowing the lump rising in your throat.

"But what of the King ? The Scottish ?" Aulbry asked, his voice low now, almost conspiratorial. "He’ll have to act soon, or it will be too late to reclaim what is ours."

Your father's name was not spoken aloud, but it didn’t need to be. You knew in that moment that the treaty—your marriage—was not the olive branch you had believed. It was a strategy, a ruse.

"He’ll act," Gaius said, his voice cold with certainty. "And when he does, Skywalker won’t see it coming. The King and his allies knows where their loyalties lie, as do we."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the sound of retreating footsteps. You remained pressed against the wall, your breath shallow, every word reverberating in your mind. The betrayal was clear, but the full scope of their plan was not. Your father’s emissary and Count Aulbry were working together, and worse, it seemed your father himself might be complicit.

The castle gates creaked open as the thunder of hooves filled the courtyard. You stood atop the stone steps, clutching the edges of your shawl against the biting wind, your heart racing with a mixture of relief and apprehension. Anakin had returned. The news had come just moments ago—a British victory against the Scots. Yet whispers of injuries had reached the castle before him, carried by grim-faced soldiers.

When he rode through the gates, you felt your breath catch. Anakin sat slouched in the saddle, his usually rigid posture softened by pain. His tunic was darkened with blood near his shoulder, the shaft of an arrow protruding from his back. Dirt and sweat streaked his face, but his piercing blue eyes were sharp as ever, scanning the courtyard with the wariness of a man who never let his guard down.

"Bring a medic," you called to the nearest servant, your voice firm despite the growing knot in your chest. Without waiting for a reply, you descended the steps quickly, your skirts swishing against the cold stone.

Anakin dismounted slowly, his movements deliberate but betraying the agony he must have been feeling. His jaw clenched tightly, and he ignored the outstretched hands of the knights who came to steady him. His gaze flicked to you briefly as you approached, and though his expression remained stoic, you could see the faintest flicker of something softer in his eyes—relief, perhaps, or simply acknowledgment.

"You should be resting," you said softly, stepping closer.

"I'm fine," he replied, his voice rough. He moved past you toward the castle, but his steps faltered. Instinctively, you reached out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm.

"You're not fine," you insisted, your voice firmer now. "Let me help."

He stopped, his back to you, tension radiating from his frame. For a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. But then he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and allowed you to guide him inside.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

“Pools of depth where truths reside,

The storm within I cannot hide.

No blade, no shield could pierce me through,

But her gaze undoes what war can’t do."

In the warmth of his chambers, you worked quickly, dismissing the servants to care for him yourself. He sat on the edge of the bed, his armor discarded in a heap on the floor. The sight of his injury was worse than you’d expected—the arrowhead was embedded deeply, the skin around it swollen and angry.

"You shouldn’t have ridden all this way with this still in you," you murmured, gathering the supplies from the table.

"I’ve had worse," he replied tersely, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. He avoided your gaze, his focus fixed on the floor.

You said nothing, dipping a cloth into a basin of warm water and beginning to clean the blood around the wound. He flinched slightly at the touch but didn’t pull away.

"Hold still," you said gently.

His lips pressed into a thin line, but he obeyed, his breathing shallow as you worked. You couldn’t help but notice how tightly wound he was, his body tense even in his exhaustion. Yet beneath that cold exterior, you felt a strange tenderness—a sense of trust he didn’t know how to express.

When you began cutting away the remnants of his tunic to access the wound better, he finally broke the silence. "You shouldn’t be doing this."

"I’m your wife," you said simply, glancing up at him. "Who else should care for you?"

He didn’t respond, his jaw tightening again. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he seemed to battle his own instincts—to push you away, to protect himself.

"You don’t have to bear everything alone, you know," you added softly, focusing on the arrow. "Even generals need someone to lean on."

The words hung in the air, met with silence. But when you looked up again, you found his gaze on you, and for the briefest moment, the walls he kept so carefully constructed seemed to crack. There was something unspoken in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or respect.

"It’ll hurt," you warned, gripping the shaft of the arrow carefully.

"It already does," he muttered.

You worked quickly, pulling the arrow free in one swift motion. He hissed sharply, his fingers digging into the bedsheets, but he didn’t cry out. Blood welled up immediately, and you pressed a clean cloth to the wound, holding it firmly to staunch the bleeding.

"Almost done," you murmured.

He didn’t reply, his eyes closing briefly as you worked. When you finished cleaning and stitching the wound, you sat back with a sigh, your hands trembling slightly from the effort.

"There," you said, your voice softening. "It’s done."

He opened his eyes and looked at you, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

"Thank you," he said, his voice low and gruff.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart ache. You knew he wasn’t used to this—to someone caring for him, to someone seeing the man beneath the armor. And though he didn’t say it, you could feel his respect for you growing, like a quiet ember in the cold.

"Rest," you told him, rising to your feet. "You’ll heal faster if you let yourself."

He didn’t argue, his gaze following you as you gathered the bloodied cloths and stepped toward the door. Just as you reached it, his voice stopped you.

"Stay."

It was a single word, spoken softly but with weight. You turned back to see him watching you, his defenses lowered just enough for you to see the man behind them.

You nodded and returned to his side, sitting quietly as he drifted into a fitful sleep. And though he didn’t reach for your hand, you stayed close, your presence a silent promise that he didn’t have to face his burdens alone.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

Her touch is the breeze, her voice the stream,

A melody woven through my dream.

Yet when I reach, she fades from sight,

A phantom born of longing’s light.

The morning was heavy with fog, the sky a dull, oppressive gray. The castle bustled with preparations for Anakin’s departure, servants hurrying to pack his provisions and polish his armor. You stood near the hearth in the solar, wringing your hands as you listened to the muffled clamor from the courtyard below.

He would leave again, summoned back to the battlefield, back to the unending war that seemed to consume every fragment of his life. And once again, you would remain behind, alone in the echoing halls of this castle.

You turned toward the desk near the window, where a stack of parchment and a few books sat in neat disarray. Among them lay a small leather notebook, its cover smooth and worn from use. You had left it there days ago, a forgotten remnant of your attempts to sketch or write, your restless mind unable to find focus.

The door opened, and you turned to see Anakin stepping inside. He wore his traveling cloak, his broad shoulders stiff with the weight of command. His gaze swept over the room, landing briefly on you before shifting away.

“I leave within the hour,” he said, his voice flat, as if delivering a report rather than a goodbye.

You nodded, your chest tightening. “I see.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He moved to the window, staring out at the courtyard below where his men were assembling. His presence filled the room, a storm contained within the man. You wanted to say something—to ask him to stay, to tell him to be careful—but the words lodged in your throat.

Instead, you stepped forward. “I’ll have the servants bring your things.”

“I’ve already seen to it,” he replied, his tone distant.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned back toward the desk, unsure of what else to say, and ran your fingers over the leather notebook.

“Is that yours?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet.

You glanced over your shoulder, surprised. He was watching you now, his blue eyes sharp and curious.

“Yes,” you said softly. “I haven’t used it much. It’s… just for thoughts. Or sketches.”

He stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the notebook before returning to you. “You don’t mind if I take it?”

The question caught you off guard. “Of course not,” you said quickly, holding it out to him.

He took it from your hands, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it sent a ripple through the air between you. He studied the notebook for a moment, his expression unreadable, before tucking it into the satchel at his side.

“Thank you,” he said gruffly, his voice softer now.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Be safe, Anakin.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for a moment, you thought he might say something more. But then he turned, the storm in him retreating behind the cold armor he always wore.

When he was gone, the solar felt emptier than ever.

The clatter of hooves and the creak of carriage wheels echoed through the courtyard as Anakin prepared to depart. You stood at the top of the stone steps, watching the controlled chaos below. Knights in polished armor mounted their horses, squires hurried to secure provisions, and the castle staff bustled with last-minute preparations.

Amidst the activity, something felt off—a subtle tension in the air that you couldn’t quite name. The nobles gathered near the gates, their expressions carefully composed, but their whispered exchanges carried an undercurrent of unease. You noticed Count Aulbry standing apart, his sharp eyes scanning the soldiers with a calculating gaze. Your father’s emissary, Gaius, was there as well, speaking in hushed tones to another courtier. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they caught you watching, their smiles too quick, too polished.

Your heart tightened. Something was amiss, though you couldn’t say what.

Anakin emerged from the castle, drawing your attention away from the murmurs. Clad in his black cloak and gleaming armor, he exuded an unshakable authority, even with the strain of war etched into his features. He strode to his horse with purpose, but there was no mistaking the stiffness in his shoulders, the weight he bore with every step.

He mounted his horse with practiced ease, turning briefly to glance at you. His expression was unreadable, the familiar walls firmly in place. You took a step forward, wanting to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat.

“Take care of yourself,” you managed finally, your voice soft.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, and though his face remained stoic, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something unspoken. He nodded once, then spurred his horse forward.

You stood frozen on the steps as the company filed out through the gates, the sound of hoofbeats fading into the distance. The nobles watched the procession with guarded expressions, their whispers resuming the moment Anakin was out of sight. The unease in your chest grew, but you pushed it aside, unwilling to let it take root.

Later, the castle felt unbearably quiet, the emptiness pressing down on you. Restless, you retreated to your chambers and pulled out your paints, hoping to find solace in the familiar rhythm of brushstrokes. You set up your easel near the window, where the light spilled across the stone floor, and began to paint.

Anakin’s image filled the canvas—or it started to. You outlined the broad sweep of his shoulders clad in armor, the sharp angles of his face illuminated by the faint glow of the morning sun. Your brush moved with care, attempting to capture the power in his posture, the way his cloak billowed in the wind as he rode away.

But as the hours passed, your strokes faltered. The lines blurred; details escaped you. How could you fully capture the depths of a man who revealed so little of himself? His eyes, always so distant, defied your efforts to bring them to life. Frustrated, you set the brush down and studied the incomplete image.

His figure was there, half-formed and waiting, as though suspended in time. The armor gleamed, but the face remained unfinished—a shadow of the man he was, elusive and untouchable.

You sighed, running your fingers lightly over the edge of the canvas. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t complete. And perhaps it wouldn’t be until he returned, until you could see him again and fill in the missing pieces.

For now, it would remain unfinished, just as so much between you did.

As the hours of his journey stretched into days, Anakin rode under the steel-gray skies, the leather notebook tucked securely in his pack. When the campfires burned low at night and the world grew quiet, he would open it, the blank pages staring back at him like a challenge.

His hands, so used to wielding a sword or penning commands, hesitated over the delicate task of crafting words not for strategy, but for her. Yet as the nights wore on, the words began to flow—hesitant at first, then with more certainty.

He wrote of her eyes, of the way they softened when she spoke. He wrote of the fleeting moments of her laughter, of the way her presence lingered like a melody long after she left a room.

The words he wrote were not for her to read, not yet. They were for himself, a small rebellion against the man the world demanded he be.

And as he closed the notebook each night, he wondered if she would ever truly know the depths of what he could not say.

From the Lays of General Anakin Skywalker, XIII century

"Amid the clash of steel and cries of war, I dream of hands that harm no more. The world is cruel, but she is kind, A gentle balm to a soldier’s mind."

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Hello Sleepy, I hope you’re doing well! This isn’t much of an ask but more of a little gift. I am amazed by your work and the creativity behind your characters, along with the storylines! I hope I am not crossing any boundaries when I say I have drawn your OC Jade. The twist? She met my character (which I’m still working on) in a comic I made for you! I have no intentions on changing your characters storyline or taking any credit of Jade; if I crossed a line or did anything wrong I apologize IMMENSELY.

The comic takes place in London outside Jades florist shop. This is when our characters are on the civilian side and off duty. There was an accident outside of the building and after a long terrible month for Soot (my characters nickname until I finish her biography), she happens to witness the accident. She acts on instinct and adrenaline, leaping right into action to help the victim.

As she addresses the man like routine she hears a voice, it’s a woman. Particularly, it’s Jade who had heard the commotion and investigated. I’d like to think with Jades background and her kind heart she doesn’t hesitate to give a helping hand where it’s needed. Until proper Responders arrived on scene, Soot and Jade were able to help save this man’s life.

Now although the very lazy sketch of a comic I scribbled, I did draw a flat colored picture. This takes place after the accident. Soot, with the routine down to a T, takes the ambulance back to the hospital with the man. She doesn’t interfere with the medical professionals, she’s been there done that, Soot just wants to be there for the patient and for the family when they eventually arrive to the hospital. To answer any questions and possibly provide comfort.

Now PLEASE correct me if I am wrong, I took a wild chance at this— Jade also goes to the hospital, but on her own. She wanted the same thing Soot did, to be there for the family and provide any comfort/closure if possible. It’s rare that this occurrence even happened ecspecially with it right outside her Floral Shop.

As Jade waits in the waiting room patiently for what seems like two hours, she is approached out of nowhere by a familiar figure. The woman she voluntarily gave her helping hands too. As observant as Jade is, she recognizes an exhausted look on this lady’s face that was clearly built over the course of years.

“Thank you,” is gently whispered by Soot to Jade, standing quiet and tired in front of her. They don’t know each other, maybe they eventually will or maybe they won’t. But they worked together like they had known one another forever.

First Encounter:

Again, I hope I did not cross any boundaries. I have no intentions on taking, altering or changing your OC and her storyline! All credit goes to you. I also hope I drew Jade correctly, I read her favorite color is lilac so I included that— braids are so hard to draw help :,)

Anyways, Thank you for your amazing content and keep up the hard work! You are extraordinarily talented at what you do, you should be proud🫶

(sorry for any typos)

WAITTT WAIT WAIT

THIS IS SPECTACULAR, GIVE ME 14 OF THEM RIGHT NYEOW!!!

THE COMIC?? THE ART?? HELP?? Jade would totally do this! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!! You got it perfectly!!

Thank you so much for taking the time to make this art!! 😭This is such an amazing gift!

[dearlot]

spending christmas with the yellowjackets 💭

— just random headcanons that include the crash, postcrash, and adult timelines. in no specific order. gn!reader.

christmas in the cabin?!! they had soooo much more to worry about but like let's build a snowman guysss!!! let's cut down a tree and make wood ornaments and give gifts to each other!!! jackie asking you late at night if you think santa would come and deliver presents 😭 all waking up on whatever day you deem Christmas and having a celebration feast? :( lottie making tea for everyone, mari and you trying to make do with all the frozen berries and belts and acorns you've gathered, misty probably singing christmas songs by the fire, unwrapping presents with clothes as wrapping paper.....

the second winter you guys are so much more prepared and also so much more feral. christmas this time around would include a sacrifice for a nice dinner. shauna would disguise it as pulling cards for secret santa but you're actually about to surrender your life or die fighting. you've all got winter outfits too, and i think it'd be cute if everyone else besides lottie and nat wore these little reindeer headpieces during the feast because you guys are their followers. does that make sense? idk.

thinking about being taivan's controversially younger partner during christmas 😁 discounts in van's store (she needs the money ur not getting SHIT for free) and going with them to shop for decorations for the store too😖 gay christmas tree up in van's room...... watching christmas classics while drinking spiked eggnog and cuddling on the couch.... literally getting anything you want because you're their baby. waking up on christmas day, walking down to the kitchen for a quick drink of water first, and seeing tai and van wearing santa hats and kissing 😭

don't even get me started on being adult lottie's partner during christmas. i'll never shut up. i know that wellness center is decorated head to toe and i know she asked you to help her put everything up 😔 she'd give you some hot cocoa after all that hard work and a nice big kiss.

shauna (both adult and postcrash) is the fuckin' worst at hiding your presents, dawg. she probably shoves it in a closet somewhere and hopes you don't need anything from there 😭 of course you find it and immediately know what it is because i wonder what could this black, slightly boxy trash bag possibly be... probably really bad at wrapping too like most of your presents are just covered in tape LMFAO

oughh. spending christmas with post!crash lottie 😖 im ill. trying your best to save up some money to go visit her in swizterland but you just can't afford it :/ mailing polaroids of yourself with all the presents you wanted to send (some of them weren't allowed) and telling her they'll be waiting for her until she gets out :( Christmas with mute!Lottie too.... trying to spread some christmas spirit but its so hard when she's still so broken and won't talk :(( you do what you can though. taking her ice skating and getting a smile and laugh out of her was the highlight of the month.

nat would be so fucking good at gift giving i think....she's always so thoughtful with anything she does for a friend or her lover when making gifts for them because i feel like she'd prefer making rather than buying. little scrapbooks of meaningful places, mixtapes of songs that remind her of you, painting you something even!!!! or even something like getting you this book you really wanted but it comes with this HUGE handwritten note from her that's decorated with stickers and drawings of you and extra goodies she made on her own :(

christmas at lottie's compound with the others!!! you're lottie's closest acolyte and you've gotten closer with the girls as well. thinking about sitting in the circle with them in the sharing shack and they're comfortable enough with you to talk about the murders n shit in front of you 😭 but also going around and giving them gifts!! drinking wine with them and then dancing in the snow, throwing snowballs, and making snow angels >__< falling asleep after getting wasted and you're all kinda just in a pile laying on each other

jackie would buy so. much. mistletoe just to kiss you. you tell her she can just kiss you whenever but she's obsessed with christmas so it HAS to be under mistletoe. i think she'd go crazy during christmas too. you nearly had a heart attack when you came back from work to see a santa cutout peeking from behind a wall 😭 jackie as mrs. claus.....😖😖😖wearing the hat and (her reading) glasses while cooking with you, waking you up as mrs. claus on christmas morning and giving you an hour long present, like, ugh.....

[crystallizsch]

I didn’t draw anything but Happy Birthday Ian‼️

You were like the first oc content creator I saw when I infected Tumblr with my presence

and your content encouraged me to make ocs and I’m really happy you led me to that

your online presence is honestly really chaotic and wholesome and your oc content is really silly and your art is really cute 💞

wishing you the bestest best birthday because you deserve it

hrwhrheje TEARS. IN MY EYES. 😭😭

THANK YOU SO MUCH 🫶🫶💖💖 it’s still insane to me hearing that i’m a source of encouragement 😭 it just. makes me really happy to hear that <33

hdkskeenbd and chaotic/wholesome/silly THAT’S SO -😭😭💖💖 i’m happy to hear that’s the vibe i give 🥹

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[pirunika]

*logs into swtor w,my old ass pc after 6 years

*changes Nino's hair

*leaves

[graff-aganda]

No no ikr. The ENT fandom is so quiet around here. And honestly I'm just excited to see art of my favourite dudes, because we rarely get fanart around here, and when we do it's usually Trip or T'Pol solely. Malcolm gets left in the dust quite a lot so I'm happy you drew him as well - and so well done too!

Anyway, ramble over, lol.

OMG... Well I think I can see why a lot of fanart is of Trip and/or T'pol (those two seem like they're doing some heavy lifting for the show/are just a lot of people's faves. I've got a few half baked ideas in mind for them myself.) but the rest of the crew as a whole do deserve more love I think! :]

[the-first-spinjitzu-master]

3am doodles of some goofy little train faces :)

[francy-sketches]

I'm gonna have to work on my final project non stop for like a month straight bc I procrastinated on it too much fuck my stupid baka life

[skitskatdacat63]

Re: Chair Lore: Where is the Chair From?

I was joking about the seat looking like a sim chair, but after doing some research, I'm almost 100% sure they just took seats from a 2012 Ferrari 458 and put them on plexiglass platforms 😭

I couldn't find any pics that look *exactly* like the chair itself, but I think these are pretty similar, no?

It's going to bug me so much that I can't find the exact chair UGH, like with the white stripe in the middle, you know? But yes anyways, this is my theory.

*fyi, I'm planning a drawing with this chair and my thought process with finding reference is always "this has to be exactly perfect and 100% accurate" so thats why I'm being incredibly specific and over-detailed about this 😭 please don't think I'm weird

[nomaishuttle]

i simsed my ideal apartment :]

[dandyshucks]

one more day... going to be home by the end of the day tomorrow if all goes well... i am ready to start chewing on cement to be perfectly honest

[foundbybullet]

BRO I WAS JUST SCROLLING THROUGH YOUR BLOG YOU LIKE СВИДЕТЕЛЬСТВО О СМЕРТИ??

im so sorry i am just now getting into the habit of checking my inbox and now you're ia 😭 but for like the three of you who are wondering yes im into свидетельство о смерти

[sourbombz]

The desire to write and post fanfiction. But then there's the Stupid Fears in my head :(

[ratvich]

meep

[palskippah]

Hi! Nimona told him to do a thumbs up (also I hope you get the reference image because I couldn't find it ajkdsad)

There's some mpreg headcanons and drawings under the cut! :D

By the way the limit of images is 30 so I had to make some longer images with comics to save space and put more drawings 😭

-Also, small continuation from the previous drawing:

(I wrote baby album but maybe it should be those albums that people keep of the pregnancy process ajskd)

-When Ballister first started showing, he was a bit insecure about it, but Ambrosius helped with that, in the romantic sense of worshipping and whatever, but also like this:

Translation (did my best to see how to translate it sorry sdjksd it works better in spanish)

1 Ballister: I think it's too soon to be getting fat- Ambrosius: You know what else is getting fat? 2 Ambrosius: Who said that

-Ballister goes through the denial of needing new clothes, so imagine him still wearing the stuff he usually wears and Nimona coming from behind and picking at the clothes by his shoulder and going in a high-pitched voice, as if the shirt was talking - I'm tired, boss while Ballister swats her away and say, leave me alone, it still fits me >:(

(it doesn't)

>Also Ballister absolutely refusing to wear maternity clothes, the only one he got he was like, wearing it and looking very unimpressed, and Ambrosius' like, you don't like it? :( and Ballister says, No. It's ugly as fuck >:(

>So, he just gets bigger shirts and stretch-ier pants and that's it. Also he gets an oversized hoodie and he says that's gonna be his best friend the rest of the pregnancy, and both Nimona and Ambrosius gasp offendedly at that.

So-

Ambrosius (turning to look at Nimona): What the- hey, I am his best friend. Nimona: Course not! You lost that privilege with what happened that one time (she means the movie events, more than five years ago) Ballister: Ambrosius' my best friend, Nimona. Ambrosius: HAH >:D Nimona: Aw :( Ballister: Because you're my sidekick :) Nimona: :D Ambrosius: Hey, what now- that sounds better than best friend :(

-Ballister during most of the pregnancy is like, woo baby :) but at the very last months he's at least half of the time pissed off, tired and done with being pregnant.

(my incredible math skills in the next point)

>70% of that time he's mad at Ambrosius (who made him pregnant), 20% mad at Nimona (who consciously (and sometimes unconsciously) gets on his nerves) and the remaining 10 he's pissed off at Baby (and he gets sad about that one, because he's just a baby, so he redirects it at Ambrosius instead 😔)

>Ambrosius does his best to be of help but usually there's nothing he can do aside from being there (and sometimes getting out of Ballister's sight, if he's really angry- in the sense of 'I don't even want to see you now')

>Most of the time Ballister just cools off.

-Also Ambrosius giving him massages, sometimes randomly on his shoulders or his feet, and sometimes something more elaborated, like Ballister laying down and him using body oil, setting the ambient and all to massage his back (and Ballister almost always falls asleep in those).

>Sometimes tho he just does a 'chop chop chop' at his shoulders (it doesn't do anything besides amusing Ballister and keeping him company)

>Also Nimona said that of course he'd just randomly start chopping Ballister while Ballister does nothing about it, so Ambrosius starts chopping her instead

(made these two drawings with like three weeks of difference ajdkad)

(N/SFW thingies on the next four points and the next four images)

-Also with that previous point imagine Ballister waking up all angry, and Ambrosius just not knowing what he can do for him to stop being mad, but it turns out that Ballister had just woken up horny and pent-up.

>And once he realizes, he's like Ambrosius... (with intentions of getting some), and Ambrosius is like 🧍? because a second ago Ballister wasn't even looking at him.

-Also with this, Ballister is just very much hornier now (after the first trimester which was the worst) and Ambrosius doesn't mind at all - except when his jaw gets sore or he's running late for work because they lost track of time and also other situations ajsdks but usually he's delighted.

>(In the drawing Ballister just crossed one leg over the other once he heard Ambrosius coming in, because he can't maintain the position too long without getting uncomfortable sdjksj)

-Whenever Ballister is like >:c and looking in Ambrosius' direction, he immediately assumes that his husband is angry at him.

>Y'know when you look intensely at someone so they feel your gaze and look at you back? Ballister here is trying to apply that, but it doesn't work bc of the previous point askdad

-I had written sometime (I think) about them blaming Baby on literally anything that has more or less to do with him. If Ballister's crying, if he forgets stuff, if Nimona coddles Ballister too much and pisses him off, if Ambrosius wastes all the cleaning product in two weeks because he had been cleaning too much (he's nesting and realizes that sometime later), if Nimona and Ballister eat the weirdest stuff that at least he wouldn't eat in normal circumstances- and a long etc.

-During Ballister's pregnancy, Nimona works the most she had ever worked in her existence (in the biscuit factory):

-Both Nimona and Ambrosius are the most supportive c: yippie. Supportive husband/best friend and supportive sidekick/friend/sibling/etc

>An example would be of Ballister being tired, and if the time allows, the other two will immediately suggest a nap.

>Their collective naps usually last hours and they wake up disoriented, sweaty, with drool and the sheets marked on their faces.

>Also they wake up almost always stacked, Nimona always under the other two.

Translation

Nimona and Ballister: (snoring) Ambrosius: Fuck- what year is it? (tries to lift himself up)

-Also Nimona is the self-assigned pregnancy pillow, and at first Ballister had refused to let her do that, but as a sidekick she took it upon herself to make sure that her boss was comfy and could sleep well - and Ballister reminded her that that's not what sidekicks are for. She said, fuck off I'll do it anyways >:c

>Anyways he sleeps great with her help and earns himself a huge told you so from Nimona.

>I had written a thingy where just when she woke up she was like good morning boss :D while Ballister also said good morning and she hugged him while pushing Ambrosius away, even out of bed. I can't remember where I left it but once I find it, I'll see if it's good for posting pipipi Also Ballister and Ambrosius are corny husbands

>Also here I drew my vague idea of a bear bc I was too lazy to look for Nimona bear references sowwy

-Nimona sometimes shapeshifts into Ballister to make fun of him.

(This one joke gets lost in translation which is a shame but I'm gonna share the comic anyways sdjs)

>(She's messing around about names, doing a play in words using Gloreth's name while Ballister is already warning her to stop)

>Nimona urges them to get a name soon because Baby is almost born, and they're like yeah chill we're on it - and they're both sitting on the sofa, with Ballister's legs over Ambrosius' lap, while Ballister goes through their list on his tablet and Ambrosius focuses on giving him a massage on his feet.

They're like-

Ballister: So, Cyril? Ambrosius: No, my horse at the Institute was called that. Ballister: Right, then not that one... What about Casper? Ambrosius: Hmm... no. Ballister: Why not? Ambrosius: I don't know, I just don't really like it. Do you? Ballister: Eh, it's alright, I guess. I don't think Baby looks like a Casper, though Nimona: You don't even know how he looks yet! Ballister: You shut up, kid >:v Ballister: So, what about…

And they're making nearly to none progress but yeah sjdsd

>Also imagine Nimona (as Ballister) imitating what he does now that he's pregnant but x10 times more.

Translations

1 AUGHH- MY BACK 2 FUCKING AMBROSIUS! 3 Ambrosito? Can you get me a sweet treat? 🥺 4 I'M HUGE WAAA

>And while Ballister is like wtf I don't act like that, he turns to Ambrosius like, do I act like that? 😥 And Ambrosius, who was laughing to himself, goes, well... not so intensely, which is good enough for Ballister.

>But Nimona points out to what Ballister is eating with a mocking smile (and it is weird to be mocked by a version of himself that has a pink strand on his hair, but whatever), and he's like ? what? and realizes that he did ask for a sweet treat almost like Nimona depicted he does, because he did pull the big sparkly eyes and he did call Ambrosius Ambrosito while at it.

>Then he's wondering if he really complains about his back like that (he does, but as Ambrosius said, he isn't so intense about it, usually just holding his lower back and throwing his head back as he winces. Normal)

>(the yelling insults at Ambrosius is definitely not true. But he does throw daggers at him with his eyes when he's angry, he has to admit to himself)

>Now, about crying because he feels huge- yes. Very much true, but he doesn't wail. Just sobs and cries a river like the sensible, serious adult he is.

-Also that thing of knights don't cry and whatever. This one knight does cry, and he cries a lot (at least while he's pregnant).

>He cried once because he dreamt that Nimona was a little spider and even though he warned Ambrosius to be careful, he accidentally crushed her and he woke up not only incredibly sad but also upset with Ambrosius, even though he was aware that it was silly to get mad with him over a dream.

>Nimona was like boss :( while hugging him, and Ambrosius had to scoot a bit away because Ballister didn't even want to look at him as he wept. Ambrosius said a lot of reassuring words of I'm sorry, I think I didn't see her :( while Ballister was like, but I warned you so many times :'[

>Then he was like, I promise you, I'd never hurt Nimona. And Nimona herself said, yeah boss, I'd crush him first, don't you worry about it :) and Ballister said, but I couldn't protect you :''[ while hugging her harder.

>And both Nimona and Ambrosius are (internally) like, ohh, so that's what it's about.

>Anyways, just a bunch of hugging and comforting gets him to feel a little less sad and also Nimona saying, but you're great at protecting me now :D so, there's all that sdjksd

-Sometimes Ballister just breaks down over seemingly the most trivial stuff too (which is usually just the last straw over a bunch of other stuff going on)

Translation

1 Ambrosius: Balli? What happened? D: Ballister (with one eyeline going up and the other going down): Ambrosito, my eyeline's crooked* *the straw that broke the camel's back (his hair isn't cooperating) (his back hurts) (done) (clothes feel uncomfortable) (the baby won't stay still) 2 Ambrosius (doing Ballister's eyeline): Stay very still, love (focused) 3 (they're in front of the mirror) Ballister (laughing his ass off): BUT HOW DID YOU MAKE IT EVEN MORE CROOKED?! Ambrosius (embarrassed): Aw Ballister (holding his belly): Ow, Baby, don't kick me, sorry, sorry! I'll stay still now-

>(Y'know when a pregnant person laughs the baby inside gets all shaken skdsd I find it funny, so imagine Baby being like ??!! because Ballister keeps laughing too hard and shaking him all around and his kicks are like him going, stay the fuck still D:<) (Ballister's still weepy but now he's crying with laughter, which is better than him crying from being overwhelmed)

-Also Ballister's very scared of giving birth but he's very good at pretending that Baby will simply materialize in his arms rather than him having to push him out.

(Drawings based over this)

Translation

1 Ballister happy because his baby is almost born 2 (Remembers that he has to give birth to him)

-The day that he was in labor and all, imagine the water just breaking and stuff and Nimona being like 'okay everyone DON'T PANIC' while panicking and also Ballister's panicking too (Ambrosius' at work and when he's told he also panics and arrives at the hospital in record time still wearing his armor. The power of first-time father panic)

(But someone gotta be not panicking in the situation, so Ambrosius calms the fuck down and becomes the calming presence that Ballister can rely on c: also Nimona calms down too and goes back to being herself and is very good at distracting Ballister while he goes through contractions and the hours before pushing.)

>Also y'know how in TV sometimes someone else imitates the pregnant person's breathing exercises by going huff huff huff quickly ajsdkjd

>Also Ballister going Nimona what about the bags and also don't carry me there?! and her going shit right and ignoring the second half, then returning for the bags and grabbing them, all while holding Ballister like a doll (a doll with a little doll inside SJDS pregnant barbie)

En español pensaba que fuera = AYÚDENLO, SE LE SALE LA WAWA - NIMONA DEJA DE HACER SHOW

-Wrote a lil something about Baby's birth and Ballister going through kinda a rollercoaster of emotions because at the very beginning of the pushing stage he almost had a panic attack, but then everyone in the room helped him calm down, and when he thought everything was going great, the doctor offered Ambrosius to receive their baby, and of course his husband was very excited about it and said yes, getting dressed up in the medical gown, the facemask, the gloves and all that.

(Initially everything after that was supposed to go swiftly, but I thought, no, what if Ambrosius faints like some dads do? and after watching a TikTok of a woman whose partner did faint and they had to pause her birth to hold him up because he was like over 6 feet tall, I was like hell yeah that's it)

>When Ambrosius finally got between Ballister's legs to look, his blood pressure went the fuck down. And since he's pretty tall and the nurse that tried to catch him was pretty short, the other one had to join in and then the doctor too to avoid him slamming on the ground. The thing was that Ambrosius was clearly fighting very hard against unconsciousness, giving the three people holding him false hope about him finally holding his own weight, making them almost drop him multiple times.

>Sensibly, the situation was kinda scary, because the three people assisting his baby's birth were busy trying to hold his husband from fainting. Said husband was clearly fighting with everything he got to keep himself conscious, and Ballister could very much feel his baby crowning.

>But seeing three short people trying to hold Ambrosius up and yelping when they almost dropped him several times, and remembering that Ambrosius had been so excited about it but hadn't been able to even stand the view, and feeling pretty nervous because his main emotional support couldn't even keep himself awake-, made him crack up.

>So, he's laughing out loud and going every once in a while, owfuck- because it still hurts like a bitch, while the other three keep going, YOU'LL DROP HIM. BE CAREFUL, SIR?? SIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME? and Ambrosius' like, yea- (faints again)

>(they're well aware that they gotta deliver the baby, so they're doing their best to hurry Ambrosius to get out of the way)

>The whole thing had made Ballister's body feel weak from the laughter, and he had to try and calm down to have strength again and push the baby out.

>As you'd guess, Ambrosius didn't receive their baby, and had to sit down and eat something sweet to not faint again, but he managed to stay on his feet well enough to cut the umbilical cord yippie.

>So anyways, Baby out, wrapped and all that, Ballister kept laughing more quietly about it and saying that they should mark the date in the calendar to celebrate Ambrosius fainting over almost delivering their baby. And Ambrosius' like hmm, I don't know Balli, maybe we could use this date for our son's birthday, don't you think? and Ballister's like OH RIGHT and now started laughing at himself.

I keep thinking of new stuff that contradicts what I already have posted, sowwy

>Imagine Ambrosius practically begging Ballister to not tell Nimona, while the other says she'd love to know but also is aware that she'd never let Ambrosius live it down, so he agrees on not telling her. Both eventually tell both Nimona and Baby when the latter is older and inquired about his birth, and indeed, Nimona loved the anecdote, and never let Ambrosius live it down, since then.

-Ideas about Nimona infiltrating the room in the form of a nurse after Baby is born and blowing up her cover when she commented on the baby's nose being just like Gol- Mr. Goldenheart's. And also, his hair being black like Bo- Mr. Goldenheart's.

>At the beginning when they had been admiring their baby, Ambrosius had said, he got your hair D': pipipi (he cried the second Baby got placed in his arms, got a drawing of that but I don't like how it came out wah, Ambrosius' wearing a facemask and being all tear-eyed pipipi) and Ballister had said, he got your nose :D but Ambrosius had said no? that's just a baby's nose, how can you even tell. But after Nimona commented on it, Ballister's saying told you so, it's your nose, while Ambrosius' like, Mr. Goldenheart could be either of us (both smiling amusedly because Nimona's too silly and they clearly know it's her, but she's all idk who's Nimona?)

-Also, I don't know how to make that work with the idea that when she got kicked out to the hall for the pushing bit, she went to steal some flowers and balloons with 'it's a boy!' on them for Ballister. But anyways, I'll write that bit too.

-Also this is Goldenheart with their baby, and I drew it a while back but realized that I don't like it anymore, so I'll do a redrawing someday sdjksd

>Imagine that Ambrosius was in the hospital bed with Baby while Ballister was getting ready so they could leave to their home, and Nimona said pictures timeee and then took that pic, with Ballister pointing at Baby and being all :D Also, Ambrosius looked pretty good and all, and Ballister was all unshaven face, kinda messy hair, the hospital band with his name still wrapped on his wrist as he pointed at Baby, and yet there were some people online that were like ??! Ambrosius Goldenloin Goldenheart was pregnant??

>And the people that knew even if a little bit about the Goldenheart's life, and also because they still went out and whatever, were like ? no? didn't you see Ballister like, a week ago? (Where he was very obviously pregnant and Ambrosius clearly wasn't sdjkdj)

>Every once in a while, Nimona would remember about this and repost it again, even after Baby is much older.

And that's it! If you read till here, bless you ajsdkadj

I've got more stuff about mpreg, both written and drawn, so I hope to make another post like this sometime, they're very fun to make :D