#and just drawing the same things over and over

[thef1diary]

Okay the way i need for reader to get her own ghost box or leave a radio on all the time for ghost max to communicate with her is overwhelming i am ILL!!!!!!!

— yess we do need them to communicate again but what fun is it if you don’t make mistakes along the way? 18+ content below

You should’ve put more thought behind your purchases. You knew that, even Max knew that—but here you were, glaring at the third useless package sitting in front of you. Another device that supposedly promised otherworldly communication but did nothing except light up uselessly when you flipped the switch. Frustration bubbled under your skin, not just from the failure but from the reason you kept rushing these decisions in the first place.

It was your fault, and Max knew it. He’d watched the whole thing unfold, his presence practically radiating smug amusement as you laid in bed the other night, one hand buried between your legs while the other shakily scrolled through listings on your phone.

You’d been too far gone to care about the details—clicking Buy Now on the first product with a hint of legitimacy, your breath hitching as your fingers curled deeper, your mind spinning with what Max might say when you finally heard his voice again. Would he whisper sweet nothings? Humiliate you? You couldn’t decide, and it didn’t matter. The thought of hearing him—of finally communicating—was enough to send you tumbling over the edge, crying his name into the quiet room as you hit Place Order.

Max hadn’t stopped you, hadn’t guided your hand or tipped the phone from your grip. No, he let you make the mistake. He let you cum, needy and desperate, knowing full well the package arriving would be another useless joke meant for party tricks. He wanted to watch your face when you realized it.

And now, you groaned in frustration, chucking the stupid device onto the floor, the useless hunk of plastic rattling against the hardwood. “This is bullshit,” you muttered, dragging your hands through your hair.

Then suddenly a sharp, stinging smack from Max’s invisible hand landed on your ass. The sound echoed through the room, startling a yelp from your lips as you stumbled forward, gripping the edge of a chair for balance.

“Max!” you hissed, whipping your head around, but of course, there was nothing to see.

Before you could catch your breath, another smack followed, harder this time, landing on the same spot and drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Then another, and another, each one punctuating his silent disapproval.

“Max!” you cried out, but there was no conviction in your voice, only the quivering edge of arousal.

He didn’t stop. His unseen hand landed again, this time lower, catching the curve of your other cheek. A shiver ran down your spine as the sting of his punishment made your skin thrum, the pain blurring into pleasure as heat pooled low in your stomach.

Your knees buckled slightly, and you braced yourself against the chair, panting. “You’re such an asshole,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as you slowly realized the reason behind his abrupt punishment.

The stinging smacks soon turned into something else. His touch lingered longer after each strike, the coolness of his palm soothing the ache he’d left behind. His invisible fingers trailed over your skin, teasing the curve of your ass before dipping lower, brushing against your pussy.

His touch was maddening, a ghostly caress that left you trembling, your arousal soaking your cunt as he traced slow circles over your slick lips. But, as quickly as his touch appeared, it vanished, leaving you whimpering for more.

He didn’t need words to communicate his frustration—his punishment was clear. You’d made the same mistake three times now, rushing, letting your need cloud your judgment. And he wasn’t going to let you off easy.

“Fine,” you panted, your hips still bucking slightly into the air as if seeking his phantom touch, desperate for more. “I’ll get it right next time.”

As you stood there, thighs clenched and breath ragged, you realized there was no choice. You’d have to buy the right device. You needed to hear him—to feel him—to beg for forgiveness properly. And this time, you wouldn’t let your desperation cloud your judgment.

want more ghost!max? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[moosesarecute]

December 20th

December masterlist

Masterlist

You had woken up early. To be honest, you weren’t sure you had slept at all. If everything went well, you would be in the strong arms of your mate in just a couple of hours. Unfortunately, that was a very big if.

You had prepared. You used the charcoal from last night to draw a black line all around your ring finger. If everything went according to plan, Azriel’s shadows would see the line and resume their usual position wrapped around your finger.

You hoped it would be enough for Azriel to realize that you remembered him.

 Azriel moved through the woods. It was early in the morning, quite a lot earlier than he planned, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

He stood in the closest clearing to the headquarter and waited.

He didn’t feel like he could breathe or move until his shadows gave him the message.

“Mate is here.”

You were placed in a small clearing. You were all alone, or at least they wanted you to think that you were. You knew that all of them, 16 of them, stood hiding in various places around you.

You had a knife tied at your thigh, but other than that you were unarmed. If they thought one simple knife would take down Azriel, they were very wrong.

You grew more and more impatient as you waited. You needed to see him. To feel and smell him. To hear him. And to hear his heartbeat. You needed to see that his wings were okay. That his shadows were still with him. You needed to know that he was unharmed.

That he still loved you. Or at least that he could start loving you again.

The first swirl was around your hand. The second was around your waist and the third around your legs.

You fought so hard to keep the relived gasp in. And to stop the tears from leaving your eyes.

That’s when you heard his steppes. You suddenly struggled to keep your wings up. Somehow just knowing that he was close was enough for your entire body to relax. Your shoulders and neck, your wings and your jaw were now all relaxed.

A gust of wind brought his smell to your nose. The comforting smell of cedar and night-chilled mist. Suddenly you felt yourself being pulled towards him. You needed to be in his arms.

You let out a sharp breath as you started to focus. You needed to focus on your role. If everything went well, you could cry your eyes out in Azriel’s arms. But right now, it was time to be Annette.

He was walking towards you from behind. You slowly turned around.

When you first saw his eyes, you couldn’t hold in your gasp any longer. He looked relived, sad, happy and devastated at the same time. He was as beautiful as you remembered.

His shadows kept swirling around you as he kept coming closer. You felt as one of them slowed their pace and took place over the black line around your finger. The relief that spread through your body made it hard for you to stand on your feet. The most important part of your plan was successful.

You stood completely still as he got closer to you. You fought every instinct that told you to run and fall crying into his arms.

He slowed down as he got within arm length to you. He lifted his wonderful hands, and you felt electricity float from his hands to your arms as he touched you for the first time in three years.

He didn’t smile. That was the first thing you noticed. He looked to overwhelmed. His hair was a mess. It looked like he had fallen asleep with wet hair. You had to hold yourself back from dragging your fingers through it. Mother, you missed the feeling of his hair.

Azriel didn’t say anything yet, he just moved his hands from your arms. He lifted them towards your face and that’s when you did what haunted your nightmares for years to come.

As his beautiful hands closed the distance to your face. His soft hands that had gone through so much, but that still was the most beautiful part of him. It was the hands that made Azriel Azriel. You loved his hands and you wanted nothing less than to feel them on your skin, but you couldn’t.

You have no idea how you refrained from throwing up as you took one step away from him. His eyes widened a little and he immediately retreated his hands to his side. One of them now rested on Truthteller.

Hurt.

He was hurt by your actions. His eyes told you all. Gods, you hated that you had to do this.

“What’s going on?”

Your knees buckled just a little as you heard his voice. It brought tears to your eyes. His voice that had cooed you through so many hard days. The voice that had spoken so many romantic things to you. The voice that was usually so soft and kind towards you, but now it was hard and intimidating.

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully and dumb. “I was told to just stand here.”

Azriel’s head snapped up as he heard the steps. He pretended to be surprised by the steps, but you knew better. Azriel always had the upper hand, you were sure he had it now too.

You felt a hand on your shoulder and Azriel’s eyes darkened significantly.

“You think we’d let you destroy all our hard work and not do anything about it?” Cris said.

“Get your hand off my mate,” Azriel’s dark voice growled at Cris.

“Your mate?” Cris asked slyly. “I think you’re mistaking. This is Annette.”

You met Azriel’s eyes as you forced yourself to nod at Cris’ words. You then turned your head to Cris and carefully lifted your left hand. You laid it carefully on top of Cris’ hand. To Cris, this only looked like you were unsure or scared. To Azriel, this meant everything.

You were sure you were the only fae alive able to see how Azriel’s eyes landed on the shadow wrapped around your finger for only a small second.

That’s all it took for hell to break out.

Seeing you for the first time made him feel like he should pray to every god he had ever heard about.

Seeing you back away from him made him want to hurt himself. Were you scared of him?

Seeing another male’s hand on your shoulder made him want to kill.

Hearing that you didn’t know who he was, made him want to cry his eyes out and on the same time hold you until you remembered him.

However, seeing his shadow on its usual place around your finger. To see his shadow showing that you were his. His. You’re his. That made him go feral.

The shadows that were swirling around your body pulled you harshly, but protective, away from Cris as Azriel pulled his knife and jumped at Cris.

Cris fought well, but Azriel quickly got the upper hand. The rest of the group joined the fight.

You stood hidden in the shadows as you saw Azriel doing his best work. He stabbed two of the guys in their chest. He tied three of them to trees and you saw how the life left them as the shadows chocked them.

Then, you suddenly felt an arm around your waist. It wasn’t painful, but it felt urgent. You turned and saw Cathrine at your side.

“Come here, Annie,” she said softly. “Let’s go inside.”

You quickly stepped away from her. Cathrine had only been nice to you. She gave you food and comfort at any time of day the past three years. You were certain that Cathrine was nice.

That was until you stepped away from her and her fist hit your nose.

You let out a sound of pain, but quickly moved to get away from Cathrine.

You had been trained in combat. Of course, you had. You couldn’t mean a lot for Azriel, Cass and Rhys and not be thoroughly trained in how to protect yourself.

But you were weak. Way to physically weak to do anything other than trying to get away.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get far.

You screamed as someone grabbed your right wing and forced you to the ground. Cris’ face was filled with blood and cuts, but nothing that was too deep.

“You thought you could trick us all? Get away from us now?” his voice was cold and harsh. The sound alone was enough to make you terrified. He almost laid on top of you. His elbow was driven far into your wing. The pain was insufferable. You let out many different sounds of pain. The sounds in the background told you that Azriel was still fighting. How you wished you could tug at the bond to get him to help you.

You tried your best to move your hand to the knife at your thigh, but in a quick move Cris landed his knee on your arm, and you were unable to move your arms.

Luckily for you, Cris thought you were stupid.

The second he positioned himself in the perfect position, you drove your knee between his legs. He let out a groan and started to fall backwards. But then the groan was changed into a scream. A hand landed on his shoulder as Azriel twisted the knife he had embedded into Cris.

“No one messes with my mate and gets away with it,” his powerful voice sounded.

He then ripped Cris away from your body.

You sat up with a groan and was about to look around to see if it all were over when Azriel fell onto his knees in front of you and pulled you into his embrace. Your head rested on his chest, and he held one hand on the back of your head and the other on your back. Him holding you were the only reason you managed to stay up. His wings were wrapped around both of you and his shadows were clinging onto you as well. He held you so tightly and it felt so right.

All the emotions in the world hit you. You were crying your eyes out in relief and happiness from being at home in your mates embrace. You were also crying out of anger. Anger from being forced away from your mate for so long. And you were crying because of how your earlier actions had broken your heart. Seeing him for the first time in three years and not being able to hold him immediately. It was awful! And you had seen the pain your actions caused him.

“I’m sorry,” you spoke and hoped he would understand at least some of it through your tears and bawling. “I didn’t want to do it. I just wanted to hold you. But I had to pretend that I didn’t know you. So I stepped away. I promise I didn’t want to. I never want to step away from you. They needed to think I trusted them. So I did as they said. I’m sorry, Az. I’m so sorry.”

Causing your mate pain was the worst thing you had ever experienced. The feelings that came with it made you so overwhelmed. You felt guilty. You just needed to know that he forgave you.

You waited for him to start talking. But when he did, all was suddenly right.

“Please,” he said with a groggy voice that was barely above a whisper. “Please just keep talking.”

So you did.

You spoke about everything. You told him how much you loved him. How even when you couldn’t remember him, your entire heart and body had been leading you to him. You told him about your adventure towards the Winter Lights. You spoke about Nick and how he gave you the anecdote and the letters. Azriel looked like he realized something important as you spoke about Nick and his mission to get present to all fae, but he didn’t say anything.

You told him about being poisoned and about forgetting him. You ended by telling him once again that you loved him.

“I can’t believe you’re real. I love you so much Az. I never want to leave you again.”

Looking up at his eyes that were red from crying only made you cry even more. And he did the same. Both of you lifted your hands and at the same time you dried each other’s eyes. A small laugh left your mouth.

“My dearest,” he said and cupped your cheek. The pet name made you let out a sob.

“My shadow,” you said back.

Then he kissed you.

It was the softest, kindest and neediest kiss you’ve ever exchanged. And it was so wet. The kiss was mixed with too many tears to count.

You have no idea how long you spent in each other’s arms. You were talking and then he spoke. You both laughed a little, but mostly you just cried. You cried at what you had missed and at what he had needed to go through on his own.

“One more thing you’ve missed, my dearest,” Azriel spoke as he lifted a small bottle out of his pocket. “Faebane anecdote.”

“Are you serious?” you almost yelled at him. You had lost count of how many times Azriel had come home with faebane in his wounds. And now, you finally had a way to prevent it.

He gave you the bottle and even though you were quite sick of taking medicine, you swallowed the anecdote as quickly as you could.

It started working immediately. You almost felt it move through your body. Your head, then your arms, your hips, your legs, and your toes. And then up to your chest.

Both of you let out gasps covered with sobs as the bond connected at both ends. You didn’t think you could feel more than you already did when you felt your feeling multiply and mix into his. It was extremely overwhelming and at the same time, so right.

This was what it was supposed to be like.

Azriel moved his hands to cover your cheeks as he pulled at the bond. It was soft and strong at the same time. Your chest physically moved towards his. Azriel, of course, held you steady.

You dug deep into your own chest and pulled on the bond. Both feeling and seeing his reaction was the best thing you have ever experienced.

You were finally home.

Taglist: @prettylittlewrites @hailqueenconquer @onebadassunicorn @mich0731 @tele86 @mellowmusings @anarchiii @anainkandpaper @donnadiddadog @atomictyphoonkitten @annablack @graciepies @salvatoresister1 @nastylicious @plants-w0rld @stqrgirlies-blog @scoliobean @kbear8863

Dividers by @issysh3ll

[blog-o-meter]

Balcony Daydreams - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) ogles her neighbor, Nicholas, as he mows his yard in the July heat and offers him a glass of lemonade.

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v

required listening: West Coast by Lana Del Rey

word count: 4, 350

a/n: I’ve had west coast on repeat and then they dropped that photo of Nicholas and I HAD to write this

reblogs, likes, and replies are greatly appreciated and let me know if you'd like to see more!

The humid July air was heavy with the scent of freshly cut grass, the low drone of the lawnmower blending with the distant chirp of cicadas. From my balcony, I watched as my neighbor Nicholas worked below, completely in his element.

He wore a fitted white tank top that clung to his broad back, streaked with flecks of grass and dirt, the evidence of his labor etched into the fabric. The way his shoulders moved — strong, deliberate, fluid — held me captive in a way I couldn’t quite justify. His hair was damp, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, the sun catching in its messy waves.

He paused for a moment, resting his hands on the mower’s handle as he gazed over the yard, his back still turned to me. The lines of his muscles were sharp under the tight stretch of his shirt, the faint outline of his shoulder blades shifting as he breathed deeply. A silver chain caught the light against his tan skin, sitting just at the curve of his neck, and I found myself wondering who had given it to him — or if it was something he wore for himself, a quiet, unspoken piece of who he was.

The heat of the day had painted a sheen of sweat along his arms, making his skin almost luminous. He reached up to swipe his forearm across his forehead, muscles flexing with the motion, and I had to grip the edge of my chair to stop myself from staring too long. But even as I told myself to look away, my eyes betrayed me, roaming over the way his shirt clung to his frame and the subtle, careless smudges of dirt on his skin.

The air seemed heavier with him out there, as though his presence alone had turned up the heat by a few degrees. My heart beat a little faster, a soft ache settling in my chest at the sheer effortlessness of him. I romanticized him without permission — this quiet moment of his, as though he were a character written into the script of my life just for me to observe. Nicholas, my too-good-to-be-true neighbor, the kind of man who moved through life like it was his own stage, unknowingly drawing all the light toward him.

And then, as though he could feel the weight of my gaze, he glanced up. My breath caught. His dark brown eyes lifted to meet mine, and even from a distance, the spark of recognition was unmistakable. For a second, I thought I might’ve imagined the way his lips curved into a crooked smile, soft yet teasing, but the heat rising to my cheeks told me otherwise.

Caught, I froze, clutching my glass of lemonade tighter than necessary. I thought he might say something, but instead, Nicholas ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, turned back to the mower, and kept going. That smile lingered, though, etched in my mind like a secret meant just for me.

The moment stretched as I sat there, trying to collect myself. His smile — crooked, teasing, like he knew what I was thinking — had set every nerve in my body alight. I swallowed hard, willing myself to calm down, but the next thing I knew, I was on my feet, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade I’d made. My hands trembled slightly as I poured a glass, the ice clinking against the sides.

I didn’t let myself overthink it. Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped off the balcony, down the stairs, and across my yard toward him.

Nicholas had just finished another pass with the mower, his movements slowing as he noticed me approaching. His brows lifted slightly in surprise, and then that same lazy grin spread across his face. God, he was dangerous like that — so at ease, like he had all the time in the world and I was the only thing worth focusing on.

“Thought you might want a break,” I said, holding out the glass to him over the short white picket fence separating our yards. My voice sounded steady, but inside, my pulse was a riot.

He switched off the mower, leaning against it casually as he reached for the glass. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” he said, his slightly raspy voice wrapping around the words. His fingers brushed mine as he took the glass, and even that small contact sent a jolt straight through me.

Nicholas took a long sip, his throat working as he swallowed. A bead of condensation slipped down the side of the glass, mirroring the drop of sweat trailing down his neck. I forced myself not to stare, but he didn’t make it easy. When he finished, he let out a satisfied sigh, holding the glass up in a mock toast. “Best lemonade I’ve ever had.”

“Flatterer,” I teased, though my voice was softer than I’d intended. He chuckled, setting the glass down on the mower before turning those dark brown eyes back to me. Up close, they were even more mesmerizing — warm, rich, and impossibly intense, like he could see right through me.

“Seriously,” he said, his tone dropping, quieter now. “Thanks for this. I owe you.”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just being neighborly.”

His grin widened, and he stepped a little closer, closing the already small space between us. “Neighborly, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was a heat in his gaze now, something heavier, more deliberate. “That why you’ve been watching me from your balcony all afternoon?”

I froze, the blush spreading from my cheeks all the way down my neck. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he interrupted, his smile softening. “It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.”

The way he said it — baby — with just the faintest edge of amusement, sent a shiver through me. My breath hitched as he reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair away from my face. His hand lingered, his fingers just barely grazing my cheek, and I couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but stand there and fall apart under his touch.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. His eyes searched mine, waiting, giving me an out.

But I didn’t want an out.

“You’re not wrong,” I whispered.

That was all he needed.

Nicholas closed the distance between us, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was anything but tentative. His hands found my waist, pulling me against him, and I melted into him, my fingers gripping the fabric of his tank top as if I needed to hold on or risk losing myself entirely. He tasted like lemonade and something darker, headier, and I was dizzy with it, drunk on the way he made me feel.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, “Inside?”

I nodded, breathless, and he crossed the picket fence over to my side. I took him by the hand, leading him toward the door of my house. The mower, the heat, the rest of the world — all of it faded as we stepped inside, the cool air of the kitchen doing little to calm the fire building between us.

Nicholas didn’t waste any time. The second the door shut behind us, he spun me around, pressing me against it as his lips found mine again. This time, the kiss was slower, deeper, his hands roaming my sides as though he wanted to memorize every inch of me. His touch was firm yet careful, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt to trace the bare skin of my waist.

“You’ve been driving me crazy, you know that?” he muttered against my lips, his voice thick with want. “Sitting up there, looking so damn perfect…”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound catching in my throat as his lips moved to my neck. “I wasn’t trying to…”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his teeth grazing my skin in a way that made my knees weak. “You did.”

My protests dissolved into a gasp as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the counter. His hands splayed on my thighs, spreading warmth everywhere they touched, and I was gone — completely and utterly his.

The cool marble of the counter was a sharp contrast to the heat of his touch, but it only heightened the sensation, grounding me in the moment. Nicholas stood between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs with deliberate slowness, his thumbs brushing against the hem of my dress. He paused there, his eyes dark with intent as he looked at me, waiting for a sign to keep going.

I leaned forward, threading my fingers through his messy, damp hair and pulling him closer. That was all he needed. His lips claimed mine again, hungrier this time, his kiss searing and unapologetic. He tasted like summer, sweet and heady, and I couldn’t get enough. My hands trailed down his back, feeling the way his muscles shifted beneath my touch, still warm and slick from the sun. He groaned softly at the contact, his fingers gripping my waist tighter as though he couldn’t get close enough.

The kitchen was bathed in golden light, the curtains billowing softly in the warm breeze. Outside, the world went on — the cicadas still sang, the sun still shone — but inside, time seemed to stop, the two of us lost in this perfect, reckless moment.

Nicholas tugged at the hem of my dress, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of my thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his dark eyes searching mine.

“Yes,” I breathed, nodding, my heart hammering in my chest. “Yes.”

His hands moved with more certainty then, sliding the fabric higher until it pooled around my hips. His gaze roamed over me, lingering just long enough to make my cheeks flush, but he didn’t give me time to feel self-conscious. He leaned in, his lips trailing down my jaw and along my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Every kiss, every touch was deliberate, like he was savoring me, like he’d been waiting for this moment as long as I had.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak — all I could do was feel. The press of his body against mine, the heat of his breath on my skin, the way his lips curved into a satisfied smile against my collarbone when he found the spot that made me gasp.

Nicholas’s hands were firm, calloused from his work, their roughness dragging against the soft skin of my thighs. His tank top, streaked with dirt and sweat, clung to his body as if it were a second skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from running my hands up under the fabric, exploring the planes of his back. He was hot to the touch, his muscles taut and shifting beneath my fingertips as though he’d been built for this — for me.

He growled low in his throat when I traced my nails lightly down his spine, his body reacting instinctively. His lips crashed against mine again, demanding and fervent, and I met him with the same hunger, clutching him to me like he might disappear if I let go. The faint, salty tang of sweat on his skin only added to the overwhelming heat between us. It was intoxicating, dizzying, and I wanted more.

The tension in the room was electric, the sticky summer heat still clinging to both of us even in the cool air of the kitchen. Nicholas pressed me harder against the counter, his hands roaming over me as though he couldn’t decide where to touch next. When his lips left mine to trail along my jaw and down my neck, I gasped, my head tilting back to give him better access. His breath was hot against my skin, and I shivered at the contrast of it against the cool sweat still drying on my chest.

I pulled him closer, my nails digging into his shoulders as he worked his way back up to my lips. “Nicholas…” I whispered his name, and he answered with a kiss that stole my breath away.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this,” he murmured against the hollow of my throat, his voice rough and unsteady, like he was barely holding himself together. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there, and I let out a soft cry, my hands tangling in his damp hair.

“Then stop holding back,” I whispered, the words spilling out before I could stop them. My voice was breathless, trembling, but I didn’t care. I wanted him to know how badly I needed him, how much I had craved this moment.

His head snapped up, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine. They were heavy-lidded with desire, but there was a flicker of amusement there too, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Careful, baby,” he warned, his voice low and teasing, but the heat in his gaze told me he’d taken my words as a challenge. “I might just take you up on that.”

Before I could respond, his hands gripped my hips, tugging me closer to the edge of the counter. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him against me, and I felt the hard lines of his body press into mine. There was no space left between us now, only the unbearable heat and friction as his hands slid under my thighs to lift me effortlessly.

He carried me like I weighed nothing, his strength undeniable and utterly captivating. The sweaty tank top clung to him, streaked with green smudges from the freshly cut grass, the dirt on his skin rubbing off onto mine. I didn’t care — it only made the moment more real, more raw.

Nicholas set me down on the kitchen table, his lips finding mine again with a hunger that matched the storm building between us. My hands roamed over his chest, pushing up the hem of his tank top until I finally peeled it off of him. His skin was slick with sweat, the salty tang of it lingering on my lips as I kissed my way down his neck and across his collarbone. My fingers traced the outline of the faint tan line where his chain rested, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, greedy for every inch of him.

“You’re making a mess,” I teased breathlessly, glancing at the streaks of dirt and grass clinging to his skin, now smeared across my thighs and the edge of the table.

Nicholas smirked, his hands gripping my waist. “You complaining?” he shot back as he fiddled with the button of his grass-stained jeans, his voice low and gravelly, the heat in his gaze making my stomach flip.

“Not even a little,” I murmured, the words slipping out before I could think. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, but Nicholas wasn’t giving me a moment’s reprieve. His smirk deepened, and with one smooth motion, he pulled his sweat-soaked tank top over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

The sight of him made my heart stutter. His body, glistening with sweat, was a masterpiece — all defined muscle and raw power, streaked with dirt and flecks of grass from his work outside. The chain around his neck gleamed in the golden light streaming through the kitchen window, and I couldn’t stop my eyes from trailing down, taking in every line, every shadow, every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and gravelly, as he stepped closer, his hands finding my thighs again. His thumbs brushed over the dirt-streaked skin there, his touch deliberate and almost possessive.

“Maybe,” I managed to reply, though my voice betrayed just how much he had me unraveled.

“Maybe?” he echoed, his dark brown eyes locking onto mine as his fingers tightened their grip on my legs, pulling me closer to the edge of the table. “Baby, don’t kid yourself.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but his lips were on mine before I could form a word, silencing any protest. His kiss was intense, his hands gripping my hips to keep me in place as he pressed himself against me, his bare chest warm and damp from the sun. The faint, salty tang of his sweat mingled with the taste of lemonade still on my lips, and I couldn’t hold back the soft moan that escaped me.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured against my mouth, his voice thick with satisfaction. His hands slid higher, fingers curling around the hem of my dress. The fabric bunched under his grip, and he pulled it higher, his knuckles grazing my skin as he exposed more of me.

The tension in the air was suffocating, the heat between us impossible to ignore. My fingers tangled in his messy, damp hair, pulling him closer as he trailed kisses down my neck, the faint patches of stubble scratching deliciously against my skin. I could feel the strength in his body, the way his muscles flexed as he lifted me slightly, adjusting me against him like I weighed nothing at all. The wood creaked faintly beneath my weight, but neither of us paid it any mind. My legs tightened around his waist, pulling him flush against me, and his lips claimed mine again, heated and unrelenting.

The sweat on his skin mixed with the streaks of dirt that clung to both of us, smearing against the table as he leaned over me. His chain dangled just above my chest, catching the fading sunlight that poured through the window. My fingers curled around it, tugging him closer, and a low growl escaped from deep in his throat, vibrating against my lips.

“Nicholas,” I murmured, his name falling from my lips like a plea. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze, his dark brown eyes heavy-lidded with desire. There was a teasing glint in them, but also something more — something raw and unspoken.

“You like saying my name, don’t you?” he muttered, his voice rough, a husky edge of amusement threading through it. His hands trailed up my thighs, slow and deliberate, spreading warmth everywhere they touched. “Say it again.”

“Nicholas,” I whispered, my breath hitching as his hands moved higher, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of my dress, tugging my underwear down and letting it fall at my ankles.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his lips finding the hollow of my throat as his hands splayed against my hips, holding me firmly in place. The way he touched me, with a mix of roughness and care, sent a jolt straight through me, igniting every nerve in my body. I arched into him, my nails dragging down his back, leaving faint, deliberate marks against his sweat-slicked skin.

His mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of fire along my collarbone and down the curve of my neck. Each kiss, each graze of his teeth, felt like a carefully placed spark, threatening to consume me entirely. My hands tangled in his messy, damp hair, tugging him closer as his name slipped from my lips again, softer this time, almost a sigh.

His hands gripped my waist as he finally undid the zipper of his pants and pulled the layers of fabric down, pulling me further toward the edge of the table until there was nothing but him holding me steady. I couldn’t form words; all I could do was feel — feel the strength in his arms as he steadied me, feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, feel the way every inch of him seemed to mold to me like we were meant for this, for each other.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his tone softer now, his lips brushing against my ear as his hands held me in place. “I don’t want to—”

“It’s not,” I interrupted, breathless and trembling beneath his touch. My voice was shaky but certain. “It’s not too much.”

That was all he needed. Nicholas’s mouth covered mine again, deeper this time, more consuming. His hands gripped my hips tightly, his fingers digging into my skin just enough to anchor me to him as he slipped his length inside me and started to move against me, his body strong and deliberate. The dining table creaked beneath us, the sound blending with our gasps and the faint hum of cicadas outside.

Time blurred, each moment stretching into the next, until all I knew was him — his heat, his strength, the way he whispered my name like it was something sacred. My head fell back, and his lips found the curve of my jaw.

The tension built steadily, each movement more deliberate than the last. Nicholas’s hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me against him as though we were moving to a rhythm only the two of us could hear. His lips trailed along my neck, his stubble scraping my skin just enough to heighten every sensation. I gasped, my fingers digging into the slick, sweat-dampened muscles of his back as he filled me completely, each motion driving me closer to the edge.

“God,” he murmured, his voice rough and ragged, his forehead pressing against mine as he paused for a moment to catch his breath. His chain grazed my skin, cool against the heat of our bodies, and I couldn’t stop myself from tugging him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him.

“Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling as I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist. The words spilled out before I could think, unfiltered and needy, but I didn’t care. All I wanted was him—closer, deeper, more. “Please.”

Nicholas’s dark eyes met mine, and the way he looked at me made my breath catch. His lips curved into a crooked grin, and he pressed a kiss to my temple before murmuring, “I wasn’t planning to.”

He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and I cried out, my back arching off the table as a wave of pleasure crashed through me. His hands gripped my thighs, holding me steady as he moved again, slower this time, deliberate in the way he pressed into me. The table creaked beneath us louder, the sound barely registering over the pounding of my heart and the soft moans spilling from my lips.

The sunlight filtering through the window painted golden patterns across his skin, accentuating the way his muscles flexed with every movement. His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, a thin sheen of sweat making his tan skin glisten. The faint streaks of dirt and grass on his arms and shoulders transferred onto my skin, grounding me in the reality of him.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his voice low and rough as his hands slid up to cup my face. His thumbs brushed gently against my cheeks, a stark contrast to the intensity of his movements. “I want to see you.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the raw emotion I saw there — the hunger, the need, the unspoken connection between us — was enough to send me spiraling. My hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders as I gave in completely, letting him take me higher and higher.

“Nicholas,” I gasped, his name falling from my lips like a prayer. He groaned softly in response, his head dipping to press a kiss to the hollow of my throat as his pace quickened, the tension between us reaching its breaking point.

“God, you feel so good,” he muttered against my skin, his voice thick with need. His hands gripped my waist tightly, anchoring me to him as he thrust into me, his movements growing more desperate.

My world narrowed to the feel of him, the heat of his body against mine, the way his voice wrapped around me like a tether. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, the edge drawing nearer with every deliberate motion until finally, the world seemed to shatter around us.

My body arched against his, a broken moan spilling from my lips as the pleasure overtook me, wave after wave crashing through me. Nicholas followed moments later, his grip on my hips tightening as he buried his face in the crook of my neck, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he came undone. My fingers clung to his shoulders, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath, and he warm breath brushed against my skin.

For a long moment, neither of us moved, the soft hum of the cicadas and the faint rustle of the curtains the only sounds filling the space around us. His hands slid up my sides, gentler now, and he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder, his lips lingering there like he wasn’t quite ready to let go.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice quieter now, almost tender.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I nodded, my fingers still tangled in his hair.

He leaned back slightly, just enough to look at me, and the crooked grin I’d come to know so well spread across his face. “Good,” he said, his voice still low, though there was a playful edge to it now. He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, his thumb lingering against my cheek.

“Anytime you need me to come over and mow your lawn…” He paused, his grin widening as his dark brown eyes flicked down to my lips before meeting mine again. “You just let me know, baby.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, soft and breathless, as I shook my head. “I think I’ll take you up on that,” I said, my voice teasing but full of promise.

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, leaning in to press one last kiss to my lips, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to make sure I’d remember it.

[woewriting]

cold to the touch

pairing: wednesday addams | reader summary: after visiting the other side afterwards almost being killed by the pilgrim, wednesday addams catches the attention of someone who's a bit curious about the girl who escaped death. word count: 8494 warnings: mdni, +18 only! no pronouns used, contains nsfw content.

masterlist

The rumors of a new transferred student filled the hallways of Nevermore, gossips about what kind of creature had just moved in. Everyone had a different theory, the glass-like eyes reminded Bianca of her own, the mermaids. The black-painted, sharp nails were a werewolf thing, Enid thought to herself as she eyed you from afar. The locks of your hair, hidden by the black beanie made it look like you were hiding something… snaky underneath it. But what caught the attention of everyone was the black and white suit that covered your body, similar to the one Wednesday Addams wears. The lack of color in your vests were enough to draw everyone’s attention, although, your beauty and the mystery around what you were, was an extra reason for the Addams girl to close the book in her hands and pay a small attention to your details, away from the crowd.

Following the tall woman, you stood by her side at the entrance to the courtyard. Everyone’s eyes on you.

“Attention, Nevermore, I’d like to introduce to you all our new student. I’m sure you’re gonna make her feel welcome during her journey in our school, isn’t that correct?”

Some heads nodded at the woman’s statement, others simply turned around and ignored their surroundings, a messy chatter growing louder and louder. The director touched your shoulder with a gentle smile before walking away, leaving you by yourself.

As you looked around the new faces you’d have to get used to, you noticed how things were different since the last time you’d actually been on earth wearing your human form. It’s been what, 3 years? Maybe a bit more… your memory failing to recap the last years, they were a messy and confusing blur. Ever since you became Death, your memories from your human life were slowly being erased as you kept on living as the undying creature, responsible for harvesting souls as they walked to you on the other side of the veil, waiting for your hand to touch their chest so they could rest in peace.

At first, your heart would break when they realized they were no longer allowed to live with the living ones, when they had to walk away and leave their loved ones behind and accept their destiny, waiting for their rebirth.

You had the same expression on your face when you saw your lifeless body on the hospital bed, surrounded by doctors that tried everything in their power to bring you back. You stood there for minutes, crying as you felt farther and farther from your human life, taking steps back until everything around you turned into a white forest, with long trees that swung with the cold breeze, you felt nostalgia as you walked around the empty garden, as if you had returned home after a long trip. It was warm, like watching the sunrise at the beach, the soft sound of waves crashing down the white sand, the birds chirping around you with a calming melody, and the breeze… so light and refreshing, ready to embrace you in your new life as a new day rose in front of your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, the white forest turned into a beach with a few waves crashing at your feet, the pinkish sky painted with a few clouds in shapes of things you loved when you were alive.

That’s when it hit you, like a punch in the stomach you fell to your knees, the tears dropping from your face onto the clear blue water, mixing in together as your new life was being written in the sand. You were alone, but something inside you was saying to look around, to look for her. She would help you to start over. She would guide you until you were to move on your own. But she would never leave you alone.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A soft voice came from behind you.

You looked over your shoulder, feeling the warm water hit your legs.

A woman was standing a few steps away from where you kneeled down. She had her eyes closed, enjoying the early breeze of the morning as the sun turned the sky into a yellowish tone with a few splashes of light blue.

She was beautiful.

“What do I do now?” You ask as you brushed off the tears that still insisted on falling down your cheeks. “Where do I go?”

When her eyes opened, your heart missed a beat. It had no color in them, yet you could still see the universe in the bright white color, they were glowing as she stared down at you, reaching her hand out to help you up to your feet.

“Oh, honey.” She smiled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Aren’t you an angel?”

The woman in white, silky dress, laughed. Even the way she laughed was angelical and beautiful, you couldn’t help but smile at the heavenly view in front of you.

“I am an angel, but not the one you’re thinking of.” Her hand was soft against yours as she pulled you closer. Her other hand brushing your hair off your face. “I am Death, but I am not here to take your soul, I’m here to guide you on your new journey. When you wake up, you’ll be me. Your eyes will see every single particle of the universe around you. You will hear every heartbeat of those living around you. And when their time comes, you will be the one to embrace their souls as they leave this world.”

“You want me to become… death? You want me to kill people?”

She shook her head, hearing the missing beat your heart took as fear filled your body. Her hand rested on your chest, calming the racing organ.

“You won’t kill anyone, sweetheart, you only take the souls that will walk to you. You will become a beacon for those leaving the living world. You will help them to leave that life behind so they can move forward to their new one. It’s your duty to ease their fears, to leave all their anger, their sorrows, their pain, behind.”

“What about those who loved them?”

Deep down, Death knew your question was a personal one for you. She looked at the waves crashing over your shoulders.

“Death will come for everyone, love. It’s a hurtful, but necessary evil. Death exists to teach others that life will end, there’s nothing you can do to stop that from happening. I am here so that others can live their lives to the fullest, cherishing every moment with their loved ones, finding beauty in the small things, learning and enjoying the simplest things you can ever lay your hands on. This is yours.”

Turning around, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and take a deep breath.

Even though you felt like you couldn’t walk away from the life you had, you couldn’t jump back into your lifeless body that was still laying in that hospital bed. In the back of your head, you could still hear the machines attached to your chest.

 She was right.

Death was a lesson.

And everyone should learn about it so they can live without fear.

When a new wave crashed at your feet, a warmth embraced your body, lifting you from the ground as the air kept you floating. When you opened your eyes, you were still floating, but this time, cold and salty water surrounded you. You coughed a few times as you swam back to the shore.

It was the same beach; it had the same yellowish sky and the same rocks on its side. The water was not warm and the sand wasn’t as white as before, but you knew that after this moment, nothing would be the same anymore.

Your rebirth as the angel of Death was a few years ago, just when you had turned 18 years old. When you woke up, the memories of your loved ones had been erased, their faces disappearing like smoke in thin air. You didn’t remember much about your life as a human being, the only thing you could remember came after her, the beautiful angel with white eyes that carried the whole universe in them that touched your chest and embraced you in a warm hug.

And now, scanning the young faces, you were looking for a specific one, the reason why you abandoned your comfortable home to come here, the human side of your world. You’d never forget the brownish eyes surrounded by adorable freckles you saw months ago. You’d seen that face before, but the one with blonde hair didn’t carry the same attitude the one with black braids did. She was unique, and she hadn’t left your mind ever since.

Wednesday Addams… the girl that survived death and saved the small town of Jericho from an evil spirit in her last year of high-school. Your eyes looked for her, careful and sharp, paying attention to every single detail of the faces in front you, absorbing all the information you could.

Apparently, the girl was nowhere to be seen or heard. She was either really good at hiding or she wasn’t even there with the other students. You looked for another familiar face, easily finding the blonde girl sitting by the water fountain.

Enid smiled big at you, wrapping her arms around your body in a welcoming hug.

“Welcome to Nevermore!” Her voice was a high-pitched tone, nothing annoying but definitely louder than you were used to. “Are you going to high school or getting ready for college like us?” Her hand motioned to the small group sitting at the rock made structure.

“Do I look young enough to still be in high school?” You asked in a joking way.

“Well, you do look young,” She laughed, but judging by your uniform, she could’ve known you were no longer a teenager. “But it’s nice to have a new student in our class, we’ve been seeing the same faces for a really long time. The last time someone joined Nevermore, it was a mess… but we’re all good now, no danger at sight!”

Your eyes glowed at her saying, “I heard about that. A small girl saved this place, isn’t that right?”

Enid got closer to you, whispering in your ear. “Don’t call Wends small, she will kill you in your sleep. Don’t call her Wends too or she will kill me and I’m not ready to die.”

“Trust me, I’m not ready to die either.” You smiled.

➖

The days in Nevermore Academy were starting to become dull and annoying, causing you to flee out of the gates that surrounded the big buildings at night just to lay on top a big tree’s branches, watching the universe with your white eyes, witnessing the death of a supernova millions of years away from where you were, or even the birth of a new galaxy. It was in those moments that you were happy to be what you were meant to be. To this day, you don’t know much about why you were the chosen one, why the angel of Death had chosen you to be the next one wearing that ring.

Staring at it, the silvery ring on your left hand, you swear you saw it moving around your finger, shining like a small star. You had your theories on what that glow meant, but you were too lazy to go after the reason why it did that every now and then. You would wait for all the answers to fall from heaven into your lap, like an encyclopedia.

You took a closer look to the universe over the dark sky before jumping down, a few dry leaves cracking under your shoes.

“How did you get up there?” Turning around as you heard the monotone voice, you saw Wednesday coming out from behind a tree a few steps away from you.

“I climbed.” You easily lied. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m a very quiet girl, I can sneak into your dorm and you won’t even notice I was there.”

“Have you ever broken into my room?”

“Why would I break into your room?” The girl always had a serious expression on her pretty face. It was like Wednesday Addams couldn’t feel a thing.

You shrugged, “You said it first.”

“It was an example.” She explained. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I would do such a disrespectful action like breaking into your room. If I wanted to be in your room, I’d knock on the door.”

When you took a step closer, she took two steps back.

Wednesday was always a step back from everyone, even from those that she’s closer with, like Enid and Bianca. In the 3 months you were in Nevermore, you had never seen a single soul touch the black-haired girl, the only thing that was allowed to touch her was, well… Thing, the severed hand that would linger around her shoulder that still made your brain itch. What was Thing, anyway? Only one from the many secrets hidden behind the black and white girl.

“Well, if you ever need me for anything, I will be in my room.”

Turning on your heels to leave and return to the dorm's aisle, you heard the dry leaves cracking under her heavy boots.

“Why do you always climb that tree?” Despite the not-caring-like personality, Wednesday was a very curious girl, and she wanted to know everything about you.

Who the new girl was and what was she? Your human body could be a part of any outcast group in Nevermore Academy and not knowing what it was, was slowly driving her crazy.

“I like to watch the stars.” You answered honestly, walking to the Academy with the Addams following behind you. “What about you? Why were you hiding?”

“I was hiding from you.” The confession made you turn around, hands in the pockets of your jacket. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Instead of stopping on her tracks when you did, she allowed herself to come a bit closer, still keeping a safe distance. From this distance, you could smell her fainted perfume; it smelled so different from when you smelled it in her dorm when you would visit Enid to talk about music and trivial things that still made you feel like a human being, even if your heart wasn’t beating anymore.

“Are you stalking me, princess?”

“Call me princess again and I will easily break into your dorm and kill you in your sleep.” You let out a breathy laugh at the threatening tone in her voice. Adorable, you thought to yourself. “And yes, I want to know what you are.”

“What I am?” You asked with curiosity.

“Yes, that’s what everyone wants to know. Don’t you hear the gossip around the Academy?”

“I do.” After all, you could hear almost everything that surrounded you. As a newly angel of Death, the heartbeats would be a distraction when trying to listen to their voices, but you were getting the hang of it. “But why would anyone care about what I am? What if I am… a simple human being?’

“The last human being that stepped inside the walls of the school was a homicide maniac that tried to kill me and all the others outcast. I’d say it’s a terrible choice of place to stay.”

“I like the danger.”

“Should I kill you then? To prevent you from killing us?”

“I’d like to see you try, princess.”

Wednesday didn’t even notice how close to her you were until your hot breath hit her lips as you leaned into her personal space. Unlike before, the Addams didn’t flinch, instead, she lifted her chin and looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, never blinking.

For some reason, when looking into your eyes, Wednesday could see something else other than the pleasure in irritating her in them, she could see life in its most beautiful way. The more she kept her eyes locked on yours, the more she could see; it was like you had the entire universe trapped in them. It was at that moment she knew you weren’t human.

➖

After the small encounter you had with Wednesday at the woods behind the academy, somehow, you two became something like colleagues but not closer enough to be considered friends. The small girl had learned how to tolerate your presence as you lingered around her dorm, and now, you were getting closer and closer to find out all of her secrets, it was closer enough for Enid to leave her roommate alone with you, something she’d never done before, to attend tonight’s dance. Now, you were laying on her bed, head hanging off the comfortable mattress, staring at the back of Wednesday’s body as she kept on tapping the loud keyboards of her writing machine.

You sighed, loud. Addams did the same, her shoulders raising and falling with the deep breath she took.

“You’re an annoying creature.” She commented, still focused on the keys she had to click on, trying not to type a mistake as she had done to the previous five paper balls that were piling in the trash can near her desk.

“I’m bored.”

“Why didn’t you go to the party with Enid?”

“Why didn’t you?”

You sat correctly on the bed, crossing your legs.

“Last time I went to a party it rained blood, it was red paint, actually. After that disappointing event, I swore to never attend a party again.”

The silence around the room was a comfortable one, the only thing you could hear was the loud, mechanical sound of her writing machine and the calming beats of her heart.

Listening to her heart beats had become commonplace, you would stop anything you were doing just to listen to the tranquil sound. It didn’t matter if you were in the same room or if you were across the Ophelia Hall, on the other side of the building, you’d easily catch the unique sound.

“I’m hungry,” you whined like a small kid. “let’s go find something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But I am, and believe it or not, your company is not the worst.”

The mechanical sound stopped as Wednesdays turned to face you.

“I’ll pretend that didn’t offend me.” Before standing up, the girl removed the white page filled with words in black ink and placed in her drawer, on top of the others, words facing down. You remained sitting on the same spot, looking at her with doe eyes. “Are you waiting for me to take your hand and lead you down to the kitchen?”

You stretched out your hand to her, waiting. But the Addams would never do such a dangerous thing, despite the urge she felt in touching you sometimes, she felt drawn to you ever since the meeting you had in the woods during that cold night. The urge was still a mystery to her, but Wednesday always considered it was more of an urge to punch you every time you opened your mouth.

“Alright. Lead the way, miss Addams.” The other rolled her eyes.

As you walked down the hallways of Nevermore, you could hear the muffled songs and happy screams coming from the saloon where the party took place. It was a silly celebration for the first snow or something, something you didn’t care enough to celebrate, and neither did the girl that walked three steps ahead of you in complete silence. The light of the almost full moon crashing through the big windows and bathing your skin as you crossed the buildings in search for food. Not that you needed to eat, but still found pleasure in such a simple thing.

Wednesday led you to the kitchen, a few steps away from the ballroom, the music playing a bit louder inside your head now.

The girl waited patiently as you searched the pantry closet for something sweet. You knew that principal Weems always hid her chocolates and candies in the kitchen of the Academy, a place where the students were not allowed in. And now, you were in a forbidden place looking for something that didn’t belong to you, to satiate a silly desire that you barely felt in your stomach. Your body would crave random things from time to time, the longer you’d wear your human body, the stronger those urges would get.

“Can’t you get something from the table?” Behind you, there was a big counter filled with food that was being served to the ones that attended the party, but nothing you actually wanted to eat at the moment.

Tiptoeing, you tried to reach the top shelf of the pantry room. “I want chocolate, and I know Weems keeps hers in here. I saw her hiding them a few nights ago when I was going to the woods.”

“I will never understand the craving for things sweet like chocolate. It’s too sweet to enjoy.”

“Even semi-sweet chocolates?”

The girl pondered for a second as she watched you stretch out, whimpers coming out of your mouth as you kept trying to reach the high place. Was she really having small talk with you while you tried to steal the principal’s candies? It surely was something new to her, and, surprisingly, it was easy to do it with you.

“Those aren’t as repulsive, but it still isn’t something I crave in the middle of the night.”

You laughed, the tip of your finger recognizing the packaged at the end of the shelf, but before you could actually grab it in your hands, you heard familiar footsteps approaching, the sound of clicking heels on the wooden floor got louder and louder to you as principal Weems got closer to where you and Wednesday were. The human was so absorbed in your motions that she barely had the time to process your hand on her waist, pulling her body against yours and closing the door behind her.

Wednesday’s eyes shot wide open as she felt your hand covering her mouth, stopping her from making any sound, whilst your other arm wrapped around her waist to keep her closer to you in the small and dark space. When she heard the principal’s voice coming just from outside the pantry room, she stopped fighting against your hold and patiently waited for the voices to cease.

You gulped, the smell of her perfume and newly closeness distracting you from trying to listen to Weems’ and the cook’s heartbeat. All you could hear was hers, beating so erratically you could feel it in her back, pressed against your chest.

Looking over her shoulder, her eyes found yours, white taking over and galaxies shining in them.

What the fuck were you?

Once the footsteps moved away and out of the area your ability allowed you to hear, your hand uncovered her mouth and you let out a deep sigh, feeling your lungs burn. She turned in your arm to face you. Only then you noticed you still had your arm wrapped around her thin waist, but that didn’t seem like something that was bothering the girl.

“That was a close one.” You joked, trying to ease the tension that surrounded you two.

“Why is my touch not killing you?” Addams roamed her hands all over your chest, arms and face as if she was trying to find a spot where her curse would be the end of you. She wasn’t trying to kill you though; she was curious as to why you hadn’t dropped dead against the shelfs of the small space.

“You can’t kill what’s already dead, Wednesday.” You replied, humorously, enjoying the way her nails occasionally scratched the skin of your neck and chest because of the open buttons of your blouse.

“And I am the one they call ‘dramatic’.” She stopped touching you, taking a step back. “What are you?”

“I’m Death.”

“If you call yourself ‘death, destroyer of the world’, I will torture you and proceed to use a blind knife to slowly tear your limbs apart to feed it to the werewolves on the full moon tomorrow.”

“I’m not that cool, but I am Death. Death as in the angel, Death.” You explained calmly. “You’re a curious little thing, when I saw your cute face on the veil, I knew I had to get to know you.”

“Do not call me ‘a little thing’ or ‘cute’ ever again. Those words are sickening to my ears.”

Raising your hands, you smiled, leaning against the shelfs behind you, the chocolate forgotten on the top one. Wednesday crossed her arms, eyes traveling up and down your body, carefully studying the body that carried the most powerful being to ever walk the earth. And it was inside of… you. An annoying being that loved pet-names, pop music and disgustingly sweet candies, who would never leave her alone even if she’d threaten you with every terrible torture method she had in her vocabulary.

“Are you afraid of me?” You ask as her eyes analyzed your features, white color taking over your eyes as if on command.

The girl tilted her head, curious like a little kid that discovered a new, colorful animal in her backyard.

“Why would I be afraid of such an amazing creature such as yourself?” The words slipped easily, without giving much attention to its meaning. She wanted to know more about what was hidden under the undying body in front of her.

“You think I’m amazing, Addams?”

Wednesday rolled her eyes, the annoyance growing bigger inside her. She was curious about what you are, but the arrogant tone you always carried around in your voice was something she could not bear for a long time.

“You do amaze me, if I’m being honest. I didn’t know angels could walk the earth.”

You shrugged. “I’m the only one that can come and go any time without breaking the balance of the universe. If others come, there will be chaos.”

“You said you saw my ‘cute’ face on the other side,” her voice choked at the endearment. “When was that?”

“A couple months ago, when that pilgrim almost killed you.” You start, taking an opened package of candy from your jacket’s pocket. Wednesday looked at you with an unbelievable look in her eyes at that; you had sweets with you the whole time and still tried to steal some more? A menace, indeed. “I’ve seen your ancestor, Goody, a few times. Even though you two are very similar, she’s not you.”

“How’s that?”

You chewed a few sour candies before answering.

“She doesn’t have that ‘I’m going to murder you in the most horrible way you could ever imagine’, look in her eyes, you do. And you have no idea how beautiful it looks on you.”

Wednesday seemed satisfied with your words, softening her posture and accepting the sour candy you offered to her.

For some reason, for her, it was hard to be away from you, something kept drawing her in; maybe it was the curious side of hers in wanting to know everything she could about everything, or maybe it was your charm. Or the fact that you could touch her, it was a different, new feeling; being touched, that is.

“Give me your hand.” She reached out her hand, waiting for yours to rest on top of hers. You licked the sourly sugar from your fingertips before whipping them in your pants, finally doing as she said. “I can’t believe you’re the most powerful creature in the universe.” She mumbled like an old, grumpy lady. Hesitantly, she traced the lines on the palm of your hands, surprised at how warm your skin was. You were a dead creature after all, weren’t you? You watched with mesmerized eyes as she touched your forearms under the fabric of your blouse. She tilted her head up, eyes shining as she kept touching you with a light-feather touch.

“You’ve never touched anyone before?”

She shook her head, your voice lower and soft for some reason.

“Mother taught me to never allow someone to touch me, or to touch someone that wasn’t an Addams. It’s a curse placed on our family.”

“Who did it?”

“I’m not sure, mother doesn’t talk about this. And father is not allowed to. All I’ve been told is that it was a jealousy curse coming from someone in the school from when my parents were still students in Nevermore.” She shrugged. “My parents have been through a lot of resentment, it’s outlandish, if I’m being honest.”

“And how does it feel?”

Her eyes found yours, “Like a spider crawling up my fingers. It tickles.” It was a weird feeling, but still something she could get used to with time. “How old are you?”

“You should never ask a lady her age, Miss Addams. You, coming from such a fancy and well-mannered family should know that.”

“I’m starting to regret holding your hand in mine and not stabbing it.”

The silly threat got you laughing. Still, her fingers were tracing random lines in your forearm.

“I died when I turned 18 in a car accident.” You started, trying as hard as you could to remember those days. “This was… 5 years ago, maybe? I can’t remember much of it, my old life.” you specified. “All I remember is waking up at the beach. I’m not much older than you, I’m taller though.”

“I'm running out of offenses about how annoying you are. Death should be scary, not an irritating girl.”

“Should I wear a dark robe, listen to heavy metal and carry a reaping hook around?”

“It’s not about how you dress; it’s about how you act.”

You blinked a few times, pulling your hand from hers. “I guess I don’t want to lose the human part of me, it’s all that’s left.”

For the first time since you two met, Wednesday saw something different in your eyes before you turned your back to her. She saw a glimpse of sadness in the place it used to be filled with life.

Tiptoeing once again, you reached the package from the top shelf, waving it in front of you like a happy little kid.

“We can go now.”

For the first time in that chaotic night, you saw a flash of smile in her face.

➖

Even with headphones on and music blasting in your ears, you could hear the sound you loved the most getting louder as Wednesday crossed the hallways in her heavy boots, coming in the direction of your room. You jumped from your bed, taking the headphones off and placing them on the bedside table, opening the door before the girl could even raise her hand to knock, you asked with glowing eyes and sly smile:

“Can I help you, Miss Addams?”

“How did you know I was here?” Her dead eyes narrowed in your direction, eyeing you up and down. It was the first time she’d see you in your pajamas.

“I know when you’re around because I know the sound of your heart.”

You winked to the girl standing in the hallway, leaning on the door frame. That caught her off guard, eyes leaving yours to scan around your room.

It was definitely not what she had in mind, who would’ve thought that death is into pop and not soul-sucking type of music? Her eyes grew wider at the posters of girls glued to the brick wall.

After the pantry encounter and shocking revelation about who you were, Wednesday would often come to you with the most random, yet interesting questions a person could ask. You’d sit in the woods at night and watch the stars as she asked you if a supernova had occurred, or if it was raining on other planets. She’d ask with wide eyes if you could see life outside of Earth and would get annoyed when you refused to answer, creating a mystery that she would try hard to figure it out by the loose words you’d say.

Sometimes, she’d touch your arm like a kid to see if you’d still survive her curse every time you annoyed her. When she was feeling bold and in a good mood, her fingers would trace your skin in a soft touch as you fell asleep while watching the stars, comfortable in each other’s presence. As the days passed by, she’d find out your abilities and put them to test, walking to her dorm and asking if you could still hear her; after a couple minutes, you’d show up on her balcony to answer.

An amazing creature you were, indeed.

“You and Enid have the same music taste, a bitter mix of loud noises.” She commented in the same tone she always had in her voice.

You shrugged, crossing your arms. “I know, we talk a lot about it.”

In fact, even though you came to Nevermore to find the beautiful girl that somehow escaped you, you and the werewolf with pink hair became somewhat friends. Maybe it was a core memory from your life as a human-being, something that being friends with Enid would prevent it from drifting away from you; something you were not ready to let go yet. Something that kept you warm inside.

“Can I come in?”

With a nod of your head, Wednesday walked past you and stood in the middle of the room, eyes still analyzing her surroundings. That was the first time she’d been in your dorm even after the newly closeness you had, unlike you, who would visit hers almost every day to talk to her roommate and take away all the quietness she needed to work on her writing.

“So, did you like it?”

“Pardon?”

“My room. Is it what you imagined it would be like?”

Wednesday blinked once before turning to you. “Quite the opposite. I never thought Death would be a fan of KPOP to the point of having a collection of albums. Do you even speak Korean?”

“I don’t need to speak Korean to feel something.” You joke, taking a few steps towards the black and white girl. “And I do like ‘soul-sucking’ and ‘I hate myself’ type of music as well, they just don’t have cool posters to hang on the wall or photocards to collect.” As if you had read her mind, you explained.

“Fair enough.” She uncrossed her arms, lifting her head to face you as you got closer, a good inch taller than her. “But I didn’t come here to talk about music, I can do that with Enid if I ever wish to have a headache.”

“Ouch.”

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to offend you.”

You laugh, poking her shoulder. “I wasn’t offended, but my music taste is a lot better than Enid’s.”

“How’s that if you both listen to the same genres of music?”

The Addams girl was genuinely curious, outside of the classical world that filled her earphones and cello lessons, she didn’t have a clue about it. To her, it all had the same sound: noise. It was a messy and loud mix of words and instruments that she could not guess a single one of, almost impossible to appreciate for more than a couple minutes.

Her head was starting to hurt just from remembering some of the songs Enid would play while getting ready for classes early in the morning, even the birds that used to chirp outside the balcony window had disappeared.

“You see, there’s a lot of music styles inside of the KPOP world.” You start, loving the way Wednesday was close to you, attentively listening to you explain something she didn’t care at all. “For example: the songs BTS make today aren’t the same as the ones they made when they debuted. And BTS isn’t the same as Seventeen. And Seventeen is far from sounding the same as Dreamcatcher. And so it goes. It’s a big world, with different ways to produce music.”

“That’s interesting, indeed. But to my ears, it’s all noise. I have yet to learn how to tolerate it.” You smiled. Even though it was something the Addams wasn’t a fan of, she’d still try to tolerate it if it meant something to Enid, and to you. “Still, I didn’t come here to learn about music. I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m all ears, princess.” Wednesday closed her eyes, taking a deep breath at the nickname you addressed her; you bit your bottom lip, catching the loud beat of her heart that was there every time you’d annoy her. “You don’t like being called ‘princess’. Do you, princess?”

“Keep calling me that and I will not hesitate on burning all of your album’s collection.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Wednesday really was something else, she wasn’t afraid of you, you knew that, but to threaten you, even with something so small like burning a few pieces of paper with pretty people printed on them, that was a courage that many wouldn’t have around you knowing that you, literally, had their lives in the palm of your hand.

She was fascinating to your eyes.

Just as you were to hers. The girl wouldn’t admit out loud, but she wanted to cut you open and study whatever made you being what, or who, you were. The detective side of hers screaming in the back of her brain.

But, right now, she wanted to cut open something else, and only you could help her.

“You said you needed help… With what, exactly, love?”

Choosing to ignore the endearing nickname, she took a step forward. You mirrored her.

“I want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Your head turned slightly at her words as if you were trying to have a clearer hearing of her voice even though you were one small step away from each other. From this distance, you could hear the blood traveling on her veins.

Wednesday took a deep breath, wondering if you really didn’t understand her or if you were, as always, joking around.

“I want you to touch me. What part of that did you not understand?”

“I just wanted to confirm, sweetheart.” You smiled. “It’s not every day that I get asked to touch something so beautiful and unique like yourself.”

The praise got to her, a small twinge of pain spreading on her stomach. A good type of pain.

“I wasn’t asking.”

You took the last step forward after her last words when you noticed she was stuck in the same spot, your finger tracing her jawline in a ghostly-like touch. Wednesday closed her eyes, goosebumps all over her body. It was weird and it tickled, but the warmth of your skin on hers was something she could tolerate.

Wednesday would always touch you, but you never touched her. It was the second time someone touched her and didn’t drop dead in a second, so she leaned into the caress. You bit your lower lip, leaning closer to her, whispering against her slightly open lips.

“Can I kiss you?” The words hit her like a flaming arrow.

Wednesday wasn’t the type to anticipate anything, her anxiety was always under her control, but having you, asking such delicate question, looking at her with soft eyes filled with stars, made her heart beat like crazy.

“You can.”

The arrow, shot with extreme precision, went through her body when your lips touched, spreading fire on her veins. It was her first kiss; you were her first kiss.

Gently, your hand reached her face, holding her in place as you deepened the kiss, sighing against her. The Addams closed her eyes, giving into your touch. Unsure what to do, her hands grabbed the soft fabric of your shirt, feeling the warmth that emanated from your body.

It was a funny thing to feel, Death being a hot body while Wednesday was cold to the touch. When your heart beat against hers, she melted against your embrace.

When you pulled back, a very small, satisfied smile drew on the corner of her lips. Her eyes shot open, a black glow shining on them.

“Was that your first kiss?” Your voice was nothing but a whisper, so low and soft that if you two weren’t glued to each other, the Addams wouldn’t have heard. She nodded. “How far do you wanna go tonight?”

“I’ll tell you when to stop.” Wednesday breathed out, licking her lips. “Now, can we do that again?”

“As many times as you want, princess.”

When you kissed her again, it wasn’t soft or calm, it turned rough, needy, with her nails scratching the back of your neck as she pulled you closer, hugging your body with an urge she’d never felt before. You were the first person outside the Addams family that could touch her, and she would enjoy every single minute of it, it didn’t matter if she seemed desperate or needy, right now, all she craved was your hands on her body, bruising the untouched skin.

Pulling her up, Wednesday wrapped her legs around your waist as you easily walked towards your bed, sitting down with her on your lap. The kiss was sloppy, wet and the way she was whimpering against your mouth was turning your head upside down. Kissing her was a lot different than you had ever imagined. When you pulled away to breath, a string of saliva connected your lips.

“Why did you stop?” Her voice came out as a lowly whisper, and she was soft against your body.

“I want to make sure you really want this; this whole touch thing is new to you. I don’t want to overwhelm you.” Your hand found the skin of her back under the shirt she wore to sleep, feeling the goosebumps as you roamed them up and down.

“I appreciate the concern,” Wednesday gulped hard. “but I can take it. I can take you.”

So you kissed her again, harder and deeper, deliciously moving your tongue on hers, allowing her to take control of that situation. Her hands found your hair, fingers pulling at the softness and making them a mess as you turned on your knees, laying her against the mattress of your bed.

The muffled sounds escaping her mouth became louder as your hands found her thigh, even over the fabric of her sleeping pants it felt nice to have someone touching her there, squeezing the flesh as you moved up, playing with the elastic of it. The tip of your fingers easily trespassing.

“It turns me on so badly knowing that I’m the only one that can touch you.” The confession got her head spinning, the blood rushing in her veins all the way up her cheeks, red color giving life to the pale skin. 

With your lips pressed against hers, you moved the kiss to her jawline, down to her neck. You could feel the blood flowing in her veins when your tongue licked her jugular before biting that spot, a soft moan escaping her parted lips, fingers locked in your hair as she pulled you impossibly closer, legs wrapping around your waist.

Wednesday’s hand moved down to your waist, lifting your shirt in a silent request for you to remove the useless fabric, she wanted to feel every centimeter of your warm skin. You were, unexplainable, burning under her fingerprints when you fixed your posture, removing the pajama and throwing it on the floor. The brunette licked her lips at the sight of you, black painted nails scratching your belly in her curious movements, a flash of bothersome in your eyes at the slight burning feeling.

Sitting up with you on her lap, Wednesday kissed alongside your neck, biting the collarbone, a purplish dot where her mouth previously was. She was aggressive with her mouth and you were loving it.

Despite being the first time she ever got to touch someone like that, Wednesday knew what she was doing with her mouth, and with her hands. The cold fingertips curiously moving down your spine and resting on your lower back, digging into the soft skin and making your hips moving against hers. 

“Do that again.” Once more, she wasn’t asking. She was demanding with a breathy voice that could’ve easily stolen a few years of your immortal life, forcing you to repeat the move with her bare hands. 

One of your hands was firm on the back of her neck while the other rested on the wooden headboard, applying the pressure you wanted to use on her, but couldn’t. Her small body could easily break under your touch. 

“I think…” You breathed out, letting your head fall back when her kisses moved to your neck. “I think we should switch positions, love.”

“You don’t think I can do this?” 

“Oh, I know you can.” You choked a laugh. “But this is your first time, I want to focus on you, princess. I want to make you feel good. I’ve been touched before.”

The innocent mention of her not being your first — like you were going to be hers — turned a key inside her that made her sink her teeths in the crook of your neck. A painful muffle scaping your throat, the twinge of pain spreading in your veins. 

“I really don’t want to think of others touching you right now.” Wednesday whispered as she licked the wounded skin. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

“That’s fair, Addams.” Swallowing hard, you pulled back, making her look at you. Her eyes were darker than usual, swallowed by the pleasure of having you gridding on her lap. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow kiss, distracting her with your tongue as you slowly pressure her down the mattress again, trying to fix yourself in between her legs. The Addams pushed her hips towards you. “Someone’s anxious.”

“Shut up.” She tried pulling you down with the heels of her feet, but you were stronger than her — even without using the strength of being Death gave you. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?”

“Just��touch me. I’m bothered.”

“Bothered?”

There you were once again, the little jerk that liked to tease her about everything. She knew you knew exactly what she meant with that word and, on other occasions, she would’ve played along and delayed her answer, but right now, with the annoying slick in between her legs, she went straight to the point. 

“Just fuck me already.” 

You smiled against her, biting on her lower lip.

“That’s a polite princess.” One of your hands travelled down her body, ignoring what you soon would give your undivided attention to, to rest in between her legs. When your finger pressed down the wet patch on her pants, your eyes flashed in white. “No underwear, Wednesday?”

“I didn't want anything making it harder for you to touch me.” She confessed, licking her lips and tasting the remains of yours. “But, clearly, I wasn't counting with you making it hard.”

The Addams rolled her hips against your fingers and, even through the fabric of her pajama, it still felt ten thousand times better than when she touched herself in the darkness of her room. 

You could feel how wet she was for you. How ready she was for you. 

Hooking your fingers in the elastic waistband, you pulled down her pants. Wednesday finished kicking the useless thing somewhere around your dorm, now resting along with your shirt. 

Unlike you thought she would be, the Addams wasn’t shy under your gaze, no… she had a satisfied smile. Her ego boosting at the way you licked your lips at the sight of her dripping cunt.  

Your hand travelled up her leg, the ghostly touch making her shiver and move anxiously. The closer your fingertips got to her inner thighs, the wetter she got. Literally dripping onto your sheets. She was desperate for you. 

Leaning down on your elbows, you were fast to collect that single drop, moaning at the bittersweet taste. You looked up, finding the black eyes focused on your mouth when your tongue slided against her, savoring her in a slow, torturous lick that seemed to last forever. 

“You taste so fucking good, Wednesday.” You whispered, turning your face to kiss her inner thigh. 

“Then why isn't your tongue inside me already?” The Addams was annoyed and impatient, you could tell by the way her hands moved from gripping the sheets to gripping your hair, trying to pull you closer. She groaned, rolling her eyes. “I despise you.”

Your sly smile didn’t last long as she gathered strength to push your face against her cunt, and you finally gave her what she wanted. 

Wednesday’s lips parted as a quiet breath escaped them, lost in the thick air that surrounded your  bedroom. Her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging and pulling at the soft strands as your tongue moved in different directions, sometimes slow and sometimes fast, moving up and down her slit and kissing her cunt. Her juice dripping down your chin as your digit brushed over her clitoris, circling the swollen bundle of nerves carefully before pushing her bigger lips together with your thumb and index finger, creating more pressure when your tongue flickered on her clit. 

She nearly screamed when you kept doing that, your other hand resting on her belly, fingers intertwining as she squeezed your head with her legs. Luckily, you didn’t need to breathe. 

Your eyes fluttered shuttered for a few seconds as you focused on what you were doing, but when her hips pushed up and her fingers crushed yours, your eyes shot open in the whitest tone Wednesday ever saw. It was pure, magical, like the explosion of a supernova.  

The fingers that touched her turned into a soft caress, your slicky lips kissing around her reddened cunt, patiently waiting for her to come down from her high. 

Wednesday’s eyes were closed, the stars that once were in yours, now shone behind her closed lids. She never thought she’d be able to see the stars like that, with someone in between her legs, licking her clean. 

“Are you okay?” You asked in a low-pitched tone, climbing her body with kisses. 

“Is it always like that?” The Addams asked with a dry mouth, closing her legs as she still felt the spasms of her sensitive nerve. You laid next to her, chin resting on her shoulder. 

You shrugged. 

“It should be.” Your reply was simple. “Did you like it?”

“I can still see stars on the roof of your terribly decorated room. Yes, I did like it.”

“Good.” You let out a laugh, resting your face in the palm of your hand, while the other, once again moved on her inner thigh, finding its way in between the closed muscles. “Because we’re not done yet.”

[shifting-nightly]

💡 my first dr was a breakfast club dr and my main dr is currently a librarian dr. i made the switch because i forgot about shifting for a while to be honest and then when i got back into it i decided to make a whole new dr. i still love the breakfast club, i just wanted to start over again i guess? and make a new dr where i’m a librarian since i would be loving life if i was one.

🏷️ in my dr, my name is evelyn because i’ve always thought it was a pretty name

👜 my house is kinda cottagecore (?) i guess, that would be the best way i know how to describe it. i like houses with that kind of aesthetic so i went with that for a house. i have posters in my room and little things from antique stores as decorations. i haven’t decided yet if i have any roommates or anybody living with me, i’m on the fence on whether i want any or not. i would like the social aspect of it but at the same time i also like to have my own space so i’m not completely sure yet. my favorite aspect of my house would be the decorations because it would be decorated the way i would love to have my own space decorated and not have to worry about having to ask someone if it’s okay to have things where i want them.

🎞️ i don’t think there would be edits or a fandom for me since in my librarian dr. maybe in my singer one? but i haven’t thought much about it lol

🩰 my ootd for my librarian dr would be something dark academia aesthetic, like a sweater and either a skirt or pants because dark academia is my favorite aesthetic

🏛️ in my free time, i see, draw, read, color, knit, crochet, do quilting, bake, cook, play with my cat and dog. i spend time with friends, especially my best friends, and s/o. we go to the movies, zoo, aquarium, antique stores, basically anywhere

🗝️ i guess my most niche dr would be either my author dr or librarian dr, those are the only ones i can think of that could possibly be considered niche. i made my author dr because not only do i like reading but i would also enjoy writing books of my own. i made my librarian dr because again, i like reading and would love a job involving books.

📜 i wake up every day excited to go to work because i love being a librarian and come home at the end of the day to relax with my pets :)

🧳 normally when i do script i just write out bullet points in my notes app

author dr

* 22

* writing a series and some standalone books that take place in the same universe as the series, like how there’s heartstopper and then other books like nick and charlie and this winter

* have a black cat and golden retriever

* cottagecore house

* clothes are dark academia aesthetic

* have curtain bangs

* have similar hair to sabrina carpenter

* writes romantacy things

* some books involve dragons

* take walks during the sunset

* writes at a coffee shop / cat cafe

* spotify works good instead of dragging out spotify wrapped

* knit, crochet, sew, and play instruments and just dance during free time

* goofy socks and earrings

* love baking and just making food in general

♟️ my best friends in this reality are in my friend group in my dr and we met through having class together

🕰️ my favorite person in my family would probably be my sister. we have a close relationship and tell each other everything. she showed me how to do make up and explained things like that. my relationship with my mom is similar in that i also tell her everything. me and my dad usually make jokes together

🎻 a scenario that i have scripted and am excited for is getting to make all of the recipes that i’ve seen and have been wanting to make. i’ve seen different ones for different kinds of pasta, some for bread, and some with chicken that i’ve been excited to make in my dr. i’m also excited to make different kinds of desserts that sound good too

💼 i haven’t thought much about who i don’t get along with in my dr because i’ve mainly been focusing on who i do get along with and what i want to do in my dr lol. i guess i’ll figure out when i shift lol

🍨 my username would either be just my first name or something funny and i would mainly just post things i think are pretty :)

ᓚᘏᗢ﹐𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞. ⁞ ˎˊ˗

shifting ask game reblog for asks ↻ ‧₊˚.

i’m bored so here’s another ask game, i’ll try to ask to everyone who reblogs, as long as tumblr isn't too glitchy, but feel free to send asks to others

— 💡 : what was your first dr and what is currently your main dr? How and why have you made this switch?

— 🏷 : what is your name for your dr and why is that your name?

— 👜 : what’s your house look like? Do you have any roommates or people who live with you? What’s your favorite aspect of your house and why?

— 🎞 : what edits of you would there be in your dr? what is your fandom like?

— 🩰 : what is your OOTD (outfit of the day) for a dr and why?

— 🏛️ : what do you do in your free time? Who are you with? Where do you go?

— 🗝 : what is your most niche dr and why did you make it?

— 📜 : summarize your dr in a sentence

— 🧳 : what is your favorite way to script and share your favorite dr script

— ♟ : who’s in your friend group and how did you make this friend group?

— 🕰 : what’s your family like? Who’s your favorite person and what are your relationships with your different members?

— 🎻 : what is a fun scenario you have scripted and you excited for? (be detailed! :)

— 💼 : who is someone you don’t get a long with in your dr? Why?

— 🍨 : what are your socials like in your dr? Followers? Username? What do you post?

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 8 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7])

more Oz references! fury of the elements, one very pissed ex, same thing.

god but how much I love rio going feral?! it's so stupid I'm giggling and kicking my feet about it. you'd think a very old, very wise being would react like a grown ass adult after a breakup, especially because it was such a long time coming. but does rio go home to process things quietly? noooooooo she summons a whole storm and sits on a roof waiting for agatha to come out of her basement, so she can be an ass about it. if they were humans rio would be slashing agatha's tires and smashing windows and throwing rotten eggs at her house drunk at three in the morning, and you know what? good for her!!! she's been fucking trying to work out things in a mature responsible way, and it was never going to work, agatha was never going to grow up. so fuck it. agatha wants to be immature? we'll show her immature! I support my girl going full petty and unhinged, let her cry and scream and eat a whole ice cream tub and then throw it all up, let her piss all over agathas' rhododendrons, my girl has earned it.

AND she's brought her favorite soul-reaping orchid with her! she's like, I'm gonna do it! this time I'm gonna getcha! I will drag your ungrateful ass to our son kicking and screaming if I have to!!!!

...girl. we both know you ain't. like agatha is literally about to die and you still won't reap that soul without her consent. absolute loser behavior.

and agatha... well, agatha never backed off from an immaturity showdown. oooh she's gonna out-toddler you for sure.

but it's so interesting that the Road didn't give her her powers back. tbh I don't think she ever lost her powers at all, seeing as she's first and foremost a succubus and that power works just fine, if alice's fate is any indication. it's more like, three years under the spell completely drained her battery and she desperately needs to feed.

and agatha wasn't planning on joining the Road at all, as far as she was concerned it didn't even exist. like with lilia, jen and alice the Road gave her not what she asked, but what she needed all along: her prize was that moment of closure with nicky

so rio cannot kill people, she can only make them wish they were dead, and I just realized, her special talent is also being fucking annoying, just like agatha

by the way, rewatching wandavision I realized that his name is JOHN, not herb! I'm so sorry I've been calling you the wrong name this whole time, my guy. ALSO MOVE OUT OF THAT NEIGHBORHOOD DEAR LORD

same goes for you two. harold you have a daughter!

(omg a literal harold, they're lesbians.)

agatha sees the fire moon and it reminds her of alice. she draws a circle for the expelle hoc malum protection spell she's learned from her. she had a coven only for a day and look how much they've gotten under her skin.

rio gives an incredulous sigh. are you calling me "evil"? it's like, we've been over this!

I know that baby and I love you, but also you're very much sitting on a rooftop cackling like a maniac. how can these two be both so tragic and so so fucking ridiculous at the same time.

it's like, she's absolutely right, she's no villain and she's no demon, agatha should stop treating her like one and punishing her for it. but also... stop begging her to, for fuck's sake. rio, my love, have some dignity. stop chasing. you did a dramatic exit half an hour ago, WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

agatha trying to exorcise her ex wife with a spell: clownass behavior.

rio blowing the circle away with a kiss: also clownass behavior.

but is she wrong????

lilia's turn to come in handy!

I'm sorry but... a whole sink? she threw a whole sink at her head?? this scene is so fucking hilarious, like I know some people found rio ooc but to me it makes perfect sense. I'm just sorry she didn't throw a toilet.

GO HOME, RIO. it's okay, we're gonna put up a picture of agatha in your living room and throw poop at it until you feel better or smth, it's gonna be okay, you let it all out.

^^literally rio

jen's moment: vulnus ab aqua curare.

I don't think it's going to help you much though, babe. remember when agatha kept poking wanda with a stick and got her ass kicked to oblivion in return? she's been poking DEATH for two hundred years. what did she expect???!?!

THAT IS THE HOTTEST SOMEONE HAS EVER LOOKED, DEAR LORD

and considering that rio chooses an outfit for each soul she reaps: this is what she chose for agatha??? girl, be for real!!!

aaaand she gets kicked into a wall a moment later. after her devastating sexy ass walk with the high slit dress and all. complete loser behavior.

(also hilarious: agatha's laundry hanging there the whole time)

billy came back to save agatha (awww) but not before conjuring a cool wiccan costume and doing a very dramatic entrance (awwwwwwww). literally her son.

I agree tbh

agatha's face when she realizes billy is choosing to give her magic: this is the first time someone does it willingly. and sure he is super powerful (she drained poor alice in a second), but I keep imagining a world were agatha is an important, cherished member of a community, maybe playing the vital role of teacher and knowledge keeper, and the community willingly donates magic in return, all together and on a regular basis, like people donate blood, so that no one dies and she doesn't starve.

look at how the beam changes color, and just how happy she is to finally eat. it's just the way she was born, you know? I hate that evanora turned it into something horrible when it didn't need to.

oh god, that stupid outfit again. that is agatha's "I'm such a scary merciless bitch and I don't care about your feelings" outfit. as if.

and then she realizes she's killing billy. look at her face, a moment ago she even said how good all this power feels. she could easily take it all. but of course for billy she has to stop.

so, can agatha actually control her powers? well, it's complicated, isn't it? she definitely couldn't when she was very young. possibly she never sought to learn how to as time went on.

(thank you for your patience, everyone, I'll update more regularly from now on. and you all know what happens next entry.)

go to episode 8 part 8

[remlionheart]

MDNI. aged up characters. ✩࿐࿔

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁₊˚⋆

you're half-asleep, snuggled into the safety of megumi's comforter as the weight of the day slowly starts to disappear, your worries and stress lost to the feeling of his touch. it's rare that sleep takes you this easily, but tonight, it's holding your hand so tightly you can't stop your body from softly twitching against his as your mind slips further into its dreamy abyss.

a small smile cuts across his face when he notices the way you ease into him. his fingers are featherlight, drifting along your skin with all the delicacy in the world as they create hazy patterns across your collarbone and along the back of your neck, his nails just barely grazing your scalp the higher up he goes. he's warm, he's always so warm and perfect when he's holding you like this, making the rest of the outside world melt away with his presence alone.

your thoughts are scattered, comfortable but blurred by how relaxed your body is when you feel his breath start to fan across the nape of your neck, his hand carefully sliding between your thighs as he presses the sleepiest kisses into the side of your neck. you shift again, your eyes struggling to stay shut as he lulls dizzy little nothings into your neck, "relax, okay? just let me take care of you."

you give him a small nod, letting yourself settle into his touch, the palm of his hand firm but gentle as he coaxes your legs apart. "i know you had a long day." he whispers, electricity suddenly flickering across your skin as his fingers tentatively spread you.

his voice feels like silk, low and entrancing with the way it wraps around you so effortlessly. "i want you to let all of that go and focus on me–," your back arches as he continues to leave light kisses scattered across the top of your shoulder, his words only pulling you further and further into his orbit. "focus on your breathing. focus on my touch. focus on this, the way this feels–"

you can't help the heady noise that escapes you when his fingers dip into you, instantly finding that spot that you can never quite reach yourself.

"right there, yeah?" you can hear the faint smile in his voice as he presses into it again with adoring precision. "it's always right there, isn't it?"

you don't have to say anything for him to know the answer, your walls clenching around him gives him all the confirmation he needs. there's never been anyone else who's known you this entirely– who's known exactly how and where to touch you the way that he does. it's almost overwhelming sometimes, how much pride he takes in making you feel this good.

"you make the prettiest noises, y'know that?" his praises only draw more of them out of you, his thumb drawing blissful circles around your clit as his fingers continue on with the same tantalizing pace. pumping in and out of you in a way that makes the edges of your vision start to blur.

"there it is." he groans, his teeth just barely sinking into your neck. "doin' so good for me, keep going."

"m– megumi," you whimper, your body grinding against his as he holds you steady.

"i know, baby." he soothes, "i know. you don't have to say it, just let me feel it okay?"

your breath catches in your throat, your thighs suddenly locking his hand in place as little tremors begin to ripple through them. your walls comply with his command, squeezing his fingers so snug that you're not even sure how he manages to keep his rhythm, but he never breaks it.

his voice is the only thing keeping you tethered to the room, the rest of your mind succumbing to the hazy bliss he's lead you to as your core begins to desperately unravel around him.

"such a perfect girl, cummin' all over me like this. how'd i get so lucky, huh?" his freehand finds the side of your face, turning your head towards his as he hovers above over you.

your lips meet his eagerly, your tongue swirling against his with fervor as he holds you, continuing to spill out pretty little reassurances in between breaths. your hands wrap around the collar of his shirt, pulling him in as close as you can while he helps you ride out the last few waves of your orgasm.

there are stars in your eyes by the time he finally pulls out, your chest heaving as your surroundings slowly come back into view. none of it matters though– not the day you had or the rest of what exists outside of the room. the only thing that matters is the way he smiles as he kisses you, the tender warmth of his hand under your chin. the way his midnight gaze lights up in even in a dimly lit space just from looking at you.

the only thing that matters, is him.

"you know i think you've got it wrong," you whisper, "i'm the lucky one."

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁₊˚⋆

[starksweasley]

No Promises // Rhysand

Summary: In which you and Rhysand hate each other, but maybe not really. 

Word Count: 2337

The air of the Autumn Court woods is thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Your blade whispers through the air as you move, every sense heightened. A mission deep in Beron’s territory is dangerous, but you’ve grown used to danger. What’s one more trek into hostile lands compared to centuries of warfare and subterfuge?

But you hadn’t expected them.

The rustle of leaves is subtle but distinct, and you spin, blade raised. Two figures step out of the shadows, their faces as familiar as your own reflection—Rhysand and Cassian. The High Lord of the Night Court and his brutish General. Your grip on your weapon tightens, though Cassian’s hands are raised in mock surrender.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart,” Cassian says with a lopsided grin, his hazel eyes glinting with humor. His stance is deceptively relaxed, but you know better than to assume he’s unprepared. Every inch of him is coiled, ready to spring into action if necessary.

“Cassian,” you say curtly, though you don’t lower your blade. Your gaze flicks to Rhysand, who steps out of the shadows with a grace that seems almost lazy, though his sharp violet eyes miss nothing. They rake over you, taking in every detail of your stance, your weapon, and the defiant tilt of your chin. It feels like he’s weighing and dissecting you in a single glance.

“Still Tamlin’s loyal little pet, I see,” Rhysand drawls, the corner of his mouth curving in a smirk that you’ve dreamed of wiping off his face for centuries. His voice is as smooth as silk, but there’s an undercurrent of something sharper, something taunting, as if he’s daring you to respond.

You bristle, your fingers tightening on the hilt of your blade. His words cut deeper than you’d like to admit, but you don’t rise to the bait. Not this time. Instead, you force yourself to sheath your weapon, though you keep your stance defensive, muscles taut and ready. “What are you doing here?” you demand, your tone clipped and icy.

Rhysand’s smirk deepens, and he steps closer, his shadows curling around his boots like loyal pets. “The same thing as you, I imagine,” he says smoothly. “A little sabotage, a little chaos. Though I doubt your reasons are as noble as ours.”

“Noble?” you scoff. “You mean self-serving. Don’t pretend you’re here out of the goodness of your heart, Rhysand.”

Cassian steps between you, his massive form an unspoken reminder to keep your tempers in check. His broad shoulders block your view of Rhysand, and his tone carries a note of exasperation. “Alright, kids, let’s play nice. The Autumn Court’s our real enemy, remember?”

You barely hear him over the pounding of your heart, your glare locked on Rhysand like a tether. His expression doesn’t waver, still fixed in that insufferable smirk that makes your blood boil.

“Stay out of this, Cassian,” you both snap, your voices colliding with identical vehemence. The sound carries in the stillness of the forest, as though the trees themselves are judging your childish bickering.

Cassian sighs, muttering something under his breath about being surrounded by stubborn children. He raises his hands in mock surrender, stepping back just enough to let the tension between you and Rhysand simmer unchecked. His gaze flicks between you both, clearly unimpressed but unwilling to intervene further.

Before Cassian can offer another quip, a sharp thwip breaks the tense silence. An arrow embeds itself in the tree beside you, the shaft quivering from the force of the impact. Instinct takes over, and you lunge to the side just as another arrow whizzes past where your head had been a heartbeat earlier.

“Ambush,” Cassian growls, drawing his sword in one fluid motion. 

Rhysand is already moving, his shadows unfurling like serpents, slithering through the clearing to sow chaos. His hands glow faintly, magic sparking at his fingertips as he summons blasts of darkness that hurl two sentries into the trees with sickening thuds. You barely have time to curse under your breath as the Autumn Court sentries emerge from the underbrush, their weapons gleaming like fire-forged teeth in the dim light.

They move with precision, flanking and attacking in coordinated bursts. The first soldier lunges at you, and your blade meets his with a deafening clang. You twist sharply, driving your heel into his knee and bringing your weapon up to slash across his exposed side. He crumples with a guttural scream, but there’s no time to savor the victory. Another attacker barrels toward you, his axe glinting in the sparse moonlight.

Cassian’s roar splits the air as he intercepts the soldier, cleaving through his opponent with a brutal swing of his sword. Blood sprays, painting the clearing in a macabre sheen. “Focus!” he barks, casting a quick glance your way before turning to block another strike aimed at his side.

Your attention snaps back to your immediate threat as a sentry’s dagger slices through the fabric of your sleeve, nicking your arm. You hiss in pain but counter with a swift upward thrust, catching him under the chin. He shouts, collapsing to the ground.

Rhysand’s magic pulses in the air, a suffocating wave of power that crushes three sentries in its wake. His shadows dart and weave like sentient beings, tripping attackers and wrapping around throats. One sentry collapses mid-lunge, his sword clattering uselessly to the forest floor as the life drains from his eyes.

It’s chaos. The clash of steel and the  cries of the dying create a symphony of violence that rings in your ears. You’re holding your own, barely, when your peripheral vision catches a glint of movement. An archer perched in the high branches, his bow drawn and aimed at Rhysand’s unprotected chest.

Time slows as you watch the arrow leave the string, its deadly tip slicing through the air with cruel precision. Your heart lurches, your body moving before your mind can catch up. The world narrows to the single act of stepping in front of the High Lord of Night.

A sharp, searing pain explodes in your abdomen as the arrow buries itself deep. The force of it drives you back a step, your breath hitching as you clutch at the wound. Warmth seeps through your fingers, staining your tunic crimson. The clearing tilts and sways, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to stay upright, raising your blade to block a sentry who charges you, wild-eyed and snarling.

“No!” Rhysand’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharper than any blade, filled with something raw and unfamiliar. In an instant, he’s at your side, his magic surging outward in a dark, furious wave that obliterates the remaining sentries. The clearing falls eerily silent, the only sounds the ragged breaths of the three of you and the faint rustle of leaves disturbed by the fading shadows.

“You reckless fool,” Rhysand hisses, his hands pressing firmly against the wound in your stomach to stem the bleeding. The warm stickiness of blood seeps through his fingers, and his usual smirk is nowhere to be seen. In its place is an expression you’ve never witnessed before—raw, almost panicked, as if the sight of you like this unravels something deep inside him.

Cassian drops to his knees at your other side, his face pale and drawn. His voice is steady, but you catch the tremor beneath it. “We need to get her to Madja. Now.”

“I’m fine,” you manage to grit out, though the sharp, twisting agony in your stomach makes the words sound more like a desperate lie. Your vision blurs, and every breath is a battle.

“Shut up,” Rhysand snaps, his sharp tone a mask for the desperation in his eyes. His hands are unnervingly gentle as they scoop you into his arms. The movement sends a fresh wave of pain radiating through you, and you gasp, clutching weakly at his shirt.

“You’re not dying in this gods-forsaken forest,” he mutters, his jaw tight with determination. He glances at Cassian, and with a nod, they’re both moving. Rhysand’s grip on you is firm yet protective, his magic already whispering at the edges of your consciousness, keeping you tethered to the waking world.

You try to speak, to argue, to tell him that you don’t want to owe him anything. But the weight of exhaustion presses down on you, pulling you into a darkness that feels cold and endless. The last thing you hear is the faint, frantic thrum of Rhysand’s heartbeat against your cheek as everything goes black.

When you wake, the first thing you notice is the soft glow of faelight illuminating the room. The second is the figure sitting beside the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed. Rhysand.

“You’re awake,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as his gaze meets yours. There’s no smirk, no taunt—just an intensity that makes your chest ache more than the wound.

“Why am I not dead?” you mutter, your throat dry.

“Because you’re too stubborn to die,” he says, a flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips. Then his expression hardens. “And too foolish to stay out of danger. What the hell were you thinking, throwing yourself in front of that arrow?”

The sharpness in his voice startles you, and your chest tightens with indignation. “I saved your life, Rhysand. Forgive me for not wanting the Autumn Court to take out their greatest threat.”

“You think I needed saving?” he snaps, leaning forward, his violet eyes blazing. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? What almost happened?”

Your temper flares, and you push yourself up despite the pain. “And what was I supposed to do? Stand there and watch you die?” Your voice rises, fueled by frustration and the lingering sting of his words.

“Yes!” he bites out, his shadows curling at the edges of the room like restless predators. “Yes, you were supposed to stay out of it. You could’ve died, and then what?”

His anger collides with your own, a clash that leaves the room feeling charged and suffocating. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected,” you retort, your voice shaking slightly but no less fierce. “I made a choice.”

“A stupid one,” he growls, standing abruptly. The movement is fluid,  and it sets your heart pounding for reasons you can’t entirely explain. “Do you think I want your blood on my hands? That I want to…” His voice falters, and he turns away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Gods, you drive me insane.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with an emotion you can’t quite name. The tension is unbearable, and before you can stop yourself, you say, “Maybe you should stop caring so much, then.”

He spins back to you, his movements swift and precise, and the heat in his gaze has shifted. The anger still burns in those violet eyes. “Maybe I can’t,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, like a confession he didn’t mean to make.

You blink, caught off guard. Your chest tightens with the weight of his words, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He takes a step closer, and the room seems to shrink. The shadows around him flicker like flames, as though they, too, are drawn to the pull between you.

“You…” he begins, his voice breaking slightly, and he looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. His hand twitches at his side, as though he’s debating whether to reach for you or pull away.

The silence stretches, taut and fragile, until he finally makes his choice. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and when he leans down, the space between you feels electric, crackling with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. “You…” he begins, his voice a whisper, but whatever he was going to say is lost as his lips crush against yours.

The kiss is raw and desperate, filled with years of anger, frustration, and something far more vulnerable. His hands cup your face, fingers trembling slightly as they press against your skin, grounding him in this moment. You’re too stunned to react at first, your mind racing to catch up with what’s happening. But then the fire of his kiss ignites something deep within you, and you’re kissing him back with equal fervor, pouring every ounce of defiance and longing into it. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching the fabric of his shirt as though holding onto him will keep you anchored.

When he finally pulls away, his breath is ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes search your face, as though looking for answers to questions he’s too afraid to ask. “Don’t ever do that again,” he says hoarsely, his voice breaking on the last word. For once, there’s no command in his tone, only a plea.

You swallow hard, your own breath coming in uneven gasps. You don’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer, and the weight of the moment threatens to crush you.

For a moment, silence lingers between you, thick with unspoken truths. Then, with an unexpected gentleness, Rhysand’s hand trails down to your wrist, where his thumb brushes over your pulse. It’s steady now, unlike his own heartbeat, which thunders against his ribs. “You scare me,” he admits quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I hate that I care enough to be scared.”

“Rhys,” you begin, unsure of what to say. His name is a soft exhale on your lips, but it seems to be enough for him.

“Just rest,” he interrupts, his voice firmer now, though his eyes remain soft. “We’ll talk later.” His shadows curl protectively around the edges of the room, as if creating a barrier between you and the rest of the world. “And promise me you'll never pull shit like that again.”

You close your eyes, feeling a sort of calm blanket you before you finally whisper, "Can't promise that."

[thesummerstorms]

So I don't like to define my Rook's relationship with Viago just as brotherly or parental. I think there's an element of connection there that is normally reserved for family, that there's loyalty and shared experience, but that just calling Viago Rook's older brother or parent would be over simplifying it.

That said!

As much as I love the unpacking scene, I do not believe for a second that this thing fit in my Rook's pack while she was on the run with Varric.

So instead, I'm having fun imagining that when she was exiled from Treviso, it was a "fled immediately in the dead of night" type of situation to keep a Crow from a rival house from killing her. She left what few sentimental items she couldn't carry on her person in her apartment, fully expecting not to see them again.

Only to come to Treviso with Lucanis to check in and then be cornered by Viago.He promptly pulls her into his office and hands this thing off to her in the same way exasperated parents hand off the grade school projects and childhood drawings/old toys they've been storing in a box on a shelf somewhere when they finally get tired of holding on to their adult kid's stuff.

Rook isn't sure whether she's touched or supremely weirded out.

[sylenth-l]

Ok I have a technical question today because I want to understand the media you use more. I’m looking at this fantastic portrait/study you just did of Colovance again and I’ve registered you included color swatches for it. But what got me kind of wondering here is the peripheral images: it’s obvious you used the same palate for them but they’re paler. Is this one of those cases where you have to use bleach for to lighten the pigments, or do they thin out just with water for that faded look?

(As an aside, that green you have for his robes is just SO luscious! Man what a pretty color…!!! 💚)

It's just the same colors diluted with water, yes! The same dark green mixed with bleach is used there too however; but it's in the place you probably don't expect :D I have an expanded palette of color swatches glued to the previous page. The horizontal strokes are done with different amount of water added and vertical lines is bleach (don't mind the drops, I've accidently splashed dirty water all over this OTL):

As you can see, bleach works differently on every ink here - it makes reddish colors almost white and barely works on caramel yellow at all. And this super dark rich green unexpectedly turns blue when subjected to bleach. Depending on mixing proportions, it goes from grayish warm blue to very bright electric blue! And this same bright blue also shows up when you drop the ink wet-on-wet. Here's a clearer demonstration done in my mixing sketchbook:

So actually Timur's shirt is the same green ink, just bleached out :D I think it's very fitting and I'm quite happy with how this mix turned out, I want to use it more. I also used bleach and a tiny brush to draw ornament on the books, especially the black one - it's my favorite black ink that easily turns gold when bleached, and looks almost like it's glowing. Absolutely in love with this thing. Such curious properties are the reason why I love working with inks so much, you can't achieve this with any other media.

Bonus photo of the full spread with a junk-ish mood board (??? Or however you call this 😅 I had no energy to actually draw something here and an empty page looked way too sad, so it's this):

PS: I had a tiny visitor outside my window while taking pictures for this post, so have her too:

[gracefulserpent1207]

SONIC 3 MAJOR SPOILERS!!!

PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM

My Sonic 3 Review:

Opening the film with Shadow waking up to memories of Maria I am SICK

Maria... was playing... Live and Learn... on guitar... omg... my heart...

OZZY'S "You stole my hoomans!" LMAOOOOOO

The fact that when Sonic says to Tom "I don't know what I'd do without you, I'd probably be a completely different hedgehog", they cut to Shadow - that is PEAK cinematography!

SHADOW ON HIS MOTORBIKE!!!

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY AGENT STONE ON A MOTORBIKE HELLO???

Tails wanted to go the chao garden he is so adorable I love him so much 😭 and the look on his face when they start performing he's just a little guy 🥺

THE WAY THE CHAO WERE RUNNING ABOUT WHEN THE CHAO GARDEN WAS ATTACKED WAS SO FUNNY

Eggman watching telenovelas is so accurate actually

Agent Stone is just so in love isn't he? In fact the Stobotnik scenes in this film were some of my favourite scenes - Lee Majdoub you're amazing

Keanu Reeves was AMAZING as Shadow

Shadow looked so scared when he was put in the tank and it was filling with water poor baby 🥺

One thing that was NOT on my Sonic 3 bingo chart was COMMANDER WALTERS FUCKING DYING??? THEY KILLED THE OLIVE GARDEN GUY???

Maria drawing a bunny face over Shadow in the tank she is so precious I love them both so much 😭

The little montage of Shadow and Maria hanging out made me SICK (in a good way) especially that scene when he's running through the halls pulling her behind him on her rollerskates LOL

NOOOOO SHADOW YOU'RE NOT AN ALIEN FREAK DON'T LISTEN TO THAT STUPID MOVIE

"There's still light, even when the star's not there anymore" okay so I'm just gonna cry into my popcorn now thx

Stone calling Tails adorable he is so real for that

Eggman saying that he's "undesirable to all possible genders" 🤨🏳️‍🌈 'whoa he's bisexual I didn't know that!'

Speed reference!

"It's like we're in a movie and we're both being played by the same actor! *Slowly stare into camera*" That fourth wall break was BRILLIANT

I can't decide whether Tom's puppet of himself is absolutely hilarious or absolutely terrifying

The montage of Eggman and Gerald lol! (but poor Stone was left out ☹️)

The entire London break-in scene was great! Especially when Knuckles finally got to break the glass!

REVENGE GUAC

Can we take a minute to appreciate the complete contrast between Gerald saying "a WOMAN in the MILITARY 😒" and Shadow saying that the girl in the telenovela should kill both the guys fighting over her because she's "not a prize to be won"?

Also Shadow watching a telenovela and telling the girl to kill both guys is so accurate LMAO he really said 'YOU LEAVE THAT LATINA ALONE!'

Ngl for a hot second I GENUINELY thought Tom was dead that was SCARY

Are we gonna talk about the fact that Gerald and Shadow were ready to kill themselves if it meant getting revenge?

The way Shadow's face changes and he flashbacks to Maria when he sees Sonic knelt next to Tom begging him to wake up... The parallels between Sonic and Shadow in this film... Oh my goodness...

Sonic getting mad enough to steal the Master Emerald from Knuckles was also NOT on my Sonic 3 bingo chart - I thought we were gonna see them fight each other for a sec which was CRAZY

I'm not the biggest Wade fan but Sonic effortlessly taking the Master Emerald from him and him replying "well I tried" was comedy GOLD - all that training in the Knuckles series for nothing huh 😂

Sonic turning super for vengeance purposes oh my goodness...

Maria's death scene really gave me goosebumps - the way Commander Walters shouts "don't shoot they're children!" - the way Shadow's face changes when he sees Maria dead - the way Gerald was crying...

I think it really says a lot about G.U.N that in this version, they didn't even shoot Maria but they were still actively responsible for her death - that officer DID shoot and he DID try and aim at Maria and that explosion WAS caused by him

Obviously I hate G.U.N but I actually feel kinda bad for Walters now like he really did try to save her didn't he 🫤

Both Gerald and Walters refer to Maria AND Shadow as children which I appreciate cuz it shows how young Shadow really was when everything went to hell for him - he's just a baby your honour he didn't MEAN to blow up earth 🥺

Sonic attacking Shadow in super form was just... WOW! He was REALLY angry wasnt he?

SUPER SONIC VS SUPER SHADOW??? HOLY SHIT!!! THAT BATTLE WAS EPIC!!! 🤯

Sonic almost killing Shadow over him almost killing Tom was a really great way to relate Sonic and Shadow's stories - Sonic coming around when Shadow points to his heart, thinking about what Tom said at the start of the film parallelling Shadow then coming around after remembering what Maria said to him... This is one hell of a film!

Sonic and Shadow watching the sun come up together as Shadow repeats what Maria says about light and stars 😭

"Don't tell me you've got a catchphrase..." "Yep, and everyone loves it!" Another fourth wall break that did NOT disappoint.

LIVE AND LEARRRRRN!!! HANGING ON THE EDGE OF TOMMOROW— 🎶

THEY DID THE SA2 POSE!!! I REPEAT, THEY DID THE SA2 POSE!!! AND IN SUPER FORM TOO!!!

Did they just... fucking... incinerate Gerald... wtf.... RIP I guess...

Shadow attacked those robots with SUPER CHOAS SPEARS in one scene!!! Which is AWESOME!!!

Eggman switching sides cuz even he knows blowing up the world is a bad idea 👍

I could go on and on and on about the Super Sonic and Super Shadow scene IT WAS SO GOOD!!!

Sonic falling to earth gave me a heart attack. Tails then falling to earth whilst trying to save Sonic also gave me a heart attack. Knuckles going to save them both making me think he was also gonna fall to earth gave me a third heart attack.

The way I physically leaned forward in my seat when Shadow took off his inhibitor rings—

They pissed on the moon.

We've seen Shadow smile so much in this film and it is SO refreshing to see! That smile right before he and Sonic team up to attack those robots Gerald sends after them is my favourite smile we've ever seen on him.

Eggman dedicated his last speech before dying to Stone 😭😩🥹 AND STONE SAYING "I CAN'T LOSE YOU AGAIN" THEY BETTER KISS IN THE NEXT FILM I SWEAR—

Team Sonic hug 🥹

Ending on the race was perfect (bonus points for Ozzy barking with subtitles again because that was HILARIOUS)

WE GON RUN IT RUN IT RUN IT TILL WE RUNNING OUTTA ROAD 💃💃💃

OMG AMY! AMY AMY AMY OH MY GOODNESS AMY! HELLO AMY! I'VE MISSED YOU SWEET AMY! AMY AMY AMY AMY AMY AMY!!! I GOT SO EXCITED WHEN I SAW THAT HAMMER! AMY ROSE! HI!!! YOU LOOK SO GOOD!!! AMY AMY AMY!!!

Oh yeah and Metal Sonic.

AMYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

So great to see that Shadow's NOT dead (although tbf I did kinda expect that - it would've been unlikely that they genuinely kill him off when he's such a popular character)

Honestly I think the END end credits scene was a perfect set up for a Shadow spinoff, like they HAVE to make one now

I also think the two end credits scenes together show that Eggman isn't really dead either - again it would be unlikely for them to kill him off PLUS if Shadow managed to chaos control himself out of there he could've easily gone back for Eggman too (and I mean who else is gonna be responsible for creating Metal Sonic?)

AMY, PEOPLE, AMY!!!

Overall, I think it's pretty clear that I LOVED this film! It was amazing and I'm already excited for the next one lol! ❤️

[randomgirl005]

The Secret History

Hi! I'm currently halfway through the book, and I thought I would share some reflections I've had about what I've read so far.

I find it absolutely fascinating how the story draws you in, and you unconsciously start resenting Bunny. You feel like he’s making everyone’s life impossible and that he’s half-crazy. But honestly, it’s wild because, at the end of the day, they’re all a bunch of unhinged people who’ve murdered someone—they’re literally killers! And the problem isn’t Bunny—it’s Richard, who just keeps living his life alongside them as if nothing happened, sharing his day-to-day with them without it affecting him at all. And, of course, the book is narrated by his future self, which is what gives you this initial perspective. Insanity how it all is written.

Bunny is the kind of person you could easily dislike in any other context because of his personality, his stupid jokes, and his overall vibe. But in this situation, you hate him because he’s losing it over the fact that his so-called "friends" (who end up killing him) are actual murderers.

I mean, they make him out to be this awful person, when the ones taking people's lives (just because they’re high out of their minds) are the others. And Richard narrates it all while siding with the murderers!?!? Like, the real problem is Richard. He’s the one who's messed up (honestly, it could be me).

So, here’s my reflection halfway through the book: if someone you care about, someone who’s part of your life, practically part of your daily routine, commits a murder or some other serious crime—would you be able to carry on normally with that person? Yes, they’ve committed a crime, but they’re still the same person you laugh with, talk to, and hang out with. It hasn’t directly affected your relationship or your life (beyond knowing and covering for it). So what do you do in that situation? Do you lose it like Bunny, or do you just go with the flow like Richard?

I mean, they’ve directly told you about it. You haven’t seen proof, nothing suspicious has happened, there’s been no change in their attitude, and it hasn’t altered your environment or the way you relate to them. Would the relationship stay the same? Would you really notice the difference? Or would it just remain as casual as someone telling you they bought a new car?!??

Obviously, the most logical thing would be to go to the police, but let’s ignore that part for now.

Let me know if you've got any other thoughts about it!

[hyperlexichypatia]

Follow up to this post where I was asked about the "Autism presents differently in girls" myth, which is one of my many berserk buttons.

Here is a non-exhaustive list of reasons this concept makes no sense and you should stop saying it:

A. Autistic people are more likely than non-autistic people to be trans, nonbinary, or otherwise gender-non-conforming, so any attempt to group autistic people by binary, birth-assigned gender is even less likely to be accurate than the gender binary already is in the general population.

2. There is absolutely no evidence supporting the "presents differently" theory that could not be better explained by clinician bias.

iii. The alleged "presentation differences" between autistic "girls" and "boys" are just bog-standard gender stereotypes with "autism" plugged in somewhere. "Boys are better at math and science and logic and not having feelings and their dominant emotion is Anger, but girls are better at socializing and caretaking and brushing hair and their dominant emotion is Approval-Seeking." "Huh, that sounds like reactionary sexist hogwash." "No, I mean, autistic boys are better at math and science and logic and not having feelings and their dominant emotion is Anger, but but autistic girls are better at socializing and caretaking and brushing hair and their dominant emotion is Approval-Seeking." "Oh, okay, now it's Objective Science."

four. Sexist bias, including among clinicians, tends to frame "male" neurodivergence as essentially cognitive and "female" neurodivergence as essentially emotional, because, as we all know, Men Think, Women Feel. Psychology is obsessed with the idea that "girls" are universally and inherently self-loathing and self-destructive -- anything a "girl" has trouble with cannot possible be a skill she hasn't learned or an ability she doesn't have, let alone merely a different way of being; she must simply be self-abnegatingly denying herself the thing she cannot do. So a "girl" with the same traits as an "autistic boy" will have those traits attributed to something emotional, like depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, or eating disorders. "Autistic girls" aren't being "missed" (read as neurotypical); they're having their exact same autistic traits as "autistic boys" being framed as mood disorders instead of neurodevelopmental disabilities.

cinco. Fundamentally, this premise gets completely backward what diagnosis means and why pathologization happens. People are pathologized and diagnosed, with any kind of disability, when they have traits that fall outside the range of traits considered "acceptable" for their position. "It's more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns, so autistic boys have more meltdowns than autistic girls, so the boys get diagnosed with autism" -- No, this doesn't make sense. That's not how diagnosis works. If it were more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns, then boys who have meltdowns would not be getting diagnosed with anything. Their behavior would not be seen as pathological. If "It's more acceptable for boys to have meltdowns" were to explain any kind of diagnosis differential, it would be "Therefore girls who have meltdowns are diagnosed, while boys who have meltdowns are just considered normal boys." And, to be clear, that kind of thing is absolutely a factor in gender differences in diagnosis, but in the opposite direction from how people mean it. Like, as a "girl," I wasn't really expected or pressured to be athletic, so my absolutely abysmal gross motor skills were just shrugged at and not seen as a sign of disability. Can't run or throw? Well, I was a girl, and a nerd to boot. What do you expect? A "boy" with my level of gross motor skills would draw a lot more Concern.

ζ. "Girls are pressured to mimic/mask more than boys are," even if true (debatable), elides over the fact that many autistic "girls" can't "mimic/mask," because they are disabled. They have a disability. Because some of the things their society expects them to be able to do are things that they cannot, in fact, do. "Girls don't have meltdowns because they're not allowed to. Girls don't forget to do essential tasks because they're not allowed to. Girls don't --" Okay but they do. Girls do in fact very much do those things. Because they are disabled. Because they have disabilities. Because there are things they are expected to be able to do, which they cannot, in fact, do. And it's weirdly disability-erasing (ableist) to claim that people simply develop the ability to do things they can't do just because they're expected to.

heptad. Circling back to point A., while I can't prove it, I really think a lot of this "gendered autism" stuff is a way to pathologize and also explain away queerness/transness/gender-non-conformity in diagnosed-autistic kids. "Oh, no, don't worry, the reason your son consistently Fails At Masculinity isn't because he's some kind of sissy; it's actually because he has this Masculine Male Boy Disorder where he just doesn't understand how boys are supposed to behave. Lots of boys have it. No, no, the reason your 12 year old son is kissing his male friend on the mouth isn't because he's gay; he just has a social skills disorder and doesn't know that boys don't kiss their platonic guy mate dude friends. It's a very masculine disability. Elon Musk has it." I know somebody who was told by an Autism Mom that all autistic people are bisexual because "They don't know the difference." Sure, keep telling yourself that.

8️⃣. In the past, when I was less Galaxy Brain Mad Radicalized, I conceptualized the phenomenon of "'Boys' are diagnosed with autism while 'girls' with the exact same traits are diagnosed with depression/anxiety/OCD/BPD/ED" as a phenomenon of "Autistic girls, who objectively are autistic, whose objectively, scientifically correct diagnosis is autism, are misdiagnosed with psych disorders instead." But what neither autistic nor Mad people really want to admit is that "autism" is as arbitrary a diagnostic category as any other. No two human brains are exactly alike. All systems of classification are made up. I happen to think that the proposed explanatory mechanism of "autism" (brain processes sensory input/information differently than average, results in wildly uneven skill development) is generally more accurate than the proposed explanatory mechanism of most psych diagnoses (people are weird somehow and that's bad somehow), but it's still fairly arbitrary. People with autism diagnoses get ABA and people with psych diagnoses get CBT/DBT, and you can argue about which is worse, but ultimately anything with a B in it is fundamentally abusive. Abolish psychiatry.

[vinylfoxbooks]

25 Days of Jegulus | Day 1 | Day 18 December 19 - Xmas Cards | @noblehouseofgay | wc: 1002

This is by far one of James’ favourite parts of Christmas. They’re settled in the living room with a pen and some coloured pencils, working away at a small piece of paper that they’ve folded in have to resemble a card. The artwork that litters the front isn’t anything special, but it’s better than it has been in previous years, and they know that Regulus is going to love it no matter what. So they push on and open the card, hunching over the lap table that they have and getting to work on copying over the words that they meticulously put together over the past hour, writing and re-writing every sentence to get it perfect on the final draft -- and even then, they still tweak a bit of the wording as they transfer it over to the little Christmas card. 

This one started before James and Regulus were even together. It was one of those things tha James did simply out of the kindness of their heart and because they were only allowed to care about their best friend’s little brother from the sidelines. Something that they had done because they knew that Regulus wasn’t going to get anything meaninful like all of the other kids around him during the Christmas season, or for his birthday, or on Valentine’s Day. They had seen Sirius go through the same thing, and they had done exactly to Sirius what they started for Regulus -- only Pete and Remus joined in on it, and Remus soon became the only one that would give Sirius things for Valentine’s Day. They started making cards.

Not well drawn ones, and especially not super thoughtfully written ones when they hadn’t known anything about the young boy other than the fact that he was Sirius’ brother, but cards nonetheless. Little things with stupid, bad-looking drawings on them and stupid little jokes or random pick up lines or sweet messages to hopefully give him some courage to get through his classes. 

They hadn’t realised that it had an effect on Regulus, even if they hoped it would, until Sirius one day confronted James about it. Asked them if he had been giving Reg the cards that he has seen them making for a while now because he had seen a couple hidden in one of Regulus’ bedside drawers while they were home. James admitted the truth to him, worried about his reaction, but Sirius had done nothing other than pull them into his arms and thank them for being ‘the most wonderful, thoughtful being on the planet’ which made James positively go scarlet. 

But they really hadn’t thought that Regulus knew who was giving him the cards -- they later talked about it and Regulus admitted that he didn’t know until shortly before they got together when he saw a card drawn just as shittily and written on in the same handwriting in Sirius’ “Prongs box” -- until one day, shortly before they were off for the Winter holidays. Letters and gifts were being dropped off as usual, and one in an unfamiliar handwriting had been dropped right onto their lap. Inside was a sweet little message and what was essentially a thank you in thinly veiled threats -- Regulus speak, also known as his love language -- and signed at the bottom was a simple R.A.B.

They started dating a couple months later, and perhaps the cards had something to do with that, and it’s been a tradition of theirs ever since. They spend a day working on a card for Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and birthdays separately from each other and would leave it in a random spot where the other could come across it at random -- they never just give the cards to each other, the other always has to find it naturally. 

Regulus is a much better artist than James, but they know that he cherishes each of the cards that they’ve ever given him. In fact, after they started dating, they went out and got a box for Regulus to put all the cards in and lock away so his parents didn’t find it like Sirius had done. They have their boxes containing years of silly little cards with sweet messages and bad jokes and weird pickup lines and weirder facts next to each other in their closet. 

James finishes with the little message in their card -- little is subjective here, their words take up almost all of the space on both pages -- and waits a couple seconds for the last of the ink to dry before closing it and standing up. It’s always fun, finding a place to hide the little card for when Regulus may randomly stumble on it, and they’ve been thinking about it for a while. Bonus points for it it takes the other a couple days to come across it, even more if they’re together when the card is unearthed. 

So they already know where they’re going when they start walking. Straight to where Regulus has set his violin case, sheet music, and stand in their living room for the next performance he’ll be doing. They kneel down to the bag that contains hundreds of pages, choosing a song that Regulus will be performing the solo on for one night and one night only -- it’s something new with this program, there were so many people that auditioned to be the solo that the conductor gave each person a different night to perform once -- and that James will be able to see. 

When the card is tucked away with the sheet of music, they close the bag and put it back where it was, straightening and going to the library to inform Regulus that they’ve hidden the card and will be going to take a shower to he can hide the card for them. Regulus barely acknowledges them, probably so far into making the card that he hardly registers the words. They smile at the thought for a moment before heading up to their bathroom.

Day 20

[maniwannadiezz]

The inconsistencies continue…

green-best to red-worst…. It’s almost criminal to not have proper references for what these characters huge ass lashes look like in certain expressions. Letting the animators guess for you cause you couldn’t be arsed to create a consistent reference of any character. Hurts more when you remember this is also animated by underpaid bento box employees and exploited college students.

Now for one of the most inconsistently drawn besides Charlie herself:

Her cheek is there then not, her lips have a cupids bow then not, her eyes are super wide then smaller, her lashes are super long then short or not there. Not seen here but her cheek blush is just as crazy inconsistent as Charlie’s. Once again. Is there no draw overs? Someone there to fix storyboards that might confuse the animators or are they given full reign cold turkey? No instructions? I admit I’d go insane.

This isn’t the first time a design proportions change every two seconds in a vivziepop’s work. Beelzebub is another contender, being changed with each animator as they struggle and get nowhere near the original proportions set for them by vivziepop's design. And that is no offence to them at all, I’m sure what they’ve been given is nowhere near as thorough as Lackadaisy’s sheets.

before anyone tells me I’m a hypocrite because I have a Steven universe icon. I’ve been preaching the same thing before you were born lol. Inconsistencies take the viewer out of the story! It MATTERS. Visually and narratively. I’ll give Hazbin a bit of a break since they probably had the same issue like Steven universe where it was overseas and as to not rock the boat said overseas animators relied heavily on the proportions in storyboards… but helluva boss really has no excuse whatsoever.

[auroracalisto]

day #21: winter proposal

benedict bridgerton x gn!reader, 1k words a/n: listening to christmas music as i write this. hope it shows. or not. idk. <3 also??? does anyone know the terry's oranges you can only get around christmas? i love them. i make a tradition out of buying one every single year. THAT BEING SAID YOU LIKE ORANGES IN THIS FIC. it's self-indulgent. i'd say i'm sorry but i'm not. if you want a pt 2 let me know cuz i could totally do it tw: not entirely historically accurate (yes it's bridgerton) BUT i have a reason. i started writing this and only researched halfway through what the cost of a chocolate would be during the 1810s and little history lesson for you but europe didn't have access to chocolate until it was brought over from central america IN the 1810s, and then it spread all over. it wouldn't have a substaintial processor until like... the 1850s. so um. we're going to pretend for this fics sake that i didn't totally muck it up and chocolate processors were everywhere during this time. thanks spooky pookies

The season of the 'ton has come and gone, leading the socialites to a rather dreary winter. Balls were still held, dinners still attended, but the chill of the air haunted every hall and home.

Unless they were imported or dried, fruits and certain vegetables were hard to come by. The markets were compact with the exception of said dried goods and chocolates from the heart of European society.

One good in particular was one that continued to catch a certain Bridgerton's eye—the little chocolates meticulously crafted to look as if they were made from an orange and even had a hint of orange taste. He didn't truly know how they did it, but he cared little—what he cared about was that he knew you had mentioned liking them some time ago.

He managed to get his hands on a few just the other day.

Despite it being after the proper season, he found himself seeking out your comfort and conversation at any moment he had been given—his mother found it endearing and supported his wants. After all, perhaps there was something to be said in developing a friendship before a marriage. She, herself, had married her best friend once upon a time. She'd like to see that in her children, if they could manage (her sons especially—she knew it would be harder for her daughters to do the same).

So, to get you to the Bridgerton manor without causing some kind of scandal, Benedict convinced his mother and brother, Anthony, to host a dinner for his family and yours.

Your parents agreed in typical fashion, and you were at the Bridgerton's in a matter of days. Dressed warmly, dressed as if you had something to show off for (you did, but you wouldn't confess to that), you entered the front door where Anthony, Benedict, and their mother greeted you and your family. The rest of Violet's children were just behind them, but they smiled mildly as they usually did.

Benedict greeted you with a kiss to your knuckles and a smile on his handsome face.

"It is a pleasure to see you again," he softly said, your name leaving his lips soon after.

"To you as well," you answered, unable to hide your smile.

Violet shared a knowing look with your parents. It was almost as if everyone was just waiting for what they knew would happen. The way the two of you looked at each other was almost frustrating—how could the two of you not just marry when you both clearly adored each other?

Dinner went well. Honey glazed ham, tarts with dried apples and strawberries, breads baked with selective flours and grains. You truly couldn't complain about the spread before you.

At some point or another, Benedict had dragged you to the drawing room, hand in hand.

"I've something to give you," he said, smiling back at you. "I saw it and I knew I had to buy them. I couldn't pass them up."

Your eyes widened a bit. "What? You didn't have to get me a thing, Benedict," you said. "I need for nothing."

"Perhaps," Benedict said, grinning all the while. He let go of your hand and with long strides, he was across the drawing room to where he had kept the box of chocolates for you. He then brought them back, holding the box to you.

You watch him warily for only a moment before you opened the box. Your heart nearly lurched in your throat as you looked up at him.

"These—Benedict, these must have cost you a fortune!"

"Rubbish," he said, watching you with happy eyes. "It truly wasn't much. I would buy even more if I hadn't bought the rest of what they had."

"You did not!" you exclaimed, holding the box tightly. "Oh, Benedict, this is—you are so kind. How can I ever repay you?" you asked, smiling all the while.

He chuckled softly. "Your friendship is enough repayment for me, dear Y/n," he said.

You sat the box down and reached forward, taking his hands in yours. "There must be something I could do for you," you said, eyes sparkling with mirth, and a little something that Benedict could only recognize as adoration. He knew that look well.

He watched you, lips parting as the words died on his lips. "Well, you..."

"Yes?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "It is foolish. I couldn't..."

"Benedict," you softly said. "We are already causing scandal enough just by being here in your drawing room with no chaperone. Truly, whatever you have to say, I want to hear."

He blinked slowly. You were right. Here you were, alone together, with no one to watch over you. To see what was happening. To see if you were doing wrong.

He licked his lips, peering down at you as he found his words.

"I could buy these for you, every winter season, you know," he said, a smile forming on his lips once more. He smiled quite a bit around you. He couldn't help it.

He loved you.

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head at his words.

"All I'd need from you for repayment is your hand in marriage."

You paused—did you hear him right?

"Perhaps I should have a ring, or ask you during the marriage season, but truly, Y/n, I—"

"—I feel like the chocolates are close enough to a ring," you interrupted him.

He snorted softly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You bought them, for me. You saw them and thought of me. I do believe that warrants a proper proposal, does it not?"

There it was—one of the many reasons he loved and adored you.

He leaned forward and would have kissed you had it not been for the knock at the drawing room door.

In walked Violet, and Benedict quickly looked over, wide eyed.

"I wondered where the two of you were," Violet said, suspiciously watching the two of you. "Well? Did I give you enough time to find an answer, Benedict, or will you marry them due to scandal?"

His eyes widened. Had his mother planned this? He paid no mind, smiling her way.

"I do believe we should plan for a wedding, mother," he said. "And perhaps a proper ring, yes?"

"Yes," you said, your own smile mirroring his. "It would be good to start."

Violet returned the smile. "Good," she said. "Now, come back and join the party. Your father, dear Y/n, has just made a fool of himself with an apple tart."