#and that means no drawing because i can't hold a pencil

[philcoulsonismyhero]

Spent this last week tired and in pain and I want to draw about it, but unfortunately aforementioned condition of being tired and in pain makes drawing impossible, so I guess I just have to suffer instead. Why this.

[frantic-fiction]

Shattered Glass 18+

(Gif: leopardmuffinxo)

Astarion x f!reader

Summary: Astarion finally makes do on a promise.

This is part 2 of Secluded Evening. (Could be read as a stand alone)

Warnings: Smut, MDNI, oral fem receiving, PnV sex, unprotected sex, biting (of course) Astarion being a lovesick fool

Word count: 2.6k

Astarion threw another log on the fire; a flurry of embers took flight, dancing in the cold night air. The rest of the camp had already settled in their tents. You were nestled between his knees about five feet away from the flames. A throw blanket cascaded down your shoulders—a notebook on your lap. 

He studies the rapid strokes of your hand from over your shoulder. The rough lines of charcoal were blooming into an identical copy of Laz'eal. Astarion pulled a strand of hair away from your eyes and began to weave your locks into a simple braid. He doesn't have a hair tie, and knowing you, you've lost yours. So, he twists the pieces, and once done let's go, kissing the crown of your head. 

You barely acknowledge him, and when you suddenly shove the pencil over your shoulder, Astarion chuckles, taking it from you. He watches you begin smudging the charcoal with the pad of your finger. You're adorable when your art consumes you. Every time, it captivates Astarion.

This was how most of your nights were spent. Not always precisely like this; sometimes Astarion brought a book, and sometimes your hand got too sore to draw, so Astarion read to you as you curled on his lap. But as long as it was spent in each other's company neither of you cared much for the activity.

Astarion adored these nights the most, primarily because he could feast his eyes on your beauty without you shying away or throwing a stupid joke at him to break the tension. You were perfect in every way, and when he opened his heart briefly and confessed the broken pieces of himself and the motivations that led him to you. All you did was look at him with unspoken love and hugged him. 

Your relationship became something more after that. Sex was not what drew the two of you together. For the first time in 200 years, Astarion had someone he trusted with his every sense of the word. Someone who wanted more than his body and showed their love for him without words. Someone he wanted to spend every moment of his life with despite the fear that thought causes him. 

Astarion thinks he loves you but can't find the words when his mouth opens. He's always struggled with expressing his true feelings, but he wants to try with you. He wants to bear his heart to you and show you all that you mean to him. And with all the trust you and Astarion have established, one thing has become a very big problem. 

You have begun to treat Astarion like glass, as if one sexual touch will break him. And frankly, it's pissing him off. Astarion finally has complete control over his body and a partner who he trusts. A partner that can bring him to his knees with a simple giggle and to put it bluntly, gods you were fucking sexy. 

He's frustrated, horny, and has no idea how to ask for anything he wants. And for fucks sake, if he wakes from a meditation to have you grinding against his erection again, he just might explode.

In his frustrated musing, he didn't notice that you had placed your sketch pad away. He only noticed when you cupped his jaw and moved his eyes to meet yours. "What are you thinking about, handsome?"

It takes a moment for Astarion to collect himself as he stares at your soft smile. "I was thinking it's about time we get you, my sweet, to bed," he pecks your lips before grabbing your wrist and entwining your fingers. You nod and press a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

Astarion holds the flap open, and you duck inside. Kicking your pants off and into the corner, you unceremoniously plop down into the pile of cushions. You began sharing a tent in the shadow curse lands. Astarion found out pretty early on that nightmares of Cazador were less likely when you were in his arms. And thankfully, you slept better, too. 

You prop yourself on your elbows and silently watch Astarion move about the small space, removing his outer clothing. He seemed to be stalling, almost like he was silently debating with himself. Astarion is in his underwear when he seems to come to a conclusion. He takes a deep breath and moves towards you. Kneeling by your feet, you watch as Astarion hesitates, his hand resting softly on your shin. Hesitation is soon replaced with a devilish smirk that stretches across his lips.

"Whatcha thinking about pretty boy?" 

Astarion doesn't say anything, just slowly begins to crawl up your body before capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. His knee is between your legs; your hands are around his neck, pulling him flush against your body. You sigh softly into his mouth, moving your hands to caress his cheekbone.

He tongues the seam of your lips, and you are quick to gasp, giving him access to lick deeper. Astarion's hands are caressing up and down your curves, cupping your breast and tugging the metal bars of your nipple rings. His mouth moves to your throat, sucking hard at your jugular. 

"W-wait!" You choke out, causing the elf above you to freeze. He's quick to remove himself from you, putting some distance between your bodies. 

"Shit, did…did I do something wrong?" Astarion's voice cracks; you've never heard him so unsure of himself. You pant hard but are quick to sit up and fall into Astarion's lap, his arms instinctually wrapping around your waist.

"No, gods no," you sigh, cupping his jaw and pressing your forehead against his. The tension in Astarion's shoulders drops, and he squeezes you a bit harder.

"Then what is it, my sweet?"

That has you pausing to figure out the best way to say this. "What was your plan?" Shit, that didn't sound good

"My plan! Are you serious?" He's already pulling away, shutting off completely when you pull him back tightly.

"No! Th-that's fuck, that's not what I meant, Star," at least he's not trying to run, but he's as stiff as ever. "Astarion, I will be as blunt as possible because I care about you. Were you trying to have sex with me because you felt obligated?"

This isn't what Astarion expected you to say because he can't mask the look of surprise. He opens his mouth to speak before clamping it shut. He does this twice more, but you don't rush him, you push stray curls behind his ear and wait. 

"No." His voice is small. He clears his throat before speaking again, stronger this time. "No, I want this, and I would appreciate you stop treating me like fucking glass."

“What?”

You're flipped over, and suddenly, on your back, Astarion's body pressed closely against yours. He ruts against you. His cock was hard, feeling painfully constricted in his underwear. "I appreciate your patience with me, darling, but I need to clarify one thing to you right now."

Astarion licks a long stripe up your collarbone, ending just under your ear. You moan softly, trying desperately to roll your hips up into Astarion. "I have never wanted someone more than I wanted you. So, if it's okay with you, my sweet, I'm going to take the rest of our clothes off, and you're going to finally let me feast upon the sweetness between your legs."

You whine and buck, trying to get anything from Astarion's unmoving body. "Tsk, no, no, my sweet. Use your words." He purred, nipping your ear.

"Please! Yes! Oh gods, Astarion," 

Once the words leave your lips, you're tearing at each other's clothes in desperation. After you are both fully undressed, Astarion shoves you back onto the cushions. You expect him to pounce but he hovers staring down at your naked body.

Astarion's deft fingers grab your foot, and he presses a soft kiss to your inner ankle. A pang of heat flared through your lower abdomen. He kisses up to the top of your calf before giving a playful bite. You release a soft yelp, and Astarions lavishes the bite with his tongue. He slowly moves up to your inner thigh, leaving various bruises in his wake.

 You're gasping as he ghosted over the spot you wanted him most. His breath fans over your dripping cunt, and you swear he's about to give you what you want. Then he kisses you. Just one small peck on the public area just above your clit, before he retreats. You cry, and one of your hands card into Astarion's white locks. 

“No! Please!”

 He begins the same slow ascent up your other leg, paying just as much attention. "Now, as much as I love those beautiful noises you make for me. Remember that our camp members are trying to sleep; you can be a good girl for me, right?" He gazes up between your parted legs, and you nod and swear if he asked at this moment, you would have given him anything.

"I thought so," Astarion purred before licking up the entire length of your pussy. You moan out and swiftly clap your hand over your mouth. Then suddenly Astarion is a man starved.

His hand grips the underside of your thighs hard and pulls you down the bed as close as physically possible. He sucks, and licks, piercing his tongue sloppily at your dripping cunt, and you're a mess of pleasure. Your grind against Astarion's face, his nose rubbing beautifully against your clit. If it weren't for Astarion's hands keeping your thighs parted, you probably would be crushing his head in your desperation.

A low groan rumbles from Astarion's chest, and he focuses his attention, sucking tightly on the bundle of nerves. He slips his first and middle finger into your cunt and curls up, causing you to gasp for air. 

"S-star…oh gods!" You cried, and he was ruthless with his assault. Astarion pumped his fingers quickly, the sloppy sounds of his mouth mixed with your muffled moan. Your stomach was coiling with pleasure, and you were embarrassed with how fast Astarion was picking you apart. "I'm close." you whimper, rolling your hips against his face. 

Astarion, after a moment, releases your clit. Still pumping you with his fingers, he looks up at you, chin glistening with your arousal, a smug grin lazily plaster on his lips. "Come for me, love, be a good girl."

With the last few slips of his fingers, the coil snaps, and you're falling apart. Eyes unfocused, muscled tight, the silent gasp of ecstasy stuck in your throat. Astarion watches in amazement and arousal as you come apart so thoroughly with just his mouth and fingers. His cock is aching pre, now dribbling down the shaft. 

Once your orgasm slows, you feel the immense need for more. And with Astarion still nestled between your legs, it has you moving without thought. You push Astarion back and plant yourself on his lap. You mash your mouth against him, chasing the taste of yourself on his tongue. 

Astarion groans and cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Your palms roam down his chest, smoothing down his abs until you come to his neglected cock. It's swollen and red, and when you grip it softly, Astarions hisses into your mouth, bucking into your palm. 

Smearing the pre-come around, you slowly work your hand up and down Astarion's dick in long, languid strokes. His eyes glaze over, and he moans, head dropping to your shoulder. Astarion's cold hands fondled your breast, and he leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth. He pulls the metal piercing softly with his teeth. 

You whine and tug on a fist full of Astarion's hair, rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock. "Fuck, darling." Astarion moans, moving to give your other breast equal attention. Your positive marks will be littering your body for days following. And the thought alone causes you to clench your thighs. 

You pump your hand faster, and Astarion meets everyone with thrusts of his hips. He claims your lips again in a sloppy dance of wet tongues. Then suddenly Astarion stills your hand.

"If you keep this up, I'm not going to last much longer." Astarion's pants, nudging your nose with his.

"Isn't that kinda the point, handsome?"

"Not if I want to come apart feeling you clenching around me," Astarion's voice is breathless, and you moan at the thought. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw. Trailing his way to your neck. "Would you like that, my sweet," 

Whatever power you had over Astarion had just turned to dust. You bite your lip and nod quickly, letting Astarion push you on to your back. You part your hips, and Astarion slots right in. 

"Words, my love. You do know how much I love your voice." Such a fucking tease.

Linking your arms around his neck, you pull him down, hitching one of your legs over Astarion's hips. "Please…I need you to fuck me." 

"Shit…" Astarion groans. Taking himself in hand, he smears his dick with your arousal before filling you agonizing inch by inch. 

The two of you let out a collective cry of pleasure, and you feel complete. Astarion pulls out and slams his hips back, ripping the oxygen from your lungs, and sets a steady pace. You clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into exposed skin. The slick sounds of Astarions pumping in and out of you were depraved and did nothing but fill your lower abdomen with molten lava. Astarion wholly consumed your senses. 

The coolness of his lips left lingering kisses on your arched neck. The smell of bergamot and rosemary flooded your nose with each shaky inhale. The saltiness of any skin you could taste. It was too much and not enough all at once. 

The scrape of Astarion's fangs graze his favorite feeding spot, and you grab the back of his head. "Yes! P-please…" and soon, the icy pierce of his teeth is followed by the cool tingle of pleasure that flows through your body. 

Astarion grunts as soon as the blood touches his tongue. He ruts faster against you, grinding you into the blankets. He has to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep your voice from waking the whole camp. 

But what can you do? Nothing. Not when his other hand begins to roll your clit in tight circles matching his thrusts. Your hands trail down his back, legs hooking tightly around his torso. The angle of your hips changes, and Astarion is pounding into the spot that has you seeing stars. You're close, and you try to say so, but Astarion hand is still tight around your mouth. 

After a last mouthful of blood, Astarions peppers kisses over the bite. "I know, my sweet, I'm…fuck I'm close to." 

His fingers are rubbing your clit faster, and his hips aren't letting up the brutal pace. Your legs are quaking, and you feel like you might faint. You clench tightly around him, and then you fall apart. Suddenly, Astarion's hand is gone, and his tongue is in your mouth, capturing every whimper of pleasure you give. And with a few more swallow sloppy thrusts, Astarion falls over the edge with you, filling you with his spent.

Astarion continue to languidly kiss you, both hands cupping your face like you are the most precious creature on the plane. He barely grinds his hips, feeling the last of your orgasms fade until you are both too sensitive. 

And it's like someone cut the puppet strings. Astarion falls limply onto you, blanketing your body with his. You comb softly through his hair, gently pulling out any knots. Astarion kisses your shoulder before rolling off of you. 

It is silent for a while as you stare into each other's eyes. Astarions is the first to speak. "I love you," His words were barely above the whisper, and if you weren't staring intently at the man, you might have missed it. 

You're speechless. Were you dreaming?

"I still believe you deserve more than the broken man before you. But you've chosen me, and I have felt true happiness for the first time since waking up in my grave. And well-"

You don't give him a moment to finish before you're in his lap and tackling him into an embrace. "I love you, Astarion." 

The dopey grin on his face has you breaking into your own. You press your forehead to his, and he hugs you tightly. You don't know what tomorrow brings. But being here, seeing Astarion's smile, and knowing he loves you just as much as you love him. It feels like you can do anything. 

Okay, friends, this was just so fun to write. Let me know what ya thought. I swear all the love and support I've received from my last few posts have been so amazing. I'm so excited to show you more!!!

If you liked this, maybe you'll like one of these?

Happy Birthday (fluffy)

Reoccurring Nightmares (hurt/comfort)

Tag list?: @heartfully10

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hannibal Lecter X Reader: Us lonely few

Warnings: talk of loneliness, smut, kissing, rough sex, unprotected sex, penetration (p in v), drinking, no use of y/n

Word count: 2,5K

The sound of Ave Maria floats out of Hannibal's office. It makes you hesitate, your hand freezing in mid air. You weren’t supposed to be here at such a late hour but you’d lost track of time. You started working as Hannibal's secretary a month ago. He’d never found himself in need of a secretary but you'd managed to impress him. He enjoyed the way your eyes lit up as he spoke about the mysteries of the mind so he decided to keep you around.

It was nice to have someone nearby. It didn’t matter that you usually remained outside of his office as you worked, just the thought of not being alone seemed to ease Hannibal. He liked your company. You were younger than him but you shared his taste for the finer things in life. Conversation came easy when he was with you. It was almost as if you’d been made for each other.

You knock on the door waiting for a response. When one doesn't come you lean your ear against the wood trying to listen for Hannibal's footsteps. The only sound that fills your ears is music. It’s likely he can’t hear you because of the song. You can barely hear yourself as you call out for him.

“Dr Lecter, I'm coming in.”

As always his door is unlocked. You push it open with ease, momentarily balancing the books you were holding on your hips. You close the door behind you before moving to scan the room, trying to find Hannibal. He has his back turned to you but somehow he still manages to sense your presence. 

“I thought you’d gone home.”

You walk over to his desk placing the books you were holding on it before going towards him. 

“I lost track of time. Your books are very fascinating.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them but I can't have you staying after hours.”

“You stay after hours.”

Hannibal looks up from his drawing to look at you. You meet his gaze, waiting to see how he’ll react to your comment. He stays serious for a second before smiling at you. 

“I suppose you're right.”

“I usually am.”

You grin at him before turning your attention back to his sketches. You lean over Hannibal's shoulder trying to get a better view. He watches you as you observe his work. He inhales deeply trying to commit your scent to memory. You're oblivious to his actions, far too focused on the drawing before you. It's a nude portrait of a woman. You can’t help but notice the way Hannibal has drawn her. There is a sensuality to the portrait but there is also a loneliness to the woman's expression.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Yes she is.”

“Why’s she sad?”

“What makes you think she’s sad?”

“The way you drew her.”

You point to the image carefully so that you won't smudge the pencil.

“She's looking behind herself as if she’s searching for something but the way her arms are wrapped around herself shows she didn’t find what she wanted.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well she’s holding herself isn't she? I mean, she didn’t find someone to hold her so she had to hold onto herself. She’s lonely.”

“ I guess I didn't think about it that way.”

“Art has a way of bringing our feelings to the surface. Even if we ourselves don’t know what we're feeling.”

“Are you insinuating that I'm lonely?”

“Aren’t you?”

Hannibal eyes bore into yours as he thinks. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe that is why, after all these years, he found himself with a secretary even though he didn't particularly need one. 

“It’s okay to feel lonely. It doesn't make you any less strong.”

“Do you feel lonely?”

“I’ve felt alone my whole life. So yeah you could say loneliness is something I'm familiar with.”

Hannibal placed his hand over yours causing you to look at his face. His eyes softened as he took in your features. You were a pretty thing. He’d been so impressed with your mind he often forgot you also had a beauty he hadn't had the pleasure of being graced with in a long time. 

“Do you enjoy filet mignon?”

You let out a laugh at his question, eyes furring in curiosity.

“I do. Why?”

“I’m inviting you to dinner.”

“At your house?”

“Yes.”

“As long as I'm not intruding.”

“Not at all. I enjoy your company.”

Hannibal's house was very him. There were artworks scattered around the rooms and knowledge seemed to seep out of the walls. You removed your shoes and placed them by the door. Hannibal looked at you questioningly. “I don’t want to get your floors dirty.”

“If you feel more comfortable that way, be my guest.”

“You have a beautiful home.”

“Thank you. The kitchen is this way.”

You followed Hannibal, eyes moving over every inch of his home you could see. A small gasp left your lips as you walked into the kitchen. You always enjoyed the culinary arts but you’d never had the pleasure of owning a kitchen big enough to explore your talents properly. Hannibal watched you as you moved around the room, a small smile tugging at his lips at your unfiltered fascination.

“I take it you enjoy cooking.”

“I’ve always had a curiosity for it but I'm not very skilled. I won’t die of hunger but I've never made any adventurous recipes. Just the basics you know?”

“Would you like to sous chef?”

“I’d love to.”

“Wonderful. You can start chopping the onions.”

You moved over to him grabbing the knife he handed you before moving to get the onions and a cutting board. Hannibal unbuttoned his shirt sleeve and pushed it up his arms allowing you to see his muscles. Your gaze lingered for a moment before focusing on your task once more. Hannibal moved around the kitchen with ease as he searched for the ingredients he needed. It was almost like a dance. You couldn’t help but watch him as he moved. He seemed so peaceful like this his mind completely focused on the meal he was preparing.

Your eyes started to sting as you continued to chop the onions. You sniffed quietly which caused Hannibal to look up at you. He watched as a single tear fell from your eyes before falling onto the counter. He moved over to you on instinct. You felt a hand on your cheek, turning to face Hannibal at his touch. His thumb moved over your skin, collecting your tears. It was an innocent caress but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. He pulled his hand away from you, moving his thumb to his lips. He licked at his thumb, removing your tears from his skin. Your heartbeat fastened at the action. 

“Let’s switch tasks dear. Can’t have you crying in my kitchen. You can cut the meat.”

He paused for a moment glancing at the piece of raw meat on the counter before looking back at you.

“Unless it’s too much for you.”

“I’m not afraid of getting my hands a little bloody Hannibal. I’ll be fine.”

He knew you didn’t mean anything but it but his mind couldn’t help but wonder what you were capable of. You seemed like the type of person who knew how to hold their own. Still he wondered how far you’d be willing to go.

Hannibal took over chopping onions as you worked on the main piece of the meal. One he’d finished he moved over to watch you. Your hands moved over the pieces of meat with an unusual softness. Despite that you seemed to be having a hard time figuring out how big the pieces should be. Hannibal sensed your struggle. He moved behind you, his chest brushing against your back as he reached to place his hand over yours. You twisted your head to the side to look at him.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“Not at all dear. But you can cut the medallions a bit larger. Here let me help.”

You relaxed your arm so that Hannibal could maneuver your body in the way he wished. 

“There. That thickness is better.”

You turned to face him once more expecting him to be looking at the meat. Instead you found him staring at you. Your eyes dropped to his lips momentarily. You were so close to him that you could smell his aftershave. A breathy sigh left your mouth the air fanning over his lips. You wanted him to kiss you. His mouth opened but instead of kissing you he spoke.

“Could you set the table for us?”

“Oh. Yeah sure.”

“The silver ware is in the third drawer on the left.”

With that Hannibal unlatched himself from you allowing you to move over to where you needed. You walked over to the dining room. Your hands trembled as you placed the silver ware down. Hannibal's voice rang out from the kitchen.

“You can take a seat. It will be ready soon.” 

“Okay.”

A couple moments later Hannibal walked in with a platter in his hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Do you drink?”

“Occasionally. But I'm not picky.”

“This wine was aged in a maple barrel. It has a sweet taste to it which will go perfectly with the meat.”

“Everything looks delicious.”

“I agree.”

You couldn’t help but notice Hannibal wasn’t looking at the food as he spoke, he was looking at you.

You ate until you couldn’t anymore. Hannibal filled up your cup as soon as you downed the last sip. After you finished dinner the two of you made your way to his living room. You were a little tipsy due to the wine causing you to become unfiltered. You padded against Hannibal's floor, moving to music that only you could hear. He enjoyed watching you like this. You were usually so formal around him it was nice to see you in a more relaxed manner. Hannibal observed you stumble over to his piano, hands toying with the keys before glancing in his direction. 

“Do you play?”

“I do.”

“Will you play for me?”

Hannibal could never deny an audience. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning on, making his way over to where you stood. He sat down on the bench as you moved to rest your chin on the palm of your hand. Hannibal flexed his fingers, straightening his posture a bit before he began to play. The second his fingers began moving over the keys you became mesmerized. You walked over to the other side of the bench taking a seat beside him. You observed his fingers glide from one key to the other. He made it seem so easy. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sounds. As the song came to an end you slowly opened your eyes, a smile plastered against your face. You looked over at Hannibal only to find him already watching you. 

“That was beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.”

Your eyes softened at Hannibal's words. Your hand moved to cup his cheek. Slowly, you inched your face closer to his until your lips were inches apart. You placed a gentle kiss to his mouth waiting to see how he’d react. When he didn't pull away you kissed him again with a little more strength this time. Hannibal opened his mouth to you. Your tongues moved together as you deepened the kiss. Hannibal's hand wrapped around your hips lifting you up with ease. He placed you on his lap. Your back dug into the keys of the piano as you continued to make out. Hannibal's hands dug into the flesh of your ass causing you to whine. You bit his lip, tugging at it with your teeth as you broke the kiss. Your hands moved over Hannibal's shirt, fingers working on unbuttoning it. He could sense the desperation in your actions. He moved his hand over to your chest tugging at the buttons of your dress shirt. The buttons seemed to be toying with him. He lost his patience. Before you knew it Hannibal had ripped your shirt open. You gasped as he leaned down to kiss the valley of your breasts. 

“Hannibal…”

“What is it?”

“Take me to your bed.”

The soft sheets of Hannibal's bed rubbed against your face as your body moved with his thrusts. Your fingers dug into his pillow as you screamed out his name. There was no mercy in his movements. He was fucking you so hard you were sure you wouldn’t bae able to walk tomorrow. You thought he’d stop after the first round but you’d been wrong. Once you’d gotten tired of riding him he’d flipped you around shoving your face down onto the bed before lifting your ass and continuing to pistol into your.

The bed creaked as he moved, muffling the sounds of your moans. His hands moved against your ass, fingers leaving crescent moon shapes on your skin as he continued to manhandle you. You were squeezing him so much that he was having a hard time moving in and out of you. He reached his hand to your waist lifting you off the bed. Your bare back pressed against his chest. Hannibal licked at your earlobe before biting into it. You let out a yelp causing him to shush you.

“You’re gonna cum for me again.”

“Hannibal i can’t-”

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

He placed kisses against your shoulder blade as one of his hands found their way to your pussy. His thumb found your clit. He grunted as he circled the small bundle of nerves. You panted against him, hands grabbing at his hair to anchor yourself. Your jaw fell slack as your orgasm washed over you. Hannibal stopped supporting your body causing you to fall forward into the bed. His grunts became more constant as he continued to fuck into you. It took a couple thrusts but soon enough he was spilling his seed into you. You heard his groan as he pulled out. You remain unmoving, still trying to recover from your orgasm. Hannibal returned to bed, laying down beside you. He tugged you closer to him. You laid your head on his chest, fingers moving to play with the hairs on his chest. He listened to you breath, his hand moving to caress your hair as he did. 

“You were right.”

“Usually am. But what was I right about exactly?”

“She was lonely.”

You let out an understanding hum, comprehending what he was confessing to you.

“Is she still lonely?”

“No. Not anymore. She found someone to keep her company.”

“I’m glad. I’m sure they were just as lonely as she was.”

“It's a good thing they found each other then.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

The two of you had been crafted by different artists but in your own way you’d been made for each other. If you hadn't been sure of that before you were certain of it now.

[seungkw1]

sketchbook — xmh

♡ pairing: xu minghao x gn!reader ♡ theme: best friends to lovers, college au, fluff ♡ wc: 3.1k ♡ warnings: none

“why did i sign up for this stupid class?”

you mumbled it under your breath, but your best friend still heard it from across the room. he looks up from the book he’s reading, a concerned frown on his face.

“what’s wrong with the class?” he closes his book, his eyes resting on yours.

“the class is fine it’s just… i’m just bad at it.”

“i highly doubt that.” he gets up, joining you at your kitchen table currently cluttered with textbooks, homework, and various drawing materials. he reaches for your sketchpad. “let me see.”

“nuh-uh,” you say, closing the book. he grabs it from you anyway.

“minghao! come on,” you shout at him. he ignores you, flipping through the pages.

“most of those are shitty reject drawings that i started and gave up on, nobody needs to see those.”

he continues perusing through the book quickly, but pauses at a particular page. you take the chance and reach for the sketchpad again, grabbing hold of it.

“wait! i like this one.”

you glance at the drawing he’s looking at. it’s the side profile of a classmate, drawn as a warm-up exercise.

“what? that was just a warm-up sketch, and it’s not even good. it looks nothing like the girl i was drawing.”

minghao looks up at you. “that doesn’t mean it’s bad. art isn’t necessarily about drawing things exactly the way they look, it’s about your interpretation of the subject. that’s like the whole point.”

“i wasn’t interpreting anything here, i was literally just trying to draw her face.”

“but look,” he says, turning the book so you can see it. “look at the way she’s looking into the distance. she looks sad, but in a nostalgic way.”

you stare at the sketch. “i don’t see it.”

“but that’s part of it too - art isn’t always about knowing the exact meaning of the piece, it’s also open to interpretation on the viewer’s perspective. and i like the way you portrayed her emotion.” 

you narrow your eyes at him. “you’re just making that up to make me feel better.”

“i’m not! i promise. i really like your art style, y/n.”

you want to roll your eyes at him, but he looks too sincere. “okay but how can i have an art style if i literally started drawing two weeks ago at the start of the semester? i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

“look at all your drawings though,” he flips the pages one at a time. “you press really hard when you draw, so it gives everything a very bold, sharp look. and combined with the way you shade, it gives it a dramatic edge.”

you look at your sketches again. they’re still unsightly in your eyes, but you do kind of see what he means.

“well, that’s good to know i guess. but it’s still hard,” you mope. “i thought this would be an easy elective to get an A in but now i’m worried.”

“it’s an intro class - i’m sure the professor isn’t expecting you to be picasso on day one. just keep practicing and you’ll be perfectly fine.”

one of the many things you love about minghao: he always knows how to make you feel reassured. 

“you’re probably right,” you reply. “i don’t know what i should draw for practice, though.”

“well, what do you want to improve the most?”

you think for a second. “our next project is a life drawing, but drawing people is so hard. so maybe that but what am i supposed to do, just draw random people?”

“sure, why not?”

“because that’s weird!”

“okay, well it doesn’t have to be a random person. here, try drawing me.”

“you?? right now?”

“yeah.”

you open your mouth to protest, but you pause, realizing it might not be a bad idea. 

you shrug as you reach for your pencils. “okay, i guess. you can't get mad when it turns out terrible though.”

minghao smiles softly. he situates himself in the chair, focusing his gaze off in the distance. you pick up your sketchbook, holding it at a comfortable angle as you hold your pencil above the page. you think for a minute - you never know where to start when you have to draw a face. you glance back up at minghao, skimming across his features - naturally, you land on his eyes. you always forget how pretty they are: dark brown, soft, calm - giving him a permanent aura of being deep in thought. 

you look back down at the blank page, it's emptiness seemingly taunting you. with a sigh you touch the dulled lead tip to the paper, making your first stroke -  the curvature of minghao’s eyelid appearing on the page. you peep back up at your subject. to your surprise, your shape isn't too far off from reality. you continue, sketching his lower eyelid, his iris, his long dark eyelashes. you erase your marks a few times when they don't look quite right, but before long the image of an eye that looks mostly like minghao’s has formed. 

you move to his nose, drawing the line of its sharp bridge, sketching a circle to render its round, button-shaped end - bringing the shape of his face to life. you peer up at his face, your pencil continuing its strokes, but you pause as you arrive at his lips. they are soft, plump, perfectly formed, highly kissable. you sketch the delicate curves, emphasizing their pillowy nature. you find yourself absentmindedly in a trance when you realize you’ve been staring at him for too long - you’ve already finished drawing his mouth. you feel your cheeks turn warm, praying he can’t see you getting flustered out of the corner of his eye. 

you move on, sketching his soft but strong jawline, his ears - adorned with his usual jewelry, adding quick wispy lines to form the shape of his long hair. before long the essence of minghao has materialized in your notebook.

as you finish, you hold your sketchpad up to compare your drawing to your subject. you don’t love it, and it’s nowhere near perfect. but it is decidedly good enough.

“okay, i’m done, i guess.” you set the notebook down, hesitantly sliding it across the table toward minghao. he picks it up, turning it to face him as he looks at it for the first time. the edges of his mouth twitch upward into a subtle smile, but he doesn’t say anything.

“you hate it.”

minghao looks up at you. “what? no, i love it.” he looks back at the paper with a pleased grin. “i’m telling you, you’re really good at portraying emotion.”

“and what emotion exactly did i portray?”

he shows you your drawing. “i look wistful - like i’m caught in a daydream of unrequieted love.”

you feel your stomach do a flip, but you play it cool, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes at him. “well, i didn’t do that on purpose. but i’m glad you like it.” you extend your hand to take back the notebook, but he turns it toward him again, taking another look. 

“can i keep it?” he looks up at you, his striking brown eyes making contact with yours. you stifle a gulp as you reply.

“um… sure, i guess so. if you really want it.”

he gives you a soft smile, pleased at your response. “i really do.” he carefully tears the page along the perforation, separating it from its spiral binding. he closes the sketchbook and hands it back to you. you return it to its place in your backpack.

“well, thanks for letting me practice on you, i appreciate it.”

“of course. if you need any more practice let me know - since i see you most days anyway.”

“you’re the best.”

“i know,” he replies smugly. you pick up your eraser and lob it at him. he manages to catch it with one hand, giving you a sly look as you jump out of your chair, running from him before he can throw it back. he follows you, chasing you around your apartment - you shout at him, feigning anger, but your laughter gives you away. 

another thing you love about minghao: being with him is always so easy.

—

you didn’t mean to make drawing minghao a regular occurrence. but on one particularly crisp fall day, you find yourself absentmindedly sketching his features as you eat lunch together in the park. he’s reading for his literature class, and you’re supposed to be studying for your sociology course, but you keep zoning out. it’s not your fault that the text is dull, and that the cherub-like rosiness coloring his cheeks makes him look more ethereal than usual. renaissance paintings of angels have nothing on how beautiful he looks right now, you think to yourself. 

you also definitely didn’t mean to start falling for your best friend, but here you are.

delicate pencil strokes paint the wisps of his bangs falling over his eyes as he is studiously engrossed in his book, his long eyelashes peeking through the curtain of hair. you focus on perfecting the shape of his face - glancing up to compare your rendering to your subject - when you notice him looking back at you.

“what are you doing?” he asks, genuinely curious.

you’re about to shut your notebook in a panic, when you realize that would only look more suspicious. 

“nothing, just…”

he reaches for your notebook, his fingers brushing over the top of the page as he tilts it down so he can see. he lets out a soft chuckle.

“practicing again, i see,” he says, casually, but clearly teasing you a little. “i thought you were supposed to be studying for your sociology exam.”

“i am,” you insist. he raises his eyebrow at you. “i was just taking a break,” you add. the look on his face tells you he’s not convinced, but he doesn’t press you further.

“it looks good, i can tell you’re getting better at drawing from a reference.”

“i guess it is getting a little easier,” you admit. 

minghao smiles. “good,” he affirms, before going back to his text without another word. 

you find yourself gazing dreamily at the man before you, lost in aimless thoughts, imagining the feel of his hair tangled around your fingers, his skin softly pressed against your cheeks, his lips brushing against yours. eventually he notices, peeking up at you through his bangs. you swiftly return to your drawing, only to realize you've already finished. his portrait looks slightly cartoonish, and nowhere nearly as beautiful as the real thing, but you decide it's not half bad. 

you half-heartedly resume your studies, sneaking glances at minghao here and there. every glimpse makes your heart flutter - you feel like an idiot, you're in college for christ's sake, and here you are having an entire crush on your closest friend. 

just tell him how you feel, part of your mind tries to convince you. 

but what if it ruins our friendship? another part of you worries. 

you realize you're staring at him again when he looks up from his book, his gaze meeting yours. 

“hmm? what is it?” he asks you calmly. 

“i…” 

you hesitate. his eyes rest on your face attentively.

you let out a small sigh. “i’m getting cold. can we go inside?”

he smiles softly, marking his page as he closes his book. “of course.”

minghao walks you to your next class, which is conveniently located in the building next to his next class. 

“well, see ya later,” you tell him as you turn to enter the building. 

“y/n…”

you freeze as he grabs your arm. you turn back around, looking at him expectantly. he lifts his hand up to your head, tenderly reaching for your hair. you realize you're holding your breath. you exhale as his fingers graze your scalp softly, plucking something off of your head. 

he holds a small yellow piece up to you. “you had a leaf in your hair.” 

your panicking ceases, leaving you a bit disappointed, but you can't help but smile at him.

“thanks, minghao. what would i do without you?”

“walk around with leaves in your hair all day, probably.”

you playfully give him a light shove. he reaches for the door, opening it for you as you head off to class. 

“i'm coming over tonight, if that's alright,” he says as you step through the doorway. 

“of course,” you say, turning over your shoulder to face him. “though, i should probably start charging you rent as much as you're at my place.”

he smiles back at you. “see you later, y/n.”

he disappears as the door shuts quickly. you spend the rest of the afternoon in a daydream, impatiently counting the hours until you see him again. 

—

“how’s the studying going?” minghao asks from the other end of the couch. he sets his book down, pausing so he can take his hoodie off. his plain black t-shirt rises up as he does, revealing his entire midriff. you try not to gawk too hard. he stares at you as he tosses the hoodie aside - you realize he is awaiting your response. 

you look down at your notebook, where you’ve once again been sketching his face. “um… pretty good,” you lie. “are you hungry?” you ask, changing the subject.

“starving, actually,” he admits.

“well, i can offer you ramen, or… actually, that’s about it.”

he grins at you. “ramen sounds great. want me to make some-”

“nope,” you respond as you flip your notebook over, setting it face down on the seat next to you. “i got it.” you rise and head to the kitchen. 

you cook the noodles, serving them into two bowls and carrying them back to the living room. you set the bowls on the coffee table, reaching over to set one in front of minghao - but you feel your leg bump against something. you look down to see your notebook fall to the floor - landing right side up. before you can grab it, minghao has already picked it up for you. he goes to hand it back to you, but pauses as he sees your sketches. you go to swipe it out of his hands, but miss as he pulls back, looking at his own face doodled on your pages.

“you were drawing me again.” it wasn’t a question.

you try to quickly think of some excuse, anything, to get you out of this one, but your mind comes up blank. you decide to try and play it off.

“yes,” you reply with feigned confidence as you sit down next to him. he looks up at you, then back down to the paper. you stare at him, waiting for him to say something else, but he says nothing.

“i like to practice whenever i can,” you add with a shrug.

he flips through your notebook. “whenever you can, or whenever you’re with me?”

“um… i-”

“because these all sure look like me, y/n.”

“so?” you ask him. you meant for your tone to be casual, but it came out a bit more defensive than intended.

his eyes meet yours again. he looks at you warmly, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking. your heart beats rapidly in your chest. 

“so,” he answers as he sets the notebook aside. “i'm wondering, if…” he scoots closer to you, lifting his hand to your face, gently brushing your cheek with his thumb. your skin feels like it's on fire. his fingers tucked under your chin delicately, he draws your face in toward his. you gasp softly. 

“if you feel the same way about me, as i feel about you.”

your heart is racing. you feel dizzy. he's so close to you, a few more inches and your noses would touch. his plump lips wait enticingly. 

“and how do you feel about me?” you manage to ask, your voice barely more than a whisper. his deep brown eyes stare longingly into yours. you’re pretty sure you know the answer, you hope you know the answer, but you need him to confirm it. 

suddenly, he kisses you. 

he kisses you, setting alight fireworks inside you. his soft lips touch against yours ever so gently, his nose pressing against your cheek, his hand holding your face tenderly in his palm, then sliding to the back of your neck, drawing you closer still into him. your chest presses against his, his other arm wrapping around your waist, his large hand settling upon the small of your back. you kiss him back, your lips locked onto his like your life depends on it. you've thought of this, dreamt of this, so many times before, all the years you've known minghao - yet you never could have imagined how thrilling, exhilarating, freeing it would be to finally be here, in his arms, world stopped, nothing matters except you and him, so lovingly embraced - together. 

electricity pulsates through your skin, every nerve in your body dancing. slowly, minghao’s lips part from yours. you lock eyes with him - in all the time you've known him, he's always been a sentimental person, but you've never seen such love and adoration beaming from him like you see now. 

and it's all for you. 

a giggle escapes you. minghao looks at you, a wide grin spreading across his face. you run your hands through his hair, a sensation you've waited so long to experience - it's every bit as delightful as you imagined. 

“hao…” you start.

he plants another kiss on your lips. “hmm?” he asks, still glowing at you. 

“how long have you felt this way?” you ask softly. 

“i've had feelings for you since the day we met, and i've loved you more every day since.” 

you boop your nose against his, giving him a fake stern look. 

“and why didn't you tell me?”

he feigns a pouty face back at you. “why didn't you tell me?”

you blow a tiny raspberry at him. he smiles, pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he kisses your cheek repeatedly. you laugh, held in his warm embrace, overflowing with emotions. 

finally, you can admit it: you're in love with your best friend - and he just so happens to love you back. 

[fumiscripts]

✦ DRAW ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR FRENCH GIRLS

✦ one shot ,, michael kaiser x gn!reader

✦ content:: you're an artist, michael is your muse. plot twist: you hate his guts, but he's still too pretty not to draw

crack/fluff, 936 words

additional:: reader and kaiser have confused feelings towards each other, very little swearing, reader threatens to draw kaiser pregnant, insulting and teasing as a love language, might be a little off character maybe, slight suggestive joke, this dialogue came to me in a vision

This is so unfair. Why did he have to be so insanely ethereal?

You hate Michael Kaiser. Everything about him ticks you off. From his egoistic personality to his cocky demeanor. You wanted to kick a ball to his unfortunately pretty face. The same face which you've been sketching in your book. Over and over again. You couldn't stop drawing him. It's becoming a problem for you, and him teasing you for it was not helping.

Well, in your mind, he didn't have the right to be drawn by you. Yeah, his hair frames his features perfectly, and each curve and slope of his face looks sculpted like some Greek statue, and his eyes are the most mesmerizing shade of blue— damn, you really loathe the way you think about him like this.

He doesn't even deserve each stroke and line that you put on paper. All that work could've been put into drawing something more interesting. Like a random apple. Anything but him.

You really disliked that he was your muse.

It was the nth time where you etched another portrait of the blond into your sketchbook. You've lost count of how many pieces you've drawn of him, at this point. Your eyes flicker between the paper and him, catching every detail and immortalizing it to paper, your other hand propped up on the table and holding your head. Kaiser, himself, was sitting on a seat across from you, reading another of those books you never bothered to learn the titles of.

He was staying still— much to your convenience— and, surprisingly, not being talkative, at the moment— also much to your convenience. You much prefer the peaceful quiet over the usual bantering that stems from him rilling you up with out-of-pocket remarks, and you retorting back despite being aware of this.

The while of being able to peacefully do your thing didn't last, like you hoped. Once he noticed what you were doing, he was back on your ass to be a mocking bitch about it.

“Drawing me again? How obsessed are you?” Kaiser mused, staring at where the lead of the pencil met paper. You stared at him, pausing with your sketch as you deadpan, internally planning how to hide the body within the lounge after you manifest a meteorite falling on him. You were definitely not looking at him for another reason. Gosh, he's so gorgeous, you can't stand breathing the same air as him.

You tear your gaze away, landing back on the textured parchment beneath your hand. “You're easy to draw,” you snarkily reply. And you mean that in an insulting way. “I bet I can sketch you with three lines— that's how plain you are,” you added, just to make sure he doesn't use some loophole and claim that you don't find it difficult because of memorizing every detail of his by heart.

This earned a sneer from Kaiser, who placed his head on his intertwined fingers in a display of boredom. “Wow, so cruel,” he trails off, making a show with obviously feigning hurt. The blond sighs for a cherry on top, before going on. “Aren't you supposed to be nice to your muse?” Kaiser taunted, grinning.

“Shut up, before I draw you pregnant,” you state, a weird threat, but it was effective enough to make him do a double take. Though, it also resulted in him looking at you as if there was something wrong with your brain chemistry— like you were some failed attempt at making an intelligent creature— so perhaps it wasn't that effective in terms of threatening him. Whatever. You weren't really serious about it… maybe.

Kaiser was quick to recover from that off-putting statement of yours. “You sure do have weird fantasies about me,” he remarked, leaning back on his chair like he did something amazing, because to him, he just said something worthy to be written down as a quote.

You looked at him with a straight, blank face. Unlike how you did while sketching intricate lines that detailed his face. All that non-expression just to prove a point that, no, you didn't fantasize about him. “You wish,” you turned that idea down.

Now that those azure eyes were on you, going back to drawing would be an awkward choice. So, you shift your full attention to him.

Only because he was entertaining. Not because you want him, or anything.

“Mhm, keep denying it,” he says, his tone a little cocky, like he believed you were really dreaming about him. Oh, how you'd love to wipe that smug look off his face. “You want me so bad.”

“Nuh uh,” you reply, before adding something in order to have more chances in one-upping him in this argument. “Are you sure it's not the other way around? You sure are persistent,” this led to him tilting his head, a bit amused as you continued. “Maybe you're the one who wants me.”

Kaiser chuckles, sighing softly. “Yeah, right. I'm not the one filling sketchbooks with drawings of the other,” he retorted, running a hand through his hair, like he always does whenever he has nothing to do. “What, you gonna draw me like one of your french girls next?” he joked, raising an eyebrow.

You stared at him as he jested, blinking once, twice, before cringing. “Hell, no,” you bluntly rejected. You knew what he meant, and you wished you weren't able to understand the reference— you regretted being able to comprehend words and sentences.

He laughed at your reaction, finding entertainment in it.

So you fished out your phone, searching up mpreg references.

(a/n):: I was giggling while writing this

taglist:: @shrii-kk, @tired-xyra-urstruly, @fishii28, @yui2aku,

© fumiscripts 2024. don't steal, repost, translate or modify my works without my permission.

[etherealily]

​🇹​​🇭​​🇪​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇳​​🇪​ // 𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘪 𝘷𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘬𝘺

Alexei Vronsky + fem!reader

Warnings : Cuss words.

You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.

'Cross that line for me, sweetheart?'

Desc. : You are not a temptress, but he is tempted.

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

It was curious, to say the least, how land was divided. The conch next to you was half your property and half the Vronsky estate's property. It had remained that way for ages.

The waves lapped up the sand, like a heart reaching desperately for its other half as you sat watching the entire ordeal.

The Line - one drawn up every morning and marked by tiny flags as placeholders - had always pissed you off. Intrigued you. What would happen if you were to... just a finger? The hem of your dress. Would you immediately be shot at by concealed snipers? Perhaps you'd have to be tried in court.

You had never really noticed much about this Vronsky character before. Another handsome, manipulative bastard. Nothing much.

In turn, he'd also never noticed you. A face. One of many. Beautiful, of course, he was not blind, but never seen as worthy of his efforts. You were not rebellious. You were not adorably innocent. He could not entice you. He could not corrupt you.

In theory, your paths were never to cross. Different lives, same circles.

The key word : theory.

Because there are moments in life when you know that nothing will ever be the same again, when you know that your proverbial pathway is forever skewed and rerouted. These may appear to you embossed in calamities such as loss and grief, or these may be whispered in your ear by silent smiles, lovestruck looks across a ballroom, or the simple offer of champagne.

Or, in the case of you and Alexei Vronsky, all of the above.

And this was one of those torturous, life-altering moments.

"-And that's when I said, it was just a bloody goat !"

Booming, drunken laughter ensued from your left - the other side of the Line. Fuck. Keep drawing, shut up, keep drawing, shut up.

Your pencil made unintelligible sounds as it scratched out a somewhat passable depiction of the moonlit waves. The screams and guffaws grew louder, but the issue was that if you moved, he'd assume you did it because you were on his side. You were not, but it would look highly suspicious if you fled.

No. They'd quietened down. Meaning either they left - highly unlikely - or, they'd noticed you.

"Oi!"

Don't respond, don't respond.

"You! Pretty girl!"

Drunk men are terrifying. How could such kind words be said in a way that made your skin crawl?

"Mate, maybe she's a mute. Or deaf. Or both."

"I know for a fact she's not. She's got quite a mouth on her, as I can remember from last year- HEY! LADY WITH THE SKETCHBOOK!"

And that was Alexei Vronsky. His story with the goat had ended, apparently. Ugh.

You turned. "Uh, hello."

"ARE YOU A MUTE?" his companion yelled.

"Are you daft? She just answered! How could she be mute?"

Drunk men are also idiotic.

"WHY DON'T YOU COME ON OVER HERE, WE'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO DRAW?"

Bellowing laughter followed.

For fuck's sake.

"I'm alright, THANKS!"

"OI, C'MON! WE DON'T BITE!"

From what you'd heard, he does.

"IS IT 'CAUSE OF THAT LINE?"

"Good night, Count Vronsky.", you called back, as you gathered up your things and stood, dusting the sand off your dress.

"HOLD ON! WAIT!"

"Let'r go, mate, c'mon, we've got a party to get back to."

"I WAS JUST BEING NEIGHBOURLY, YOU BITCH!"

FUCKING HELL.

"What did you just call me?!", you yelled, turning. He looked back at you in a swaying, inebriated haze, trying to focus those glaciers he called eyes on yours in the darkness.

"A witch. You've cast a spell on me, bewitched me, so to speak. You're magic."

Ugh. "Whatever."

"Just come over here, or I'll have to come there, and you wouldn't like that.", he slurred, his friends chortling and egging him on.

Buggering Christ.

"You can't. See?", you replied defiantly, pointing deliberately at the faint white outline of the line they renewed every morning with chalk powder. "That would be trespassing."

"I'm Alexei Vronsky."

What was that supposed to mean?

"So? It's still trespassing. My family's had it in for you for a long time - we'll take you to court."

"Then you come here.", he shrugged, taking an unstable stumble closer. "Cross that line for me, sweetheart? Yeah?"

"You're a creep. And you're drunk."

"You're a beauty. And you're technically trespassing, so I need to punish you."

"HOW am I-"

"Your pencil." Fuck. How is it he's sober enough to notice that, but not sober enough to know that his buddy said 'the coat storage' not 'the goat story'?

"It blew in the wind."

"Yes. To my estate."

"You can keep it."

"Are you sure? Isn't this your, uh, fabulous pencil from Paris you were talking of?"

"No." Yes.

"No?", he frowned, picking it up. NO! Not in his grimy, disgustingly delicate fingers. "Seems pretty French to me."

"Are you actually inebriated or do you simply enjoy pretending to be so that you can get away with things?"

He stopped swaying, pointing the pencil in your direction as he placed the other hand behind his back. "You're sharp."

"So you're sober?"

Drunk Vronsky could have been molded. Sober Vronsky was a cunt.

"More or less. My friends feel left out because they are unable to hold their liquor as well as I can, so I act for them.", he explained, with a small look behind him, at his comrades trying to jump over the waves as they came.

"You should be in theatre, then."

"Adding performer to my resume is just a smidge too over-accomplished.", he retorted, an amused glint in his eye.

Ugh.

"So you're going to hold on to my pencil, then, I'm guessing."

"What? No, I know how much this means to you."

Trap. You'd bet your entire estate it was a trap.

"I will give it back.", he continued as he paced, his hand still placed behind his back as though he were planning war strategies. "On one condition."

See? Trap.

"Dinner. With me. Tomorrow."

Did he think this was a smart way to secure an evening with a woman?

"I won't be here tomorrow." Bold-faced lie, and he could tell.

"Then tonight. Right now." You couldn't think of anything you were doing.

"And I'll get my pencil back."

"Yes."

"That can't be it. There's a catch."

"You are... remarkable. Yes. There is.", he whispered, softly, as though impressed that you caught on. "Champagne. I wish to see you drunk. Drunk, in denial and... ruined."

Lot of darkness for someone who'd just been talking about a goat.

"In denial?"

"Nothing. Just... join me for dinner and drink a little, and I promise you shall have your pencil back."

"I do not drink."

"Then I do not return fancy French pencils."

"I can always purchase another."

"You do not have sentimentality, then?"

"No." Yes.

"I see. Then you may be on your way."

"I don't have to go anywhere. I have every right to be here! This is still my side of The Line."

"Suit yourself, darling."

The silence that followed was torturous and unbearable. "I do not like steak."

"Then you shall have no steak."

══════════════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

His eyes focused on you from across the table, his spoon paused midway above his plate. Eyes like the ocean in a storm. Terrifying but alluring.

"Enjoying your not-steak?"

You hid a smile. "Yes, I am."

He nodded, bringing his spoon up to his lips as he watched you do the same.

"You've left your friends out there?"

"They know not to cross The Line. They will be alright."

"Why is it you wanted to have dinner with me? To trap me into trespassing?"

"I've wanted to speak with you since I first saw you." Lie.

"And I you." Lie.

"What was it you wished to say?"

"Simply a greeting. You?"

"The same."

He set down his spoon, scrunching up his napkin as he stood up and walked the short distance across the table to you, resting his hands on the back of your chair. "You promised you'd drink."

"I did?"

"You did.", he whispers, accepting the newly-uncorked bottle the servant handed him, and pouring it into the glass next to your plate, smoothly. "And you're a good girl who keeps promises, yes?"

You'd heard he loved using such degrading language, but this was the first time you'd seen it firsthand.

"What gave you that idea?"

"I just figured you were of proper breeding and were raised right."

Good answer.

"Well, the words 'I promise' never left my mouth."

"Well-bred women do not look for loopholes. And they most certainly do not argue."

Lord knows where he'd worked up the audacity to brush some hair off your shoulder, but perhaps he was born with it imbibed in his blood.

He narrowed his eyes at your unchanging expression. "Drink."

"I am not done with my food."

He breathes out loudly, taking your plate and thrusting it into the hands of the nearest servant. "Yes, you are."

"I still have dessert."

"No, you don't. Drink."

"This is not champagne. You said champagne."

"And you said you'd drink. We both have uttered falsities. Drink."

"I fear you may be trying to-"

"Poison you? I am not. I would not like to see you die."

Was that supposed to be some form of assurance? Romantic? Caring? That did not have the intended effect.

"Drink, lovely."

It irked you how invested he was to see you drunk.

You wrapped your fingers around the glass, bringing it to your lips. Tilting it upwards, you let the liquor cascade down your throat, and echoes of your sputtering filled the room - it burned.

He laughed heartily, shaking his head as he stroked your shoulder from behind you. "Do you know what that was?"

"No. But I do know I will not take another sip."

"It was vodka, my dear, and in a few moments, you will want more. Trust me."

"I'm not taking another sip of that ghastly liquid!"

"Not even for me? Not even if I begged?"

"You think your begging has any effect on me?"

"Doesn't it? I'm known to be quite persuasive, and- besides, aren't you supposed to be the empathetic one in the family?"

"And where did you hear that?"

"Just about everywhere, really.", he huffed, resting his elbow on the table as he knelt down by your side. "'Y/N is the nicest one. She cares the most. Empathetic.' Surely you are not telling me those are lies?"

"Not lies, but exaggerations, perhaps."

"I am quite literally on my knees, Y/N, and you should realize how rare that is. Drink more or I will have to force you."

You frowned at him.

"I will do it. Force you. Don't think that because I have let you in my house so courteously that I will continue to be a gentleman with you."

"How could you be? You're nothing but a cad.", you scoffed, as you took another stingingly painful gulp.

He watched the glass, your tongue, your throat, almost mesmerized as he replied. "A cad?", he questioned softly, amused but still fascinated by your every movement.

"A cad.", you nodded, trying not to show how much you were gasping for breath. It hurt, satisfyingly.

"That's a first. No one has ever said 'oh, Alexei Vronsky, that cad'.", he murmured against his palm as he observed you meticulously.

"Then they have met a different person."

"You say this out of personal experience, do you?"

"I've met him. The Alexei Vronsky. He only thinks of one thing."

A lilt of his lips. "And that is?"

"Himself."

He concealed a grin.

"Or perhaps...", he mused, fingertips on the back of your neck as though he were playing your skin as one would a piano. "He is one who shows different versions of himself to different people."

"So he is deceitful."

"I'd say careful."

"Would you, now?"

"I think we put up far too many false pretences anyway. No point in fighting it - it is necessary, to be part of society."

"And what false pretences am I putting up, in your expert opinion?"

He smiled, one too pure to match the description you had so harshly delivered a moment before, but you knew more than most that it was a ruse. "Drink more."

"You're an incredibly demanding man, aren't you? Dine with me. Drink more. Not a single please, nor thank you.", you retorted, as though that could take away from the fact that you obeyed.

"When you are incredibly in demand, you learn to be incredibly demanding."

If ever a smoother talker existed, you'd wager he'd simply be Alexei Vronsky in disguise.

"So tell me, then. Are you a gentleman, a cad, or an opportunist, Count Vronsky?"

You had to steer the conversation back to him, because whatever this vilely beguiling liquor was, it was shooting through your veins at a rate too fast to risk talking about yourself, lest any family secrets spilled out.

"I am whatever you want me to be. And you? Are the rumours true? Are you a virgin, a temptress, or a genius?"

"I am whatever I want to be. For tonight."

"Come morning?", he murmured against your neck as he slipped a finger under a loose strand of hair, and twirled it with such dedication you would think that were his only purpose in life.

"A memory."

"Well, we can't have that.", he pouted, as he stood up, gently taking the glass away from you and finishing the last of it. "What does it take for a memory to stay in the present?"

"Vronsky-"

"A dance, perhaps, as they say you enjoy?"

If you weren't unsure of the functionality of your motor skills in your drunken haze, you'd have punched him right then and there.

"The rumours aren't true, you know?"

"What rumours?", he asked, feigning obliviousness.

He'd just spoken of them, but you were quite sure if you reminded him, he'd attribute it to the vodka. Tell you you were 'surely imagining things, dear one'.

"The ones that led you to come and have a go at me."

"Those? Oh, I didn't believe them for a second.", he grinned, his eyes examining the filthiest, most remote parts of your soul - ones that even you had never been privy to.

A moment washed over the both of you, tauntingly. You looked for any secrets in his eyes, and he looked for any in yours, albeit, more calmly than you.

"Come.", he mumbled, finally, offering his hand for you to get up out of his disgustingly well-crafted chair. "Let's get you back on your side of The Line."

═════════���════════ ⋆🍷⋆ ══════════════════

"There. Oh, and here. I am of proper manners.", he added after you'd leapt over The Line, handing your pencil back over to you.

It felt oddly anticlimactic after the events of the evening.

His icy blue eyes - striking, so striking that they pierced you - fell onto your lips for just a moment before landing on the pencil in your hand. "You don't want it back."

"What? Of course I do."

He had you. He was onto you.

"Let me rephrase. You don't need it back."

"Sentimentality. Of course I do."

"You really don't want it to stay in my possession, instead?"

"No."

"Liar.", he smirked, his lips curving deliciously, and you just about lost it. "You know I'll take very good care of it, no? Like I took care of you, tonight. No complaints, yes?"

"Besides the aggressive persuasion to drink a fiery liquid that most probably burnt my throat off, no."

"You exaggerate. Tell me tonight was just another of your dull nights. Tell me I haven't been a source of reprieve from your tedious, mundane days of fakeness and gossip."

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that with a reply, although you already knew that any response- or lack thereof - would be all too telling.

"You cannot, can you?"

There was nothing you hated more than when men were right.

Especially men who were as captivating as Vronsky. It was unnecessary and dangerous.

He beamed, clearly so fucking proud of himself, as he looked out at the waves. "It is a lovely dress you are wearing."

No, it wasn't. It was the most commonplace of dresses one could wear. But he'd say it anyway. Because that was his play.

"Thank you."

"It is disgusting, though."

"In what way? A disgusting display of my wealth, or disgustingly lovely?"

He knelt down next to you from the other side, on the sand. "It is disgusting that such beauty and purity like yours can exist and people continue to slander its name."

Had you been a lesser woman, you'd have fallen for it.

It seemed, however, that he knew you wouldn't. It was confusing, to say the least, whether he was being genuine or being genuinely fake.

"It is how I live."

If you'd read him right, he should say something along the lines of...

"It shouldn't be."

There.

"However... the dress in itself is not disgusting?"

"No, it is spectacular- although, I must say, the woman wearing it is far more ravishing."

Games get boring when they are predictable.

"So. What is it you normally do after parties, since you cannot get drunk? Unless blackmailing women to dine with you and drink your vodka is your usual pastime."

He snickered, although a slight maliciousness infiltrated his gaze for a moment. "It isn't so much a pastime as... an unfortunately common occurence. Perhaps that's why you've got an opinion of me as a - how'd you put it?"

"A cad."

"Ah, yes, a cad. I wonder if your opinion has changed."

That was not hope in his eyes, no. That was a challenge. 'Go ahead, Y/N, say no. If you dare.', his look said.

"I wonder that, too. Perhaps it will if you keep your promise."

"Promise?", he repeated, raising a brow. He knew. He knew all too well what you were saying.

"False pretences.", you reminded, watching him as he watched the waves distort the light of the moon. "You said you would tell me what false pretences you think I put up."

He was far too close. The incredibly fragile, entirely imaginary Line wouldn't be able to stop him from reaching over and touching your shoulder once more.

"I think... do you want to know what I think?"

"I might."

"I think that you're lying when you brush off the rumours."

"You think I am a slut? A temptress?" Now, suddenly, the monotonous nature of everyday seemed far more interesting than the thousandth iteration of the same conversation.

"No, I think you brushing them off is the lie. They affect you far too much." Alright. That was... progress.

"Do they, now?"

"Very much. And there is one more, as well, although I doubt you will like to hear it. You crave to prove them right."

Congratulations, Alexei Vronsky, you've caught my attention.

"That is an extremely, extremely bold suggestion."

"Yet you are not denying it."

"I do not wish to have my virtue questioned, Vronsky, and us having dinner does not change that."

"But it pokes at it, does it not? A slight scratch, an itch, asking if that is what you really want. It blurred the lines, did it not?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

"You're an incredibly delusional man, Count Vronsky."

"A delusional cad."

"Precisely."

You didn't miss the amusement in his tone, the laughter, the way he knew how perfectly right he was.

"Well, this delusional cad did not lie, earlier. You truly have bewitched me, my dear, and I do not think I shall ever turn you down."

He stood up, dusting the sand off his gloves and pants. You stood up too, not out of respect, but out of the desire to relish his face once more.

"Turn me down?"

"When you inevitably ask for me when your marriage is dry, lifeless and torturous."

Good lord. How long had he been- how far ahead was he thinking?

"I will be right here. On this side."

"Why are you so adamant that my marriage will be-"

"Because I'm the one you need. You've broken quite literally every rule tonight. Crossed the line, fraternized with the enemy, drank unfamiliar alcohol that could so easily have been poisoned or used against you."

"How does that make you the one I-"

"I'm taking you out of your comfort zone. Freeing you. What more would one want from a lover?"

So casual with that word. Lover. As though that was all you two had been, since the beginning.

"Have I mentioned that you're-"

"Delusional? Yes, you have. But you have also yet to mean it."

Who the hell allowed this man to be so confident?

His thumb rubbed against your cheek in pure tenderness that you are well-prepared for - you've learnt over the years he's unpredictable, and since his mercurial nature was the only predictable thing about him, it was easy for you to guess his next move.

Or at least, figure out that it would be the exact opposite of the tone of his words.

"I can help you, you see?", he said, words so faint they were almost whisked away in the sea breeze. "Honest."

"Was that the point of tonight?"

"No, the point of tonight was to get you so utterly inebriated that you would tell me your family's secrets, and hence, your own."

That was the only thing that had come out of his mouth all night that you could guarantee was the truth.

"And since that did not happen, you are doing this?"

"No, I couldn't let that happen. Unwrapping you, figuring you out, it is far too intriguing a task to complete with a glass of vodka and enticing words. I want to spend years, decades, the rest of my life, performing this task, revealing you slowly and addictively, until I have lost myself or driven myself crazy trying to reach the core of your soul."

The silence kissed you two over and over until you couldn't take it anymore. "You are terrifyingly good at this."

He almost looked like he was about to say 'at what', but it seemed his mood had turned too serious to coax a half-hearted insult out of you.

"And you are terrifying. You are like the eye of a storm, intricately, almost... sinisterly drawing me closer."

"I'm not sure what you want me to-"

His lips devoured your words, and you could not help but think that this night had progressed far too rapidly to your liking. He was a stranger, a random man who you shared nothing but a flimsy little line with, but here you were, letting him kiss you, letting him ruin you, letting him convince you with his words that this was a good idea.

"Come on, darling.", he murmured against your lips, his eyes still half-lidded in a triumphant haze. "Cross the line. I promise, I'll take care of you."

You surrendered, and all you could do was hope that his beauty was simply angelic in nature, and was not designed for the sole purpose of ruining you and every iota of self-respect you had.

Hard to tell, but perhaps he had meant it that way.

[irisintheafterglow]

friends can i hs journalist!reader x bachira brain rot on main real quick because i really need to get this idea out of my head

it's no secret that bachira meguru did not have friends. elementary school into middle school was essentially spent in solitude, and only when he reached high school did he attempt to connect with others.

luck, he figured, placed you two at the same lab table for a science class whose concepts he's long forgotten. you were uncharacteristically warm to him and possessed the patience of a seasoned kindergarten teacher, letting him doodle in the top right corner of your notebook and worksheets. you were always ready to build on whatever joke he muttered, but equally as quick to steer him onto the right task. you countered him so easily that it unnerved him. he found you perplexing, listening to him rattle on about soccer with an interest that only his mother had shown him. there was a monster inside of him, he'd revealed after a few months of knowing you, and you nodded in understanding like you could see it too.

"i feel the same way when i'm photographing a game. it's hyper-focus, right? like someone is whispering in your ear what the best shot is, though i guess 'shot' means different things to each of us," you added, barely glancing up from your notebook. you picked out a yellow highlighter from your pencil case and carefully ran it over a vocabulary word, only stopping when you saw bachira staring at you. "what is it?"

"you're in yearbook?"

"yearbook and journalism class, yeah. i write for the school paper, but it's mostly the sports columns," you say with a nonchalant shrug.

"oh, so do you do, like the-" he holds his hands in the shape of two L's, wiggling the top joint of his pointer finger like he was pressing the shoot button on a camera. "the this thing?"

"mhmm. i take photos at the games and i also write about the result afterward. it's pretty cool, especially during nationals season." another highlighter is chosen meticulously from your bag, the same shade of blue that he liked to draw raindrops with. bachira could probably match a doodle to every writing material you owned, if he tried.

"huh, i bet. why've i never seen you at a game, hmm?"

"they usually assign the same people for each sport, and i've been covering the basketball and volleyball teams for a few years." orange, you pick, for something about homeostasis. "why?" he catches a mischievous sparkle in your eye, like you were teasing him. "you want me to go to your games?"

"absolutely," bachira replies without hesitation. "you don't even have to ask."

so, you do go to the next game. not as a school journalist, but just as a spectator in the stands. you find a seat next to a very passionate mother cheering for the other team, somewhere in the middle of the bleachers. it's close enough that you can spot bachira as soon as he's on the field, and he spots you too. he raises his hand in an excited wave, mimicking the same 'shooting a camera' gesture that got you into this situation. during the game itself, you realize bachira's talent is impossible to ignore, especially when he's finding you after every goal and assist and doing the camera movement like it was your own private joke. you find yourself in the stands again and again, catching his eyes and finding that he's already looking at you.

"i can't believe they actually let you switch," he said, breathless after he sprinted across the field to find you during half-time of your first game as acting journalist. "what'd you say to convince them?" you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

"i just told them the truth," you murmur so that only you two could hear, "that i like watching you play."

"right," he stutters, unsure of what to say. "yeah. well, i'm glad i look cool to you!" he considers it one of the biggest mistakes of his life, leaving whatever was there between you two unsaid. he didn't respond how he wanted to, truthfully, because you'd caught him off guard. bachira meguru wasn't used to having friends, nor was he used to the airy feeling in his forehead and the lightness in his stomach. bachira meguru was not good at being in love.

when he left for blue lock, he felt like he'd left a part of himself with you.

"you're-you're leaving?" he knew you were trying to keep your composure, but it was slipping. he explained the implications of being a certified athlete again and you nodded, your mind anywhere but present. "i see. do you know when you'll be back?" bachira shakes his head. "i see."

"but it'll be good! it'll probably make me a better player and get me one step closer to my dream!"

"right. i'm excited for you, meguru." there was something off in your tone that he couldn't place. the monster was telling him he was...hurting you.

"i'll send you letters or something like we're in shakespeare!" you crack a pained grin, forcing out a laugh that was no more than a nicety. most of the characters die or hate each other in shakespeare. "and i promise i'll come right back to you when i'm done." it seems to be the wrong thing to say since he spots the tremble of your bottom lip as you swallow thickly. what was he doing to you?

"i hope it's everything and more," is the last thing you say to him before he leaves for blue lock. when you're completely removed from his life, he finds his mind drifting to you as a safety net when he had trouble sleeping or hits a low during training. it is everything and more, being at blue lock, but his fingers want to become the shape of a camera every time he makes a goal.

"'mock press day' my ass," raichi declared during a training day before the u-20 match. according to ego, the five-on-five scrimmages would be observed by various reporters to increase interest in the blue lock vs u-20 game. "they just want an excuse to gawk at us."

"the existence of this program is riding on that game," isagi points out. "they're probably trying to prep us for the other scrutiny that comes with being in the public eye." raichi's eye twitches, his grip tightening on the laces of his cleats.

"they can shove all their eyes up my-"

"what kind of press do you think they'll be?" chigiri's question unconsciously catches bachira's attention. "news channels? maybe interviews?"

"don't be thinking they care about what we're doing here," rin deadpans from across the locker room. "it'll be yelling and flashes and that's it, so ignore them and move on." from a dark corner of his brain solely focused on preparing for a match, a childish hope consisting of two words popped into the back of bachira's mind. what if?

when the kickoff whistle is blown, the other players don't understand why he keeps looking toward the spectators as if he's trying to find someone. the even more perplexing bit?

why bachira apologizes in advance for 'needing to show off' before pulling the nastiest dribbling the program has seen since its conception.

--

there's a buzz in the visiting group of reporters when the match you observe ends, compliments and awe revolving around the striker with the outlandishly good dribbling skills. he was really fired up, they comment. and he's only your age, they say to you with wonderstruck faces. can you believe the talent of that striker? i'm not sure what he was doing with his hands after each goal, though. was he taking a picture of us instead? while they continue to recount their favorite plays, you smile and wait for him to come and find you, your star player and his favorite photographer.

--

later heard in the locker room: "why the fuck was bachira kissing one of the press people after the match?"

"call it unfinished business," bachira replies with a satisfied smirk, "you better be scared of me, next time that reporter is in the stands. i have a lot of time to make up for."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[lastoneout]

It's also like super fucking infuriating to see people continue to argue that generative AI is the best way for disabled and/or poor people to make art because like, you know what helps make art more accessible? Giving poor and disabled people money.

Like take me for instance, I'm disabled. I get severe migraines and intense leg/back pain if I sit at my computer for too long, my hEDS makes holding pens and pencils hard, my ADHD makes it hard for me to start certain tasks and/or stop them before I potentially hurt myself, my neck also hurts if I look down too much, my dyslexia AND my ADHD both make it difficult to keep track of a story as I write and use correct spelling and grammar, plus, I need to prioritize taking care of myself and going to appointments and keeping my house clean and that takes up a lot of my free time. All of these things make creating the kind of art I want to create difficult if not occasionally impossible.

So what do you think would solve my problems better? Giving me money so that I can have a drawing tablet and desk chair that won't hurt my neck or back, another tablet + pen and a lap table and comfortable body pillows for drawing in bed, easier transportation to my doctors appointments, effective treatment for my chronic pain and migraines, the ability hire someone to help me keep my house clean, a spelling/grammar checker that isn't complete ass, and a therapist and psychatrist who can help me manage my ADHD better?

Or an AI program that takes my input and spits out a drawing or story made of stolen content glued together that, in the case of the art, I cannot meaningfully edit without starting over, which also destroys the environment in the process?

Seems pretty obvious to me. I don't need AI, I need help to manage the things that are actually stopping me from being able to write and draw.

Or take my mom. She's had severe rhumatoid arthritis since she was a small child, her hands are deformed and she relies on her wheelchair to get around. She doesn't need AI to help her paint, she needs special paint brushes she can actually hold, a table her wheelchair will fit at, and someone to help her with personal hygiene/keep her house clean/take her to doctors appointments so she actually has free time to paint.

Does that poor kid growing up in public housing with parents who are too poor to afford art classes or supplies or to send them to college really need a computer program to draw for them, or do they need support to help them take those classes, buy drawing supplies, and money so they can go to college.

Blind people can paint, deaf musicians exist, people with missing limbs find all sorts of ways to make art, people with parkinson's paint with typewriters, my mother can't hold a normal paintbrush and she makes some of the most beautiful watercolor paintings I've ever seen, Van Gogh had bipolar disorder and only sold like one painting when he was alive, I mean for real how many different artists have you heard of who's biographies start with them being born into poverty?

This is not meant to be inspiration porn, these people are just ones who were able to find ways to make art despite their struggles. They shouldn't have had to struggle at all, but god imagine how many more artisrs and writers we could have had if none of them had to overcome those struggles. It breaks my heart to think of all the wonderful art that never got to exist because no one helped the people who could have made it actually have the time, money, support, and safety they needed to make it. AI would not have saved them because making art isn't the problem, being disadvantaged is the problem. Living in a world that refuses to make room for you is the problem. Being fucking poor is the problem. Humans have always found ways to make art despite huge barriers, the solution isn't a computer that makes art for them, it's SUPPORT AND MONEY SO THEY CAN OVERCOME THOSE BARRIERS AND MAKE THEIR OWN ART.

As a last example: I love watching dancing and I would love to be able to dance, but I'm terrible at it(I got kicked off a dance team for not being able to learn the dance at all despite spending weeks on it, idk my brain wasn't made for dancing) and my disabled body makes it more pain than pleasure if not actively dangerous, anyway. Having a robot dressed to look like me dance next to me while I get to watch would not make me feel like I'm getting to dance. It would actually be extremely fucking demoralizing and frustrating. I would hate that!!

Having an AI spit out a painting or book would not make me feel like I got to paint or write a book. It's a fucking anamatronic doll running on stolen ideas and it will never be the same as getting to actually expirience the joy of creating art first hand. AI is not the solution. Helping people who need it is the solution. And I am CONSTANTLY pissed to think about all the time and money that goes into these fucking AI programs that would be better spent helping disabled and poor people get the help they need so they can make art themselves, all while the people running the nightmare plagiarism pollution machines pretend that their horrible inventions exist to help people like me.

[bountycancelled]

a pencil, paper and an uncontrollable crush

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

opla!luffy x reader

requested: yes (I mixed 2 reqs so idk if that counts but reqs are still open for anyone)

genre: oneshot but in headcanon form? gn! reader, artist! reader

warnings: none, just some fluff!

a/n: I won't be writing as often becusde I'm writing my final rn, also this is short because i have a hard time imagining luffy being romantic so... enjoy!

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

now, it doesn't matter how obviously and hopelessly in love you are with Luffy, he's just not going to see it.

he doesn't see you make starry eyes at him, because his eyes are just as starry on a regular basis. when he catches you admiring him, he just assumes that you zoned out. (because he does that alot too)

so when he finds an incredibly detailed sketch of himself laying around on the ship, he excitedly goes from crew member to crew member, asking who drew it.

when he gets to you, notebook and pencil in hand drawing yet another portrait of him, you hang your head in mortification as he marvels at your work.

so imagine his suprise when he snatches that notebook our of your hands with a quickness to see what else you've steched in there, only to find himself on every. single. page.

I swear that his excited screaming is enough to alert other ships at sea of your exact location, but he can't help it, every drawing you've done deserves a reaction that fits how well you did it.

after he finds out about your habit, he starts striking poses for you and holding them right until your last pencil stroke on paper (or until he gets bored/hungry lol)

one night, you get a frantic knock on your door followed by Luffy's muffled voice yelling "are you still awake? I wanna show you something." so you open the door and he shoves a crumpled piece of paper right in your face.

you back up just a little bit and adjust your eyes, and you see a drawing of... some sort of animal? oh, wait nevermind, it's of you.

it's not the most artistically or anatomically sound drawing you've laid your eyes on, but it's... surprisingly detailed. he's drawn on pretty much every single visible scar, mole, freckle and mark, even some that you didn't know you had.

when you question how he managed to be so accurate, he tilts his head, pursing his lips and farrowing his brows in thought before answering. "Well, it wasn't on purpose, but I always look at you when you're around me. you catch my attention, kinda like food does!"

pause.

did Monkey D. Luffy, the strawhat captain, mister gum gum himself, just compare you to food...? moment of silence, because this is so much bigger than all of us.

after hearing this revelation, you cave and plant a quick kiss on his cheek as a thank you (and as a means to let him know of your more than platonic feelings for him), slamming the door in his face before he even has the chance to react.

p.s. Luffy doesn't have any idea why you kissed his cheek, but he knows that it made him feel good, and he wants to get one from you again.

[xylomane]

𝙎𝙤... 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚...

Ft. Diluc Ragnvindr Context: You're bored after he left for work and he called you somewhere at night to ask if you want anything from the malls since he just so happened to stop by one. Teasingly and craving for naught, you ask him to buy you a lingerie. You wonder just what kind he'll pick. Does he even know those...?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ｄｉｌｕｃ

"Huh? what's wrong? It's just a lingerie, you're the one with a problem not me." You say nonchalantly through the phone. "B-but listen, okay? I'm not good at this and even if I am-" You dropped the call, not even motivated to listen to anymore of his stammers. He's cute but still. It's been fifteen minutes since you requested him for a lingerie and he's still not convinced to agree? How will you know his favorites now?You can't wait another day. You needed to know his preferences.

Diluc knew to himself that he really didn't mean to disappoint. He just... never saw himself suitable for these kinds of things. He is a gentleman of course, with a name and a status to protect. He can't just show up in a lingerie store and attract some attention, his sex life would be questioned if somebody were to recognize him. (Diluc is famously known as the son of the founder of the most successful wine company in the entire world)

Diluc, knowing himself as a pleaser, didn't want to disappoint you any further so he sends you a text to assure you that he'll make it happen: "I'm sorry darling, I promise I'll get you one. I hope it is to your liking." The moment he hits the 'send' button, he rubs his face and sighs.

Diluc goes straight back inside his black car to drive to one of his most trusted tailors. He has given them many commisions regarding clothing before, and they always come out stunning. He let himself relax over the cushioned seat of his car, picturing whatever kind of reaction you'll have on your face until he arrived at the pavement before the tailor's building.

Diluc tried. He really did. He declined the offer for a designer because he wanted the lingerie designed only by him. If he were to still get a designer for it, it might take a day or two before it gets finished. Plus... it's a little... embarrassing. Diluc gets uneasy just by thinking about it.

Diluc needed it done by midnight and it's currently 10:00pm. He knew he needed to hurry but now that he himself, being known to always have a phrase ready on any occasion, had been explaining for about half an hour to a tailor that felt like he was suddenly speaking gibberish, there's no doubt that the chances of making the lingerie might be delayed.

Finally, the tailor sighed at him, exasperated with all the mind work to understand his stammers. She simply told him, "Paper and pencil. Show me when ready." And she hands him two objects that made Diluc's confidence stutter.

Diluc stares at the paper and he feels his cheeks burn with shame. It felt like his confidence just depleted. He knows full well she's just as stressed as he is because, hearing himself, the conversation did not make any sense. But was it really that bad...? Where the tailor even needed visual aid FROM HIM because he sucked at explaining what he wanted? Diluc isn't one to drown himself in shame anymore, so to save face for himself, he actually got to work.

The tailor had been observing the young man behind the rims of her eyeglasses and goodness- she can tell this man is holding back. At some point, as she stuck different pins on a gown of her own design, she contemplated whether she'd rather ask him what he would like to see on a woman in bed or why he wants to see that on a woman in bed. In the end, she waves the thoughts way. None of her business.

Diluc started drawing, straps and laces here and there... rose patterns? Not bad. Is the crotch area too thin? He asks himself then resorts to erasing the entire sketch of the bottom garment away. Is the fabric transparent? Diluc's eyebrows point down. But... that's a little too... he felt his hands reach to cuddle his length, goodness how is he supposed to-

Diluc really wanted something, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable so he kept holding himself back and doubting each design. Even when Diluc's head spiraled with ideas, he didn't know which one of these ideas intrigue you the most.

At this point, Diluc doesn't really know where to begin with anymore, his tried everything and it's almost been an hour. He didn't want to delay the lingerie any longer so he just followed his heart in the process. Ok... ribbons. Ribbons? Is that too weird on a lingerie? Surely not. Red lace ribbons? There? Yes, his mind liked those. Attached on what color though? Maybe something baby pink or peach. He needed them in two pieces of course.

Finally, he folded the paper unequally to four, stuffed it in his pocket, and then reached for the tailor to whom he finally said the design to. He didn't hold himself back this time and openly told her of how he wanted the lingerie to look. He wasn't planning to show it, but ended up showing it anyway.

"Good thing you got it done..." The tailor told him, letting out a sigh of relief as she placed measurements on a mannequin. "You sure have grown Master Diluc."

Diluc froze at that phrase. She's not lying nor is she wrong. All Diluc really wanted to feel was the lust in the look of you... breedable and inexperienced before him but of course he can't say that so he realized that after all these thoughts, he cannot talk back. He can't. Like, really. It made him feel so awkward that he had to think of an excuse to get out of the establishment. "I'll wait by the car." He excuses, "Just call me when it's ready. Make sure it's done before midnight." And they assure him that it is to be done quickly for the fabrics have already been chosen for the lingerie.

The tailor throws him one last curious stare behind her eyeglasses and then brings her hand to sew and get back to work while musing the unexpected request. (Last Christmas, Diluc asked the tailor to make a dress for you so she already knows your size)

When Diluc got into his car, he brought both his gloved hands to his face. What. A. Night. He didn't know it was THAT hard to think of a lingerie for you. All those thinking of how you would look on those or how it might terrify you really took a toll on him. He can't disappoint you. He mustn't.

Five minutes of breathing exercises and he would soon realize how less embarassing it actually is. Now that he thinks about it, you probably asked him to buy you a lingerie to see what he wants... if that's the case... then he didn't regret his final design. So long as the lingerie compliments your body and keeps you confident in bed he can just-

Diluc felt himself slightly aroused on his seat. He needed to get home. He opened his phone screen and it greets him with the current time: 11:17pm. Suddenly, there was a knock on his car window. Fortunately, it was the tailor's assistant, telling him to go see the finished product inside. He follows the man towards the establishment and when he does see it, he calmly accepts it.

Diluc got home at around 11:40pm and you were already laying asleep on the bed. Laughingly though, your fingers are way too close to your undergarments and Diluc can't help but muster a chuckle upon seeing you so innocently sleeping after maybe, pleasuring yourself. When he wakes you up, you realize you had accidentally fallen asleep after-

You tried to explain to him, throwing lies upon another lie, until Diluc shows you the custom-made lingerie he prepared for you. Your face burned red as he threw them on your hands. "Wear it." He tells you, "See for yourself." His voice is slightly gruff and yet it is calm and soft. You put it on inside the bathroom and... it had you speechless. The theme is cute but so... revealing. Is Diluc really... into this? The good boy, easily flustered, reserved Diluc you know? Shyly and awkwardly, you walk out of the bathroom.

"Everything is see through..." You mumble and Diluc trails his lips just on your neck to whisper, "You asked for my preferences, didn't you?" His voice was rough with warm heavy breaths tickling your skin. His hands reach to touch the back of your waist and pull you closer.

That night, Diluc was rough but aftercare was still done on both of you. (am legit blushing like a slut here lmfaooo)

Kazuha ver. here

[kunikukitty]

✐ Always An Artist, Never The Muse

Scaramouche/Wanderer x Fem!reader

xi. covet

The last time you held a pencil was a couple of months ago, and it was used for shading your answers in exam.

You prepared yourself mentally before going here, yet you really cannot run away for too long.

You thought that messaging Mona would atleast ease your nerves, but it's no use, you're still overwhelmed. Being inside an art studio where you're surrounded by different types and brands of mediums is surely taking a toll on your mind.

You're tempted to pick up something, whatever it is, anything could be used to create strokes and form a shape.

But you can't. The materials not being yours is one thing, but the fact that it might cause you to actually give up on art. Because yes, you still have hope, you are still wishing for that talent to magically come back to you, just not yet.

You remember the times of your frustration. A blank paper awaits in front of you to be filled with yet another masterpiece. With a flick of your wrist, you guided your pencil to leave an ink behind. You did it a few more times, but it's not turning out good.

Erase, draw, erase and draw.

The lines ain't making sense, the paper is almost ripped due to the continuous erasing. You're beginning to lose your patience, the image in your head is turning blurry. The more you try to correct the mistake, the worse they get. It is the only thing you're capable of doing, so you have to finish it. You cannot fail.

Silly you thought it was just an artblock, and you told yourself that you cannot have that now. You have to fight it. You have to create something. You did not allow yourself to rest until you manage to draw something pretty.

You tried, tried and tried again and again. Until your hand stopped moving and your creativity dried up.

You remember how your wrists, fingers, and inside your head feels like there's something so itchy internally that you cannot soothe.

"What are you doing?"

You were surprised that you almost let out a gasp. You looked over to the door to see Scaramouche looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "I suggest not to steal anything, I have all of my materials memorized."

The gasp now left your mouth. "Are you accusing me of thievery?!"

He simply shrugged, and when he put down something that's when you noticed he's holding a tray, with food in it.

"Wow, I didn't expect you're the type to give food to your guests."

"Yeah, right? Shocking. Especially to you? I'm too kind." He rolled his eyes at you. "Quick. Eat now so we can start."

"Oh wait, you mean... you'll paint me eating?"

"You just confirmed my assumption of you. You're pretty stupid." He remained indifferent while you glare at him. "I told you I'm too kind, didn't I? I'm letting you eat before making you stay still."

'Oh yes, of course of course...' you muttered irritably under your breath as you walked towards the table where he placed the tray. He managed to hear them, even heard his name being cursed—a predictable response from you, really.

Nonetheless, you're thankful. Although you aren't on good terms(but not really much on bad terms either) with each other, he still prepared something for you. He can choose not to, but he did. Not to mention, you are indeed hungry right now.

You look at the plate and it's a... jelly? Transparent too, but you can't make out what's inside. The most dominant color is light brown, and theres some orange, yellow, white— maybe it's a gelatin cake? You've only seen those in videos, where they decorate floral designs and whatnots inside the gelatin. This jelly is not as pretty, though.

You took the spoon he prepared and sliced a small piece, and the texture inside interests you. The spoon glides easily unto it yet at the middle part it gets a little hard— and inside the brown part is white. You took a closer look by bringing the spoon close to your face, the closeness made the scent of it go through your nostrils.

By the look of it, it seems like a— wait... is that...

"Is this meat??? Inside a jelly?!" You were appalled. Is this a joke? Is this a prank? Your eyes are wide open as you looked at him, stunned.

"What?" He clicked his tongue as he shook his head. "That's a traditional snezhnayan dish, kholodets. How rude of you to react that way."

Wait, what? "Oh." You calm yourself. Right, you're in a different country, their cuisine is different from your homeland. Now you feel bad from reacting like that, it's no different from his earlier statements about blind people, you think.

Not wanting to stoop down his level, you fixed your composure and sat straight. "Right, sorry." you say with seemingly matured tone, putting the spoon down.

"I even chose carefully what to serve you, especially after I heard from Caps that you're a picky eater." He said, shaking his head and clicking his tongue again repeatedly. He looked so disappointed, too.

You may dislike him, that's true, but you're a person with morals. You don't like upsetting people unless you're purposely doing so.

So took the spoon again in your hand, the little piece still in the scoop, then you brought it into your mouth.

Your eyebrows contort in disgust as you taste the unfamiliar food. Boiled meat with meaty jelly, complex seasoning and unusual flavor— you don't understand. The jelly... is it supposed to be the broth? It doesn't go well, in your opinion. Disturbing, for you.

Amidst your evaluation of the taste, your ears caught on a quiet chuckle.

You turn your head, only to see Scaramouche looking down at you as if belittling you.

"So it's true," he starts, "for foreigners, kholodets is unappetizing at first glance. I really thought you wouldn't give it a taste, but you did. How surprising."

The face you make is that of someone who just got betrayed. He doesn't even look like a snezhnayan himself! You forced to swallow the bits in your mouth, "You..!"

The remaining chance for your relation with him to be amended is completely gone now. How dare he? You regret playing nice with him. Men are truly atrocious beings. How can Capitano even tolerate this guy?

You're utterly shock. And how did the fucker react now? Giggling, like an ass. He looks too amused, in fact.

While he's in a laughing state, you took the time to drink water.

"Glad to give you fun. Didn't know you're so childish."

He shrugged, unaffected. "You won't eat anymore?"

His sarcastic smile is annoying you. You really shouldn't had agreed to this. "It was so delicious Im already full at first bite. Thank you very much."

You watch him take a round brush and sit sit on the stool with the canvas im front of him. He looked at you, "Come on." he said, pointing at the other stool.

You rolled your eyes before obeying. "Pose?"

"Arms up."

"Fuck you."

He chuckled again and you're beginning to dislike the sound of it. "Try Mona Lisa's."

You crossed your legs elegantly and straighten your back. You faced left a little, mimicked her hands in your memories, and... should you smile too?

"Is Da Vinci your fave artist?"

...Fuck.

You want to slap your mouth at this very moment. That was out of instinct, you guess. You like asking artists you meet their favorite historical artist— well, before.

No, it's alright. Knowing Da Vinci is a basic knowledge, even non-artists knows that. You shouldn't think too much.

"What if I say it's Picasso?"

You don't know how to react to his answer. Would it be obvious that you're an (ex) artist if you react as if you know?

You remember how confused Itto was when he learned that not many artists like Picasso. He's dumb though... but still!

Should you act confused too? Should you act knowledgeable?

You glanced at his artworks on the wall with your peripheral vision, who could he be inspired of? However, when you looked at him again, he's paying attention to his canvas.

Maybe he doesn't care. Good, good. Stay that way.

Wait... His hand is moving. He started now, yet he hasn't told you to smile yet, should your expression remain fierce?

Okay, now you're nervous again. Does your face look asymmetrical? Can he see the texture of your face at this distance? The corner of your eyes do not have gound, right? You want to lick your lips but you're not sure if you should move. It's not chapped, right? You only applied light make up, it's not too much, right?

"Relax." You heard him say. It felt like you were allowed to breathe again.

Right, right. Relax. This is another one of your reasons why tou dislike being a muse, you feel awkward! What are you so nervous of, anyway? This man, asshole one at that?

He doesn't deserve your kindness anyway. You may make funny faces to tick him off, you couldn't care less.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. You don't know how much time passed but you guess the painting is going smoothly. It doesn't seem like he's struggling nor does he look stressed.

But what matter is... how long is this going to take?!

You, personally, it takes so much time to finish a painting. Hell— you don't think you were able to finish a piece in just one day.

"Can't you just take a picture of me?"

Not being able to move too much is annoying for most people, you're not an exception. You're an impatient person, too. And you're still on a stool, too!

One word, tiring.

"That defeats the purpose."

Your eyes narrowed and your lips curled inwards. "Everything has evolved, we're in modern world."

"Besyashchaya devushka." You didn't understand what he muttered under his breath. "Shut up and stay still, fix your expression."

There's no point in convincing him, you realize.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Being in this room is surely annoying. The emotions you've been trying to reject ever since you step foot in here is resurfacing much stronger now. Especially now that you have nothing to distract yourself and there's an artist painting in front of you.

You miss it— holding a brush, the feeling of relaxation when the process is going well, the challenge of drawing the reference...

You miss all of it. You want to paint again.

"Fix your expression."

You were taken aback of his words. He noticed the slightest change, he must be really paying attention. Artists are truly amazing, aren't they?

Scaramouche. That's his name, right?

He's rich, he can buy as many materials a he like. Based on this studio; he can sculpt, paint, draw with charcoals, color with different types of mediums.

This could've been your life too if you didn't stop drawing, you think. But no. He's much more capable and skillful.

Come to think of it, you never even hang your works on the walls of your house. You don't even have many finished artworks, and the finished ones aren't that beautiful.

You heard him click his tongue. "I told you to fix your expression, don't I? If you're eager for this to be done as soon as possible, then do as I say."

"When did you began to draw?"

"None of your business." He glared at you, "Look, if you have time to kill, waste is somewhere else. Don't start a chitchat with me, I don't have all day."

Wow. Now he's the one annoyed, when he was the one who wasted time earlier by making you eat something he know you wouldn't like? He's funny.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. After a while, it was done. You checked the time and it has only been two hours and a couple of minutes that passed ever since he started.

That was fast.

"Can I see it?" When he nodded, you immediately approached the painting.

Honestly, you were expecting it to be a little messy in style with some defined parts since it was just done in two hours. But the painting is a perfect copy of you, as if he took a picture of you. The only blurred part is the background, and your entire image is refined. He caught everything in perfect precision.

Is this even humanly possible? Two hours is too short for this.

You take back what you thought earlier. This could've been your life too? You wanted to laugh at yourself. Compared to him, your level is way too low— even if it's the you from before.

prev | masterlist | next

taglist. @veekoko @aeongiies @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @magica-ren @feiherp @beriiov @hiraethhv @kleej @eutopiastar @keiiqq @bananasquash @kuniisvt @tamikahoshiko @scaraenthusiast1 @sketcheeee @xxrougefangxx @luciledreamz @icomeheretolaughnottofeel @sereniteav @lily-lmao @h3xi2g0n3 (i cant tag those in bold)

note. i searched the worst rated russian food and interviewed some russians for this okay, don't come at me (for this ill share something in my country that foreigns would find disgusting— a cup of coffee poured in rice!)

[rainbowsky]

Hi RBS

Why gg is related to little prince in that little prince and rose story??

Hi Anon,

Fake, fan fiction, CPN.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupéry is a classic, exceptionally popular, beautifully told and illustrated story. Those who haven't read it can find it here.

Standard disclaimer: This is my own personal opinion based on my own interpretation of tidbits I've learned over the years. Everyone is free to come up with their own.

If you ask a solo they'll give you a completely different story than a turtle would about how The Little Prince is connected to GG, but I think GG's (and DD's) connection to that story runs far deeper than anything any fan - solo or turtle - can claim.

The Solo Interpretation

The solo interpretation revolves around the prince's red cape and the many references to the red cape that GG has made in his art and on social media over the years, which many believe were in response to fan activity.

The first reference came during a live broadcast of XFIRE, where GG created a pencil drawing of a boy wearing a cape and holding a ball. Later he posted a colored version of the image on his social media, where it was revealed that the boy was wearing a red cape and holding a glowing moon.

His fans named themselves Xiao Fei Xia (Chinese for 'Peter Pan') after seeing the image. The name sounds like Chinese for 'small fat shrimp', which is why XFX are often called shrimps (or tempuras, in malicious references).

When his fans won him a solo song, he posted a photo of a boy wearing a crown and a red cape. He later changed his Weibo badge to The Little Prince in a red cape. In Nov 2019 he posted an image of himself on Oasis with a red cape and crown drawn on.

"But why do they think The Little Prince is about them, when they call themselves Peter Pans?" you might ask.

That is a somewhat ambiguous connection, but as far as I can tell it's because of the idea that he's their Little Prince and they are his Peter Pans. The song Satisfaction - which was meaningful to GG and his fans - was connected to the image he shared of the boy wearing the cape and crown. There is also the red cape connection. They wear a red cape, and 'their Little Prince' wears one too. Red is GG's color, and the color XFX identify their fandom with.

A Deeper Connection

In any case, like I said - I think GG's connection to the Little Prince goes deeper than fandom, and the simplest answer to why it has become so connected with him is that he loves the story. It means a lot to him, and on some level he really identifies with the character.

And it's not difficult to see why both GG and DD identify with this story. I actually wrote a whole thing about that a while ago on my blog but of course, I can't find it now. So frustrating.

The Little Prince presents a lot of themes about personal development, love, acceptance, self-acceptance, friendship and found family that resonate with queer readers, with artistic/creative people, and with anyone who has had to live with loneliness or isolation (such as incredibly famous people who are forced to live somewhat separate from the rest of the world). There are themes about grief and loss, and about different points of view.

To me, the story is about how wisdom comes through wonder. More than anything, The Little Prince is about maintaining one's sense of childlike wonder and sensitivity in the face of all the pains and trials of life, and in spite of all attempts to kill our spirit. No matter what we have lost and long for, we can find beauty in the love we have and the connections we make.

It is that spirit of wonder that makes everything special, and makes us special too. It's what makes us able to look beneath the surface and see what's really important.

This is something GG quite obviously values very deeply. He has referred to DD as a sweet, pure-hearted boy in the past, and has spoken appreciatively about the fact that DD has managed to keep a sense of childishness and guilelessness despite being in this industry for so long, and from such an early age.

And GG himself displays those qualities in abundance. He has a very light-hearted, sweet, wonderstruck, sensitive, curious, cute side that is a huge part of the magnetism of his personality. We see this come out a lot in his downtime, such as when he was at Universal Studios, or when he was wandering the streets of Europe. One of the things that is most compelling about him is his willingness to show that side of himself, even as a grown man.

This is - as I've said many times - part of GG and DD's incredible chemistry and compatibility. They share their own little world, and this world of fun, laughter, sweetness, mischievousness and curiosity - the spirit of learning, exploring and cackling together like gremlins - this is all very much aligned with the themes of The Little Prince.

Even the moments of loneliness and separation and coming back together again, the stars in the sky and the ringing of bells - all of this is connected to the story of The Little Prince.

And if you believe the CPN about GG's birthday letter to DD (which I definitely do), this is a message GG gives DD: grow up slowly. That idea has appeared in fake rumors and other references in the fandom. And it's very aligned with the themes of The Little Prince.

From the book: (mild spoilers for those who haven't read it). Slightly abridged.

...he looked at me steadily, and replied to my thought:

“I am thirsty, too. Let us look for a well...”

I made a gesture of weariness. It is absurd to look for a well, at random, in the immensity of the desert. But nevertheless we started walking.

“What makes the desert beautiful,” said the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well...”

I was astonished by a sudden understanding of that mysterious radiation of the sands. When I was a little boy I lived in an old house, and legend told us that a treasure was buried there. To be sure, no one had ever known how to find it; perhaps no one had ever even looked for it. But it cast an enchantment over that house. My home was hiding a secret in the depths of its heart...

“Yes,” I said to the little prince. “The house, the stars, the desert—what gives them their beauty is something that is invisible!”

As the little prince dropped off to sleep, I took him in my arms and set out walking once more. I felt deeply moved, and stirred. It seemed to me that I was carrying a very fragile treasure. It seemed to me, even, that there was nothing more fragile on all Earth. In the moonlight I looked at his pale forehead, his closed eyes, his locks of hair that trembled in the wind, and I said to myself:

“What I see here is nothing but a shell. What is most important is invisible...”

As his lips opened slightly with the suspicion of a half-smile, I said to myself, again: “What moves me so deeply, about this little prince who is sleeping here, is his loyalty to a flower—the image of a rose that shines through his whole being like the flame of a lamp, even when he is asleep...” And I felt him to be more fragile still. I felt the need of protecting him, as if he himself were a flame that might be extinguished by a little puff of wind...

And, as I walked on so, I found the well, at daybreak.

Bottom line: Be who you are, stay true to yourself, don't let the world destroy all the soft, sweet, fun, creative, childlike, insightful, open-hearted parts of you.

You are special because of what you love.

GGDD and The Little Prince

Both GG and DD have been repeatedly associated with The Little Prince, and both have been referred to as "little prince" by fans. The Little Prince and his rose have been beloved by turtles as a frequently occurring candy/CPN in the fandom for years.

This started for DD back in his Uniq days. There's an example of this in an early Uniq interview. At the start each group member is being introduced, and their group role is listed onscreen along with the names fans use to refer to them, DD's nicknames are listed as "White Peony, Little Prince." (They're all such babies here!! 🥺)

And he really is a Little Prince, both in terms of his youthful, pure-hearted wonder and in terms of his appearance. There are countless examples of Prince Bobo.

Both GG and DD have been associated directly with the story of The Little Prince, in that both have performed readings of the story - GG in 2018, DD in 2018 and 2019.

(Sorry, no Eng subs for that last one).

The brand Roseonly created many Little Prince themed items back when GG was endorsing them.

The recent photoshoot DD did for T Magazine was themed around The Little Prince, and people saw similar references in the photoshoot GG did for Marie Claire.

The Little Prince - CPN

There are too many CPN references to The Little Prince - or to elements from the story - to list them all here, but here are a few:

The Name

One of the things BXG get excited about is that in Chinese, The Little Prince is actually called 小王子 (Xiao Wang Zi - literally 'little king child'). While the character 小 (Xiao, meaning 'little') isn't the same as the Xiao character used in GG's name (his name uses 肖, which is a Chinese surname), they are pronounced the same*.

*Incidentally, 小 is the same character that connects XFX to the Peter Pan name, '小飞侠' or 'Xiao Fei Xia'.

I think it's also likely that it's a big part of why GG and DD feel a connection to The Little Prince - because in Chinese, it references/connects their names.

They both love word play and have connected their names in the past - in the BTS when they were filming the library scene and GG wrote WangXiao with the calligraphy brush, on DDU when they were asked to come up with a team name and DD suggested BJYX and GG suggested Yizhan instead. It's very much in keeping with their personalities to enjoy that connection.

The Huang Ziteng post

Back in 2020 Huang Ziteng made a social media post that referenced The Little Prince. It consisted of a photo of a Little Prince figurine and thank you card with a rose pin. The text of the post read, "The child told me he received a gift, so happy. "The most important things cannot be seen, but must be felt with the heart." It was posted on September 13 at 18:23 (Yizhan - Yibo Loves Zhan).

The Birthday Cake

When DD rode his motorcycle out to spend GG's birthday together back in 2018, the birthday cake was Little Prince themed.

There was also a restaurant scene from Gank Your Heart where a Little Prince cake topper randomly appeared on the table. Does anyone else remember that? I can't find the actual scene, but it was very 👀.

EDIT: here it is!

On the plate in the foreground.

A Dream Like A Dream

When A Dream Like A Dream premiered in Wuhan, the theatre plaza was overrun with flowers for GG, and he had to make a statement asking fans not to bring flowers. Fans got together and gave flowers away all over the city. GG posted a photo of a single rose, which turtles believed was sent to him by DD.

The caption: "With love, the sun warms the spring." The kadian "Love Zhan, My Bo."

Day Day Up

DDU was a source for a few Little Prince-related CPN. There was a Little Prince figurine on the DDU set, next to a skateboard,

and of course everything surrounding The Brightest Star in the Sky.

DD has frequently been referred to as the 'lonely star', and there is a great deal of CPN about GGDD and stars.

There's also a fake rumor that after DD's motorcycle accident back in 2020, GG was overheard recording a voice message for DD and saying, "you always shine brightly."

There are too many star references to mention. Also too many moon references to mention. There is a LOT of CPN that connects to The Little Prince. It comes up quite often in the fandom. I'm not going to try to gather them all here. Suffice it to say that it's very well solidified as something turtles feel a deep connection with.

Either/or is such a bitch

One of the things I find really frustrating about fan culture is that it is so warlike. Never is this more apparent than when talking about things like this. Solos believe The Little Prince references are for them. Turtles believe GG and DD are referencing each other.

Just a reminder to everyone - it's quite possible for BOTH to be true.

It's quite possible for GG and DD to find all of these things significant at the same time. It's quite possible for us to allow all those significances to coexist without making them into a battle.

More than anything, the references are for and about GG and DD. We can share our excitement for them because we're all their fans. We all love them. It doesn't have to be a fight.

[thebluespacecow]

I don't know shit about fuck but i Do know art things. So here are my Arcane hcs if and how they draw.

°'☆*~

It's obvious but Jinx is using cheap crayons that smear her hands, the kinds where when you press just a little hard they will 100% break. She's so Poscas in my brain. It makes sense for her to use paintmarkers, lots of them can go over anything. Big and bright and Fun. Though there's something so distinct in my brain of her going over the lines again and again, be it to fill out any spottienes, or because she just Needs to, something about the repetative motion just doesn't click quite the same with anything that isn't crayons. And of course there's spray pain too, i'm not forgeting the bbg. These are the big statements. No longer just doodles or a complusery need to fill out the blank space.

Vi never got to it. She was, of course, a little kid once, with a bright imagenation she'd share with Powpow to play, and scare, and giggle till they're colapsing into eatchother. So she did draw, she did. But it wasn't comfort, she sought that in other things. So, truly, i can see her only doing crude little doodles when Jinx actualy draws on paper, in the few spare corners that are there. And it's....nice, in a way. It'll be a little monster or a shitty (intentionaly bad, i mean) rendition of whoever's around she can giggle with Jinx about.

Mel is doing oil(paints and pastels!!!! pastels are more for fine fine aditions and long travels). Case closed. Go home folks. She's been doing this since young. Found a type of...solice and fascination in the old masters renditions. I can see Noxus having art as a means of glorifying the endless battle, dying in one. You know how it is. But Mel got good outside of that too. I think her the type to never truly proach portaits, she knows people well enough. It's the nature of Places, how they change, how they Feel, the wind and the sky, how waters curl and fold. It never got to be serious for her? She's dedicated a lot of time to it. Of course. She's been tought by the best. But it's a quiet passion, one she indulges in for herself.

We knowwwww Jayce sketches Viktor in his notebook. No shit that man has careful, steady hands when he needs them. He's an enginear. So i don't think the type of drawing he does is often in the artistic, but he has a control over his movements just as anyone who's worked that part of their brain long enough. So it's easy. And, yeah, Okay, maybe not easy, but when he's more so outside of himself than brainstorming, he'll drift...little curl of hair there....that soft look Viktor gets when he smiles here...and how his hands hold his cane in small, controled lines. He's not messy, he's just A Lot, and his notes reflect how he thinks things over. If Viktor gets i there then what of it?

You throw Anything at Ekko and he's done it. Acrylics? Water color? Guash? Chalk? Pastels(both kinds)? Color pencils? The boring kind(grafite)? Charcoal? Ink? Markers? The child kind? Alchochol markers(adult)? Printing? Yeahhhhhh, he's figured it out. And if he hasn't then he could. We've seen the murals, the wip paingings in AU!Powders hideout. He has a range of skill, eve if we've seen Paint mostly, it's a similar thing with Jayce in my mind. He'd simply find a way in a new medium because he already has an in depth experiance. Of course, it's still Zaun we're talking about, you get what you can, and that only makes me believe more that Ekko will Figure It Out with what he has. His materials aren't reflective of his skill. The kind that he's been building on since being little. It can't take up as much of his time as he'd like, he has a community to care for, but art is still a presance in his life, one which he clearly has a care for.

~'☆*°.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

cain, pomni and gangle with a reader that loves to draw...please....

I saw this ask and immediately thought of deviantart. Is that site still popular? Haven't checked since middle school.

Caine, Pomni and Gangle x artist Reader

Caine

★ Drawing is a great hobby that helps your mind release stress and anxiety, so obviously he encourages it! Providing you with all the tools you need and colors to paint. Anything to keep your mind from going insane :)

★ He probably has all the paintings you've made put away somewhere safe. Somewhere away from the usual cayos of the circus where he can make sure they don't get ruined.

★ After telling him some things you remember about modern art he has a lot of questions. You mean to tell him that a canvas with some blue paint on it sold for 3,100$? That doesn't sound right.

(I'm not kidding about that painting)

★ He encourages you to draw on the walls. There's plenty of space so have at it! The walls look so much better with some art on them, don't you think?

Pomni

★ Pomni isn'tas much of an artist as you but she understands the time and effort it takes to learn the skills you have. She can draw one hell of a 3D cube though!

★ If you know how to paint scenic art or even realism Pomni asks you to draw her some things. She misses the real world and seeing the grass and plants, even if just a drawing, helps her cope.

★ Even after seeing herself in the mirror a few times, she is still not used to her new body. If you draw her and show Pomni the finished product she has another existential crisis. I don't think she likes to look at herself that much.

Gangle

★ She draws too! Art dates? Art dates! The two of you give each other prompts and show the other the finished product. It's a nice creative exercise and a fun way to pass the time.

★ I like to think that she holds a pen or pencil by wrapping her hand (ribbon?) around around it because she can't hold it normally. Not the best way to draw but you gotta work with what you have.

★ If you want to draw her be sure to draw both of her masks. She has a hard time with the whole "split emotions" thing that comes with her body. If you only draw her comedy mask it might end with some conflicted feelings.

★ She keeps your old sketchbooks in her room, if anyone *cough Jax cough* hides them or destroys them she gets really depressed. You worked so hard on those and now they're gone! Tears will be shed :(

★ Her art style is a mix of 2000's anime and deviantart animals.

[skylarsblue]

»zenless zone zero«

Details of Belle's room, because I like her a lot and she deserves more attention.

[Desc: Belle's wooden desk. Featuring an industrial style lamp, a metal lock box under a standard black file box. There's a pair of white headphones with green detailing, and a clear plus(+) and minus(-) symbol for volume. A pencil holder that looks a bit like film, though it has numbers & letters. It holds a pair of scissors, a graphite pencil, an exacto blade/box cutter, a marker, and a mechanical pencils/pen. There's a scrap/sketch book in the center, brown and seemingly leather. There's a latch and band to keep it closed and it's covered in stamps, most notably one with a four leaf clover. On the wall are two post it notes, both with little doodles. This hints that she's creative. Either collecting stamps and stickers, which would align with the stickers all over her room and her pension for memory keeping (see the memory board the player can edit), and that she at least does small doodles, if not draw as a hobby.]

[Desc: Beside her orange box tv; which is inspired by vintage 70s/80s tube televisions with knobs/dials; is a game console on top of a VHS player. It's seemingly inspired by the Super Nintendo Entertainment System, based on it's shape. There are three game cartridges, one in the machine. The one in the console is half visible, but what we can see has a blue smiley face. The second cartridge with a visible sticker seems to be either a horror or "biohazard" type shooter game. Though that's my interpretation.]

[Desc: Beside her desk is a wall with pipes. On the lower pipe there are more post it notes with more small doodles, stuck to the pipe with small magnets. One features a small yellow star and three big question marks. Two features a figure running with their hands over their head, carrying a heart. Three has some illegible writing and an emoticon face. On the pipe above this one are VHS tape boxes. Most are in kanji I cannot read, but the ones I can are- (1) The Silence of the Butterflies (2) I'M NOT A BANGBOO (3) The Sixteenth Split. I like to imagine the first movie is maybe a reference to Silence of the Lambs, based on the title alone. Which, if it is, might mean Belle likes horror/psychological horror movies.]

[Desc: On the table beside her mini fridge is a hybrid music player. It plays records via a slit in the front, almost like a CD player. And there's a space for walkman tapes above that. The volume knob is notably loud, there are tiny numbers and Belle's set it to the second-to-last setting. There's a box of records beside it with two semi visible packages. The first one is in kanji I, again, cannot read. But my guess, based on the art, is some kind of alt style music. The one behind it has a barely visible animal mascot with vibrant blues & greens, and the sharp art style makes me think of electric rock or pop. Behind this is her night stand. On the nightstand is a blue "GameBoy" and a yellow mug that says 'LENMAN', which is also seen on a soda can in her room. Lemon soda, I would guess.]

[Desc: The wall beside Belle's (unmade) bed. There are five posters. One features art of a woman's face above the movie title; 'REVERSAL'. There is some silhouette art that vaguely looks like some ethereal monsters, followed by the movie tag line underneathe - "Night of the Ethereal Reversal". Might be a Night of the Living Dead reference. Which further makes me believe Belle likes horror movies. The second poster is covered by One & Three, which makes it pretty hard to know what it shows. What I can see is an unfinished title - "---- Slayer". There's eyes on some of the visible artwork and it looks vaguely like a record with scenes on it. The third poster features various Bangboos climbing away from a large, glowing, orange, Bangboo that seems to be "exploding" with energy, exposing its skeleton & heart. There's kanji I can't read, but under the kanji title is the word "THUNDER". And the words "BANGBOO POWER" are behind the artwork at the top. The fourth poster is one also seen downstairs in the Random Play store. The title is 'Coffee Mate'. Based on the style & energy of the artwork, my personal guess is that it's a romantic, slow paced anime film. The fifth & last poster is titles Ports Peak. The art is blue with a red chainsaw blade shape cutting through the middle, in the blade shape is the vague image of a man's side profile. Based on the blood splatter pattern & the chainsaw, this is likely a horror movie. The art makes me think of Evil Dead & Texas Chainsaw Massacre, personally.]

{Desc: Beside Belle's leather couch is a red electric guitar & an orange amp. On the couch is also one of her console controllers...which has no joy sticks, only a d pad, buttons, and bumpers. Also, she has stickers on her leather couch, clearly showing she gives no fucks.]

[Desc: On the floor, in a divot in the wall beside the small stairs that go up to her bed's raised platform is a skateboard & a framed poster. The skateboard features a green dinosaur/monster with it's mouth open. The bottom says FATE, likely the brand. The framed poster features two smiling tigers on the top & bottom of a logo, on a red & black striped background. Since she also has snowboard goggles in her room, I'm guessing she uses the skateboard when the weather is too warm for snow.]

[Desc: Next to Eous's charging station is a yellow dresser. On top of it is a boombox radio that has two mixtape spots. There's a small display with random colors that currently displays a pause symbol. It also has an antenna, which means it could be used as a standard FM/AM radio. Beside the boombox is a rabbit statue that Belle is using to hold a pair of black, green & blue snowboarding goggles. Small note, on Eous' coat is the words "Random Play - Staff", and his scarf has their name in small text.]

[Desc: At the end of Belle's bed is a pair of red shelves, and a pair of industrial metal & wood shelves. On the red shelves are three record sleeves. The small text on the albums is gibberish, but they're all made by 5AM Studios. The first and top one is black with white graffiti-bubble letters that say "3Z". R'n'B maybe? I've seen art like this for some R'N'B albums. Below it, the second album features some art of a Bangboo riding a cat through a ring of fire. Above the art is the word ZENLESS. The font & style give me, personally, some rock vibes. What subgenre of rock, I'm not sure. The last album is a art of a spider on a black & red ombre background, contrasting the spider, which features the same gradient in the opposite direction. The spider seems to feature the name of the band or album, but I can't tell what it says. I do know that this shit has to be a metal album. I'm like, 90% sure. On the industrial style shelves are some VHS tapes & a box. These tapes look like the type you buy for your own recordings, rather than ones with movies. Underneath that level is a technicolor piece of artwork in a frame. There's an illegible signature in the right bottom corner, meaning it's an autograph.]

[almakrowan]

Did i write it all to hype myself up a while ago because I too had my doubts and needed to see it written out to see how insane my idea of quitting actually is? ABSOLUTELY YES. And it helped!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyway, I found it again so I figured I want to post it here too for my own archiving needs.

Look, there's always going to be someone better at art than you. Someone who improves faster, for whom learning seems to come easier, who gets seemingly quicker results. You can either get upset or angry and say "it's no use to continue, I quit", or get infected with their joy and draw.

Obviously, a person who starts in their 30s by focused daily studies *is going to* improve quicker than someone drawing just for fun and without much direction since they were a kid. It does not cheapen the improvement of that person. It also doesn't mean that the other one can't improve by using the same technique either - daily focused studies tackling your weak points. It's heartbreaking to me to see so many artists find another one's progress to be hurting them... Please, keep drawing. Keep drawing for the sincere joy of drawing and see how much you are going to improve within 100 days, 6 months, 5 years. Get out of your comfort zone, replicate art you want to make (don't post it though if it's a direct copy), study artstyles you aim for, analyze the techniques, and implement them consciously in your own works. Go back to the basis if you lack them - study light and form, fill gaps you skipped with anatomy, *keep drawing*, even the 10 minutes a day, and are GOING TO MAKE a DIFFERENCE. If you give up now, you will never see your art in 10 years from now!!!

Yes, this is about the heartbreaking comments about Pewdiepie's art project!!! I'm SO happy for him though? Look at him, look at how *happy* he is just to be making lines on paper, to replicate art he likes and it keeps getting better and better... When was the last time you allowed yourself to be that happy about making lines on paper? For me sure it's been a while now, but seeing him makes me feel like... I *choose* to see it as something to make me remember that it's not impossible to find that joy again ♡

If you stop drawing now, you better look back at the *you from the past* who picked a pencil for some reason and say that to their face. "Sorry, we're done because someone is better than us." How insane!! Instead, take a break, reconnect with yourself and *come back*. And *draw*.

WE ALL START BY NOT BEING ABLE TO HOLD A PENCIL!!!!!!!!!!!!