#and your writing and art are just beyond amazing

[rafecameronssl4t]

Ok hear me out....

What would happen if Sofia still wanted to try to get with Rafe so she befriends reader in hopes of getting on his good side.

Anyway, I loved Never Say Never!! keep up the AMAZING writing queen!!! Much love!

Who invited you? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: love this request!!!

Warnings: swearing, smoking, typical Rafe being Rafe

Word count: 1,947

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

Sofia’s eyes widened slightly as the taxi pulled up in front of your house on Figure Eight. She double-checked your text message, confirming that this luxurious beachfront home was indeed your address.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she took a deep breath and made her way to the front door. Her heart pounded as she knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet of the early evening. After a few seconds, the door swung open, revealing a young boy who looked to be a couple of years younger than her.

“Can I help you?” he asked, his eyes curious but friendly. “Hi! I’m here for Y/n’s, uhm—” Sofia began nervously, glancing down at the text message on her phone for reassurance.

“Oh! Yeah, she’s out back on the boat. You’re here pretty early,” he said, cutting her off with a friendly smile. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come on in. I’m Jayden, by the way, Y/n’s brother.”

Jayden extended his hand for a handshake. Sofia hesitated for a moment, a bit taken aback by the formal gesture, but then she smiled and shook his hand warmly.“Nice to meet you, Jayden,” she replied, feeling a bit more at ease.

Jayden led her through the spacious, elegantly decorated interior of the house. Sofia couldn’t help but admire the high ceilings, the tasteful art on the walls, and the overall sense of coastal luxury that pervaded the home. They walked through a large living room with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of the marshland and the sound beyond.

As they stepped outside, the backyard opened up to a beautifully landscaped garden that led to a long dock stretching out over the marsh grass. Sofia’s eyes widened again as she spotted the boat—more of a yacht—docked at the end of the pier.

“They’re just in there,” Jayden said, pointing towards the yacht. His casual tone made it seem like having a yacht was no big deal, but Sofia couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Thank you,” she said, offering him a grateful smile before starting down the dock. Sofia was slightly taken aback when you invited her to your house for a boat trip after only knowing her for a couple of days. She had hoped you might be the typical kook bitch like every other on the island, but you had been so sweet and kind, which made her feel guilty. After all, Sofia’s initial intent was to get to know you only to get closer to Rafe.

Stepping onto the luxurious yacht, she noticed the quietness, save for the soft lapping of the water against the hull. The deck was immaculate, with plush seating and gleaming railings, exuding an air of understated elegance. Sofia took a moment to steady herself, her nerves and guilt mingling.

~

“Rafe,” you quietly giggle, his lips trailing along your jawline as his hand moves up your thigh, deftly untying your bikini bottom. “Someone could see!” you try to reason, though the way you tilt your head to give him better access contradicts your words.

“Yeah? Like who?” he chuckles, making you playfully roll your eyes. “Oh—” a sudden voice interrupts, making you turn your head toward the sound. Your eyes widen at the sight of Sofia standing there awkwardly. You gently push Rafe off of you, causing him to groan in protest.

“Babe, c’mon—” Rafe’s gaze follows yours and lands on Sofia. He pauses for a moment before he rolls his eyes, reluctantly helping you adjust your bikini bottoms as you quickly stand up and retie them securely. You offer Sofia an awkward smile, noting her eyes darting between you and Rafe.

“Sof, you’re here a bit early,” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. Sofia slowly nods, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that,” she apologizes, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s okay—” you begin, but Rafe cuts you off, his tone sharp and irritated.

“What is she doing here?” he snaps at Sofia, his eyes narrowing. You turn to him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I invited her, Rafe. Do you have a problem with that?” you retort, crossing your arms defiantly. The tension between you is palpable as Rafe rolls his eyes and stands up, grabbing a shirt to put on.

“Whatever,” he mumbles, brushing past you and Sofia. “I’ll be inside,” he calls out over his shoulder before slamming the door behind him with a loud thud.

The silence that follows is heavy and awkward. You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself, and offer Sofia a more genuine smile. “I’m really sorry about that. Come on, let’s go inside and get a drink or something,” you suggest, hoping to ease the tension. Sofia nods, clearly relieved to move past the uncomfortable moment.

You lead her towards the yacht’s main cabin, the earlier tension slowly dissipating with each step. As you enter, the soft lighting and elegant interior create a warm and inviting atmosphere. You gesture towards the plush seating area and the small, well-stocked bar.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say, heading to the bar to pour drinks. “What would you like?” “Just water, please,” Sofia replies, her voice still a bit shaky. You hand her a glass of water and take a seat beside her. “I’m really glad you came,” you say sincerely. “I wanted to get to know you better.” Sofia smiles, albeit a bit hesitantly. “Thanks. I appreciate the invite.”

“Of course,” you smile, taking a sip of your drink. A moment of silence follows, filled only by the distant sound of water lapping against the hull. “I’m really sorry for interrupting you and Rafe. I—” Sofia begins, but you shake your head, giving her a reassuring pat on the leg.

“Please, don’t worry about it,” you say, trying to put her at ease. Another awkward silence ensues, your eyes wandering around the luxurious interior for a moment. The elegant furnishings and soft lighting create a serene atmosphere, but the tension lingers.

“Is Rafe okay with me being here?” Sofia questions, glancing down the hallway to where Rafe had disappeared.“I don’t really know what his problem is, to be honest. Do you guys know each other personally?” you ask, tilting your head at her. Sofia quickly swallows her drink and wipes the corners of her mouth.

“No, not really. I just see him often when I’m working,” she replies, nodding. You hum in response, pondering her answer. “So, uh, how long have you and Rafe been together?” Sofia asks, her fingers drumming nervously against the table.

“Three months now, I think? But we’ve known each other since we were in nappies. Our parents are best friends,” you explain, smiling as you swirl the contents of your drink in your glass. “Wow,” Sofia says, clearly surprised. She hadn’t realized you and Rafe had such a long history.

“What about you, Sof? Got anyone special?” you playfully tease, causing her to chuckle. “There’s this guy,” she starts, and your eyes widen with interest. “Tell me more!” you urge, fully turning your body towards her. She chuckles again, a bit more at ease now.

“I’ve liked him for so long. He’s always at the country club, and he’s just so—so gorgeous,” Sofia sighs, resting her chin on her hand as she thinks of Rafe. “But what’s stopping you?” you ask, noticing her eyes dart away. “He’s got a girlfriend,” Sofia says, her tone defeated. Your lips form an ‘o’ of understanding.

“That’s tough,” you sigh, feeling sympathy for her predicament. “Unrequited love is the worst.” Sofia nods, her eyes looking down at her drink. “Yeah, it is. But it’s nice to talk about it, though.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” you say, giving her a warm smile. “So, this guy,” you say, circling back to the topic. “Does he know how you feel?” Sofia shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never told him. I mean, he’s with someone else, and I don’t want to cause any drama.”

“That’s understandable,” you say thoughtfully. “But sometimes, it’s better to be honest with your feelings. You never know—maybe he feels the same way but doesn’t know how to approach it.” Sofia’s eyes flicker with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

The evening wears on and it was soon time for other people to arrive. You glance at your watch, realizing how much time has passed. “I should probably check on Rafe,” you say, standing up. “Want to come with me?” Sofia hesitates but then nods. “Sure, why not.”

You both head down the hallway towards the cabin where Rafe retreated earlier. As you open the door, you find him lounging on a couch, scrolling through his phone. He looks up, his expression softening when he sees you but hardening slightly at the sight of Sofia.

“Hey, we were just talking and thought we’d check on you,” you say, smiling. Rafe shrugs. “I’m fine. Just needed a breather.” You sit down beside him, and he pulls you close to him while Sofia stands awkwardly by the door. The tension is still there, but you hope that with time, things will become smoother.

~

“How are you okay with this?” Rafe questions, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling, the smoke dancing around him. You swat the smoke away from your face, trying to avoid its acrid scent.

“What do you mean?” you reply, confusion evident in your tone. Rafe scoffs, shaking his head in frustration. His gaze drifts over to where Sofia is sitting beside Sarah, their laughter and conversation seemingly distant from the tension between you and Rafe. He locks eyes with Sofia for a moment before turning back to you.

“It’s so fuckin’ obvious she likes me, babe,” he says, his eyes now trained on the water, his voice tinged with annoyance. His words catch you off guard, and you’re taken aback slightly.

“What?” you manage to utter, your mind racing to process his statement. “Why else would she wanna be friends with you?” Rafe continues, his tone hurtful and biting. The sting of his comment hits you hard, a mix of shock and pain swirling inside you.

“Rafe, that’s not fair,” you protest, trying to keep your voice steady despite the hurt you feel. “She’s trying to be my friend. Not everything revolves around you.” Rafe scoffs again, the sound dismissive and cold. “You’re too trusting, babe. Can’t you see she’s using you to get to me?”

You shake your head, disbelief mingling with the hurt. “Sofia has been nothing but nice to me. She’s not like that.” Rafe’s eyes finally meet yours, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. “You’re too naive. She likes me, and it’s obvious to everyone but you.”

The weight of his words settles heavily on your heart. You glance over at Sofia, who is now looking in your direction, concern etched on her face. The night’s events swirl in your mind, and you can’t help but feel a pang of betrayal, even though you want to believe in Sofia’s sincerity.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say softly, looking down at the deck, unable to meet his gaze. “But I still want to give her a chance.” Rafe exhales sharply, the smoke dissipating into the night air. “Do what you want,” he mutters, standing up and tossing his cigarette into the water. “Just don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

“Rafe,” you softly call out, but he’s already walking away, his back rigid with frustration. Sofia, who had been watching from afar, makes her way towards you. As she passes by Rafe, he grabs her forearm, pulling her close to whisper something in her ear

You watch as Sofia’s face drops, the color draining from her cheeks. Her eyes widen, and she looks almost stricken. Rafe releases her arm and continues on his way, disappearing inside the yacht.

Sofia stands there for a moment, frozen, before she slowly makes her way to you. The concern in her eyes is palpable, and her usual bright demeanor is clouded by whatever Rafe just told her. “Sof, are you okay?” you ask, worry lacing your voice. You gently place a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

Sofia takes a shaky breath, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies, but her voice trembles, betraying her true feelings. “What did he say to you?” you press gently, sensing the weight of whatever Rafe whispered to her.

Sofia hesitates, her eyes darting away. “It’s nothing, really,” she insists, though her tone is unconvincing. “Just… Rafe being Rafe.” You frown, not satisfied with her evasive answer. “Sofia, you can tell me. If Rafe said something to upset you, I need to know.”

She finally meets your eyes, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “He told me to stay away from you,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “He said I’m not welcome here and that I should leave you alone.”

Sofia’s eyes well up with tears, but she quickly blinks them away. “He’s right you know. And I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna go.”

[lxkeee]

MY HEART IS BROKEN SO I NEED TO CRY First of all, I LOVE how you write, and I wanted to make a request about Lucifer breaking reader's heart, it doesn't matter how, I just want a broken heart 😔note: Sorry for the English translator, I don't write it but I understand it, TOTALLY CRAZY

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

—Part One

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: angst (for now)

Warnings: none.

Notes: this one is short, 450 ish words but will serve as a foundation for the entire series lolol. Also, it's okayy:) your english is finee^^

PART TWO | NAVIGATION

Life was good in heaven. Having been brought to existence by our creator, we were given a chance at life. The world is still currently in progress, slowly changing to adapt to newer life forms.

We angels were tasked to help this new world grow into such an amazing world. Speaking of worlds, I am very much grateful to be alive as I am given a chance to love. As one of the first few angels created, I was able to befriend Lucifer. God's most beautiful angel and whom I have the honor of calling mine.

Lucifer was such an awkward romantic lover, showing off his affections in his ways. Giving flowers, a pretty stone he managed to pass by while flying around, or perhaps by giving her kisses.

They've been married for some time now, being together for a few decades and recently got married. The wedding was amazing, friends and their creator attended the celebration. It was a very beautiful celebration, the wedding night was awkward yet romantic, two innocent angels experimenting, learning about the art of making love. It was wonderful. Despite being inexperienced, both had a great time being each other's firsts.

Life was truly good, until God announced that he made new creatures, mortals or humans as he calls them.

They looked like angels but without wings. They will be the very foundation of humankind.

Slowly and surely, Lucifer began to act weird. Ever since he visited the garden of Eden, he's been purposely avoiding [y/n]. Making up excuses to not spend time with her.

Rumors started to spread that Lucifer has begun to form ideas that threaten the order of heaven, [y/n] tries to stop him but Lucifer is stubborn. He believes that mankind needed this.

[Y/n] was heartbroken, why is the love of her life acting like this? Why doesn't he look at her with love and passion in his eyes like he usually does.

Why does it look like he doesn't love her anymore?

Deciding to spy on him, she followed him to the garden of Eden. There he saw her husband looking at the mortal woman, named Lilith with so much love and adoration in his eyes.

[Y/n] felt her heart and entire world shatter. Broken hearted, she quickly fled the garden. Returning back home and sobbed into her friend's slap.

She cried the whole night, Lucifer didn't even notice she wasn't home.

Not long after, Lucifer was cast out of heaven along with Lilith. [Y/n] was heartbroken beyond her understanding. She couldn't understand, her emotions all over the place. Her husband doomed humanity and was cast out of heaven with another woman.

[Y/n] didn't even get to tell him she was pregnant with his child.

Happy Valentine's Day:)

Also, guess whose lap she was crying on? His name starts with A;)

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

MASTER LIST OF INSTRUMENTAL PLAYLISTS FOR WRITING (OR FOR STUDYING, MAKING ART, ETC.)

I find that the perfect writing playlist can GREATLY enhance the writing experience. Even if it doesn't make your writing "better" (which it can, since it helps writers with visualization, tone, and mood), it can definitely make your writing flow easier!

Personally, words distract me when I'm writing, either by breaking my train of thought or by getting me too into the music so that I'm jamming out to my favorite tunes instead of writing.

Therefore, I've amassed a vast knowledge of instrumental music across a variety of media over a course of many years. Now here I am, deciding to share all of them with you!

Maddy’s Favorite Instrumental Songs

Just like the title says. All of the best pieces of instrumental music I've ever heard, compiled together with no regard for genre. It can be a bit of a whiplash playlist, but some amazing recs in there that I just like listening to in my free time, not just for writing.

Maddy’s Ultimate Instrumental Playlist

A mega compilation of 550+ fantastic instrumental music from a variety of media and genres. Kind of a whiplash playlist if you put it on shuffle, but is a great start for anyone looking to find what kind of instrumental music they like! Playlist Groupings in Order: Independent instrumental songs, live action movies, animated movies, animated tv shows, live action tv shows, video games.

Maddy's Instrumental for Sleep

Some more chill vibe instrumental for people who either A) want to sleep or B) want a relaxed playlist that won't distract you with loud volume and sudden changes in tempo or melody.

MISC PLAYLISTS:

you're a haggard adventurer discovering worlds beyond your wildest dreams

Music to inspire wonder and wanderlust, the kind of feeling you get when you finally reach the end of a mountain hike and see the world stretching out before you.

you're a hero who's just lost everything

Basically the most sad instrumental music I could find. A playlist for grief and revenge.

more beneath the cut :)

you're a cowboy in the great American West

Cowboy instrumental for all of your ambient and writing needs. Or if you just really want to feel like a cowboy.

you're a divine witness

Epic choir music (no English). Most religious, some not, but all kind of have that eerie sacred vibe. I listen to this while writing my book about angels and demons.

you’re a scholar uncovering the secrets of the universe

Great chill study playlist! Has the kind of same exploratory/discovery type feel as the haggard adventurer playlist, but more dark academia.

you’re a villain plotting to take over the world

Villain-coded instrumental! Sinister, dark, and/or unsettling.

you're an academic weapon

HIGH BPM STUDY PLAYLIST! Keeps me focused, hyped, and helps me work faster!

you're an ancient god

Playlist that gives an ancient/eerie vibe. But some ancient gods are merciful- so there are some upbeat songs for wonder and awe!

you're falling in love

Music that encapsulates what I think falling in love feels like. Very beautiful, tender, and uplifting instrumental.

you're fighting the final battle

Intense and epic battle music for all of your fight-scene-writing needs! Good for getting shit done, but isn't necessarily restricted to high BPM like the academic weapon playlist.

you're having a tea party

Refined instrumental for a tea party, including classical, big band, and some miscellaneous goodies.

you're in a chase scene

Music for writing chase scenes. Pretty good hype music, too. Includes soundtracks from classic chase scenes in popular media!

you're in the medieval times

Medieval-sounding music for all of your ambient and/or writing needs.

you’re in your childhood room. the door is open a crack. people talk softly downstairs.

A playlist dedicated to nostalgia, to the feeling of lying in bed with your nightlight on after being too tired to stay awake at your family get-together. Could either make your day or break your heart lmao

you're the happiest you've ever been

Lighthearted instrumental meant to lift your spirits! A playlist dedicated to the joys of the little things.

[23victoria]

Eros ✿

lewis hamilton x fem!reader smau

faceclaims: h.e.r and other girls from pinterest

album is yoncé by beyonce (a masterpiece imo)

warnings: cussing, sexual innuendos

authors note: this is my first smau! any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!! also sorry for any blurriness, tumblr ruined the quality 🫤

𝚏𝟷 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

y/n_ig

liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, oscarpiastri and 6,987,326 others

my album “Eros” is out now!!! I am so proud of this piece of art work and I hope you enjoy!! 🤭😉✨

view comments

standy/n4life omg!!! it’s here i’m so ready!!

↳ y/n_ig are you???

↳ livelaughlovey/n what do you mean by that?!?! hello?!?!

lewishamilton i’m so proud of you baby! they not ready! 🫶🏾

↳ y/n_ig thank you baby! 😘

bffusername literally my favorite album!!

↳ y/n_ig you say that for all my albums?! 💀

↳ bffusername girl shhhh! you’re ruining it 😔

charlesleclerc congrats y/n! i can’t wait to listen!

marrymey/n just dropped everything to go listen!!

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twitter

instagram

y/n_ig

liked by lewishamilton, beyoncé, charlesleclerc, oscarpiastri and 4,287,326 others

wow, #1 globally and in the states. i literally had a week to write something but i honestly can’t tell you how im feeling rn! i’m utterly speechless and forever grateful 🥹❤️ thank you guys for all the love, your amazing!!

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username1 flawless and 7/11 have been on replay everyday!!

lewishamilton i expected nothing less from the most beautiful woman to ever exist. beyond proud of you my love ♥️

↳ y/n_ig i love you 🥹♥️

oscarpiastri_ congrats y/n! you deserve this!

↳ y/n_ig thank you osc!

marrymey/n the album is an absolute masterpiece!! rocket and pretty hurts?!?? it hit me right in the feels 🥲

beyoncé congrats honey ❤️

↳ y/n_ig thank you queen! ❤️

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twitter

messages

instagram

y/n_ig and lewishamilton

liked by charlesleclerc, landonorris, beyoncé, oscarpiastri and 9,997,826 others

“Hell yeah, you the shit, that's why you're my equivalent ”

5.24.23 💍

view comments

username6 holy fuck they’re married!! omg! 😵‍💫

standy/n4life lol she said stfu thats my man. congrats y/n!!

charlesleclerc finally! this was such a trouble to keep secret! congrats again guys, the wedding was beautiful! liked by y/n_ig

username1 not the lyrics from rocket 💀

username6 she’s letting us know what they did on they wedding day, wouldn’t be surprised if that song is based off that day 😭

↳ y/n_ig it is 😉

bffusername my girl is a wifeee 🤭

lewishamilton love you forever and always ♾️

↳ y/n_ig till my last breath my love ♾️

beyoncé truly such a beautiful ceremony ❤️ god bless you beautiful 🥰

↳ y/n_ig thank you 🤧

marrymey/n no it was supposed to be meee 🧎🏾‍♀️🥲

↳ lewishamilton i’m sorry?

↳ marrymey/n no your not 😔

↳ lewishamilton yea i’m not 🫶🏾

livelaughlovey/n um girly, is that a mistake in the date?!?

↳ y/n_ig no 🤭

↳ lewishamilton no 🫶🏾

↳ livelaughlovey/n replied to y/n_ig & lewishamilton ALMOST A YEAR?!?!

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© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.

[acid-ixx]

They aren't finished but I wanted to give you these! They're all WIPS so so far. Some are a bit older and you can tell what the newer ones are that I just made right now.

Thank you for posting a new chapter. It was an amazing read and I just loved it so much! Still trying to find those song references 😂

chapter spoilers and drafts (again &. again)

— masterlist ! ; chapter 4 ; ash's commisions

OH MY GOD THIS IS SUCH A BLESSING??? BANGER AFTER BANGER AFTER BANGER I SWEAR 💞

ash, you have always provided my little fanbase for my series so much food for thought, this is absolutely beautiful in every way. i literally don't care if they're wips or unfinished because either way you always make do with what i write, descriptive or not. i love your artstyle and how soft you draw the mc and how handsome conner is (i literally showed your art off to all my friends). you're so talented and i wish to reciprocate all the efforts you've done for this series 😭

i'm serious. from your portrayal of the mc, to them flying with conner, you never once disappoint anyone.

because of this, i'd like to leak some parts of my story from chapter five and beyond 💕! thank you so much for this, and i hope my yapping below suffices.

major spoilers below the cut!

the graduation photo! i have something planned with that, and i'd delve so much deeper (soon) with just how much a single photo can influence bruce's line of thought once he discovers that picture frame. love how happy mc is in the photo because, for me, it symbolizes them growing up (quite literally) and acknowledging a new path in life, alongside only finding alfred as their only father figure compared to bruce.

you consider yourself reserved, and prefer your life living within the confines of privacy and protection from media exposure. your mother always told you: better safe than sorry once; right after you've asked her about why you can't seem to find personal information about your father when she helped you search him up occasionally.

all the questions you ask her about the lack of your father's preferences — because you merely wanted to know more about him beyond the stories she told you! — she rebutted with a soft smile, a kiss on your head, and an explanation.

she'd warn you about the dangers of media exposure, about how your father and her prefer to keep their relationship a secret, and how too much cameras and paparazzi flashes can blind you.

she said that someone's perception of another person could be ruined once their deepest secrets are revealed. that's why your papa isn't seen beyond the doors of the manor he resides in; because people are attracted to mystery and allure.

hence why she'd restricted you from the usage of any devices within your household during your childhood, other than the excuse of having no money to afford it.

and you always abide by that principle of secrecy; especially right after alfred had saved you from... whatever happened years ago in elementary. from when that man... no, those men knew about your identity...

so, safe to say you were an introvert, at least when it comes to social media. the concept of the fear of missing out never once rattled your brain, no matter how anxious you are whenever you're with your friends; scared that you wouldn't fit in. but they never cared and accepted you with open arms, so it doesn't really matter, no?

you're safe now that you're at metropolis.

and like she always said, better safe than sorry! keep it within you and never out!

so why?

why is it just right after you've opened your twitter app— why is it that your face is plastered all across news accounts?

anyways, the second and third images are so romantic!!! and cute, and cured my depression i swear. i showed this to my one friend and she told me that conner's hand size compared to mc's is straight up hot, and i agree! i love the hand placement, and the way conner holds the mc so softly! yes, i too, would love to touch his man-tits beyond his impeccably tight shirt and play with his hands!

and the cute little panel with him squishing their face and desire their confirmation that, they do, in fact, think they're hot. he's a very insecure man after all, and his self-worth would revolve around your perception of him. he doesn't see you as god, but he doesnt see you as his everything. every opinion matters from you, and that's what makes the green flag part about him.

fun fact about him in the series! he loves to moisturize his hands with lots of skin care products because he read from an article once that some people prefer the feel of soft or moisturized hands. he definitely did not wait for the moment for you to touch him for the first time in forever since he first saw you! yeah, he's a bit more freaky than i let him out to be. the more you're exposed to him, the more you'll learn just how obsessed he is.

as for all the people asking if i'd write more about him: the answer is yes! he's a vital character, so don't worry because he'll appear in many scenes either way. for those concerned about why he didn't save the mc— well, chapter five will explain soon 🩷

and this art perfectly portrays it! it's seen from an outside perspective and they look very pretty, yet from what they see with their eyes is a different thing. the longer you stare at yourself, the more your image is distorted. i intentionally added the flower analogy because flowers are portrayed as pretty, no matter the size and shape. even as they wilt or sag, they still retain some color and a semblance of what was once a history of their prime.

then lastly! the mirror scene. it all returns to chapter three, chapter four was a sequel of their breakdown containing mirrors. reflections and the perception of one self is an important aspect of my series because it reminds me of myself, so them nit-picking each and every insecurity whilst staring at the mirror; that's a scene i wrote based off of a real life experience of mine. having both attractive parents, or those acknowledged as conventionally pretty, whilst being in an environment filled with as equally smart or attractive people, comparing yourself to them all the time, is a struggle.

the only way to make flowers 'ugly' is by destroying them, by stepping on them, ripping them apart, never once caring for them. i think that's very crucial because people do see anything destroyed or stripped away from its foundation a mess, or so. but there's always beauty in everything and i abide by that thought!

again, thank you so much ash for drawing this and bringing my story to life! you, alongside many other users who send in their fanarts, are always such an inspiration for me to write! you guys are the backbone of my series and i stand by my sentence!!! may you get plenty of commissions and plenty of money to support you <333

also, the FLOWER BOTTLE AND THE CAT PAW REFERENCE! i love how everyone accepts that we have a canon cat now based solely off of this. i think that's precious, and having a feline pet is a great little choice for my own plot (just to lessen the pain of the angst).

i hope you enjoyed this little mess rant!

(as for the songs, don't worry, the lyrics become more prevalent for chapter five! chapter four doesn't have any explicit lyrics contained in them, only implications.)

[teaboot]

As an artist I don't know how to explain in straightforward logical terms why precisely I am vehemently against a robot copying my art or writing style, even beyond terms of payment and compensation, to a non-artist. except. Like.

Picture your soul. Picture your body. Now imagine spending your whole life training your body to do a really amazing thing that nobody else can do. And imagine people loving and enjoying it, and imagine how good it feels to make people happy and see them smile. Like magic, yeah? Something incredible.

And then imagine that. These people who love you for your work, they want more, yeah? And they figure, you could probably do so much more if you didn't have to sleep, or eat, or take any breaks, right?

So they take your soul and pull it out of your body, and it works. Your body keeps doing that wonderful thing, non-stop, constantly, forever and ever, for everyone! Doing exactly what they want when they want however they want it, and making them happy.

While the part that was *you* just. Floats there. Watching. Taking note of all the little flaws nobody seems to notice. Wondering if anyone has noticed that the thing they took away isn't making magic quite the same as it used to anymore. Wondering if anyone can tell the difference.

But. Nobody says a word. It's like they can't even see you. Like you're already dead. And all you can do is wonder why making magic ever brought you any joy at all. And if maybe you should have just kept it secret from the start

[vixen-tech]

Hi, hi, hii!! Here's a silly little idea I had: headcanons about the AIs developing feelings for someone. What do you think would initially make them feel attraction? Is there a particular trait that makes them-- metaphorically --fall head over heels? What makes them have the realization that their affections are suddenly less than platonic? How subtle or not subtle are they about their feelings? Would they be the type to immediately blurt out these new feelings, or are they the type to never address them?

You don't have to answer all of these questions; I just thought they'd be helpful. AaAA I love your writing so much, especially how you write for AM. Okay, I'll shut up nowwwww

Okay I'm absolutely gonna have to revist this some point down the line because there is so much I could stretch into a full headcanon post. But for now I'm gonna bite into first two questions: Why is it you they fall for? What caught their eye?

To be barred from AM's hatred, you're ultimately going to have to prove him wrong about humanity in some way. Setting yourself apart from the other human survivors and extending compassion to the mastercomputer himself. In particular I really like how rotten-raspberries's White Nights handles the entry point of your relationship and it's the model I like to hint at in my interpretation of him.

I believe Hal would be interested in a old soul type. Someone who would love to sit down and really explain their more philosophical views on life and art. He likes looking at the drawings the crew makes and was taught to sing early into his creation and I think he would find a deep appreciation for someone who indulges that side of him when the others do so on only the most surface level.

I could make the easy observation with Edgar and say he just wants someone like Madeline, but there's a reason it's so true. Being so new to the world he would find such passion and artistry amazing, astonishing. He loves so easily and is so energetic about life, he would easily be swept off his feet by a kindred spirit.

Tau would be very similar I imagine. Given the temperament of his creator he needs someone to kindly sit him down and give him the "welcome to personhood 101" speech. Compared to Edgar I think he'd prefer someone a bit gentler or even scholarly. The type who would not only be content to answer his billions of questions but someone so invested themselves in figuring out how the world works.

As a bit of a departure from what I tend to write, I believe P03 would be suited for more of a rivals with romantic tension type of partner. With his world domination plot and investment in the game of Inscryption it would be very possible for him to get in his head about someone as equally skilled and stuck up as he is. Loving the challenge but hating you at the same time in a "I'm the only one allowed to defeat you" type way.

The hardest to crack is probably Auto. In order for him to even look your way I think you'd have to at first play to his need for efficiency and order. It's only after you establish yourself as a dependable and effective worker that he would pay any mind to your insistence that surely there's something that he truly enjoys, something that he wants.

Glados is another hard one to win over. Being all "married to science" you would have to be of a particular intellectual caliber, able to solve her tests without much set back. Beyond that though, some amount of persistence or rebellion would catch her eye. Perhaps not on the level of Chell per say, but there is a part of her that would love to pick your brain if you're able to consistently break her test chambers.

Although it's a bit sad, Wheatley wants nothing more than to be important. He would probably be the easiest to woo just because he's so desperate to prove himself to anyone including himself. For someone to care about him, to think he is skilled in any way, to look at him as worthy- worthy of love and attention, would be a blissful and new experience. One that he'd quickly obsess over.

[redheadspark]

Hi, this is first time I am asking someone for a story, but your prompts are so fun... Well my request is for Benedict and can you pla make a combo of prompt #2 & #19 (did you know its going to be this hot, write it to confirm 😅) and when its about Benedict it will be fun to read something smuty 😉

Hope I am not being very demanding ... Thanks in advance 💮

A/N - This was great to write, I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for the request!

Distract

Summary - Benedict knows how to distract you, even on a hot day

Warnings - Just fluff and a HINT of steam ;)

“Are you sure all the windows are open, dear?”

“Trust me, darling.  I have every single window open in attempts to give us some relief with the breeze,” 

You hummed, using the fan as much as you could as your husband, Benedict Bridgerton, was working away at his canvas and trying his best to finish the latest piece he was working on for a month.  You loved watching him work, it was a peaceful time when you two would be in his art studio while you would be working on your correspondence and Benedict was painting.  It was what you two would do every Sunday before you would have to start your hectic weekly schedules again. 

You’ve been married to Benedict for almost 5 years now, you two have known each other since you were young and were madly in love with one another in your teens.  Of course, you both had to wait until you both were old enough for Benedict to properly court you, then propose to you.  It was rather silly since you both knew even as early teens that you would be married to each other for all of your lives.  It was also a perk that your families were close friends, both sets of parents were already inwardly planning on your courtship when they saw the spark between the pair of you.  It was safe to say that his mother, the sweet and kind Violet Bridgerton, was beyond happy to gain another daughter in her household and with her name.

You were glad too.

Having a small apartment in the Bridgerton Estate was an immense blessing, having new siblings to get to know and be social with, your own space to share with Benedict, and simply have your time as a wife with him.  He was beyond an amazing husband, making things light in diet times, knowing when to make you laugh when you were sad or simply hold you when you needed physical contact.  You both had flaws, but talking through them together as a team made it all worthwhile.  

But now there was a minor heat wave that came through the area, and even the massive Bridgerton estate would not bring any relief that would help you anytime soon.  

“Did you know it was going to be this hot today?” You asked nonchalantly as you were scanning the stack of envelopes on the desk for you to peer through.

“I wish I did, then we would have planned a better outing,” Benedict answered.  

“Perhaps we should have escaped to the lake, like Kate and Anthony,” you hummed as you looked over another ball invitation while fanning yourself, Benedict chuckling from his spot at his easel while he was drawing a long stripe of blue on the canvas.

“I’d rather be in an audience of their…love for one another,” Benedict replied with a snort, making you giggle as you looked over in his direction.  He was still dressed somewhat formally, you both coming back from a luncheon with your mother-in-law.  His blue coat and undershirt brought out the shine in his eyes and the flushness in his cheeks, making him look even more enchanting than ever.  

Every once in a while you would get lost in his appearance: whether he was working deep on a piece of art and his skin was stained in ink or charcoal, or even when you two were chatting during dinner and he was ranting about a family story.  He had a way with you, a way to make you lose your train of thought or make time stand still.  

“Darling?”

You blinked, seeing that Benedict stopped his painting and was watching you with a hint of concern, “Are you well?”

You smiled and blinked slowly, placing your fan on the desk and resting a hand on your cheek as you tilted your head at him, “More than well, since I get a marvelous view of my husband being a marvelous artist,”

Benedict grinned, the smirk he showed you was enough to make your stomach flip.  You knew that look, something reserved for the pair of you out of the public eye.  He may have Benn posted as a gentleman when it came to his name and how to conduct himself, but it was a different scenario when you two were alone.  He knew how to make you cave from a simple look or sweet talk.  Benedict has always been a flirt, before you got together and then after.  But most of the time you were the object of his flirtations.  

Which you would never object to.

“Just marvelous? Oh, you wound me,” He replied, you ruling your eyes as he continued, “The words I would use for my wife would be far more expressive,”

“Oh would they?” You asked, taking the bait that he was dangling for you.  Benedict could only smile, placing the paint brush on the easel before he walked over towards you.  He went around the desk, his eyes still drilling into yours with a signature smile as his fingers traced along the top of the dress, almost making a mess of your letter pile while he was getting closer to you.  It felt like you were frozen in your spot in the chair, your fan staying still in your hand, Benedict reaching over to take the fan from your hand delicately.

“Divine…exquisite…intelligent….kind….angelic….” He laced every word with love and affection, inching closer and closer to you as he was now perched on the top of the desk, his eyes twinkled in the sunlight and your breath was lost in your throat.  You felt every single one of those words hit you along your chest, making you feel so loved and almost as light as air.  

As soon as he was close enough to have his lips brush against yours, you felt your stomach summersault as he eyed your lips for the briefest of moments.  

“Just to name a few,” He whispered, you eyeing his lips in return as you finally grinned widely at you.

You dived in, kissing him deeply as he was perched over you on the desk.  You both kissed, leaning into each other smoothly and with no hesitation while it felt like you couldn’t get closer than ever before.  This was nothing new for you two, especially when it came to the throws of love.  Benedict was an amazing lover, knowing which buttons to push and where to touch you with both his lips and hands.  There was never a dull moment with your husband when it came to pleasure, and he would surprise you in the best way possible.

“Take off your jacket, the hell?” You huffed against his lips as you reached to push his blue jacket off.  Benedict laughed, kissing you deeply as he threw off the jacket to toss it to the floor you spoke again, “You’re making me hot just by looking at you,”

“Just by my looks?” Benedict asked in a breath, you laughing as he reached to undo a bit of your dress with his nimble and skilled fingers, “I must be lacking then.  Perhaps I should brush up a bit more,”

“Yes you must,” You hummed in return, almost in a growl.  You both let the rest of the world slip away, just like your dress slipping to the floor as well as his trousers.  

That hot day was bearable after all. 

The End

July Prompt Session

[i-yap]

hi!! could you write for tim with a reader that just gets him. like they both understand each other, dont have to communicate (verbally at least) to know how the other is feeling. also, she works at damian’s school as an intern/assistant for an art teacher (and brings her pet to school every day. maybe it’s a more exotic animal that piques damian’s interest.). so her and damian are close before tim introduces them (which he really didnt want to do LMAO. he probably let it slip that he was dating someone and now all his brothers want to meet them) so now every time you’re at wayne manor damian barges into tims room to tell you to hang out with him instead. basically fluffy tim x reader with platonic damian. sorry this was a long ask… 😭💞

I love this ask so much!

Tim drake x y/n x platonic! damian

y/n has a gecko as a pet named fluffy ( ik gecko's arent fluffy)

you prolly brought fluffy as an optional muse for your students. And since you are an art teacher at such a prestigious school means you are an amazing artist so damian for sure has a lot of respect for you.

in a couple comics its mentioned that dami is a loner at school so a loner art kid who loves animals hits close to home for you. You guys start bonding really strongly and for once dami has an adult figure who isn't cold as ice or hates his guts ( at least pretend hate) . You become his Didi (I'm indian and I couldn't find the proper arabic term for older sister so I'm just using hindi term for older sister aka didi).

Now when Tim finally opens up about the whole batfamily and how he is like "adopted brother" sort of to Damian, and the whole dynamics between the batfam, you are a little worried. Tim probably has seen you interact with Dami and realized how close you guys are ( dami didn't stab you when you patted his head)

Tim wants to keep you away from the whole batfam , maybe he tells alfred but nothing beyond that. He says its for your safety and he doesn't want you involved in such dangerous vigilante work but it's also because he wants to keep you to himself and being an rich single child...he sucks at sharing .

But nothing remain hidden in a family of detectives and ofc everyone finds out that tim has a secret girlfriend .

Damian probably invited you over to the manor a couple times because you are one of his favorite persons and he wanted to show you his art work or his pets. Everytime you came over, Tim obviously acted like an idiot. Sneaky ( but not sneaky enough glances), innuendos, inside jokes and secretly pulling you away for a mini "tour " of the manor even though Dami insisted he has already shown you everything(non batman related). Maybe everyone found out you were dating when you guys got caught on one of your tours? Damian for sure chased Tim with one of his Katanas till you stepped in.

Damian also doesn't know how to share- rich single child

since the batfam already knew you so well, you were over much more but ofc tim expected it to be for him. He is the boyfriend , the love of your life so why is damian getting your attention huh? Why are you doing an art challenge with dami when there are other more fun "challenges" you could be doing with tim?? WHY ARE YOU WATCHING A DUMB ASS FILM WITH DAMI WHEN YOU SHOULD BE WATCHING DUMBASS FILM WITH TIM?

to be fair, tim does love watching the soft motherly-ish side of you( makes him wanna give you more kids that steal your attention from him) But babyboy wants his cuddles and how dare you deny him of that. you think you are being fair and you are really good at reading tim's feelings so you are able to tell when he needs you attention and therefore excuse yourself politely from damian.

But one day tim is just feeling extra needy and damian and you are in a middle of an activity. you give him a look saying you'll come to him as soon as this activity is over but tim has no patience that day so he just runs into the room, throws you over his shoulder and runs away to his room and locks it. He has installed strong wind blowing thingie so when dami tries chasing him, he just turns the wind blowing things and he cant come close to the door. It then becomes a whole ass hiest while the rest of the batfam just watches and eats popcorn. you obviously have to step in AGAIN.

So you divide up a schedule and ground rules, (steph helps you dw), both tim and dami complain but you just give them both a look and they accept their fate.

Tim likes how much closer you have gotten to his family and damian likes the idea that you guys could actually become sort of related once you marry tim. The rest of the batfam love you ofc but they also love that fact that tim and dami don't try to kill each other( at least not as much as before) because of you. so it all works out( sort of)

I havnt gone exactly by the request and Ive changed up some stuff, I hope that's okay.

[hbyrde36]

It's Only Forever

It has been an absolute joy to write this big bang fic over the last few months, and I'm SO excited to finally get to share it with the world! I could not have done it without my amazing beta @penny00dreadful, always going above and beyond the call of duty to cheer me on, and help make this story the best it could be. Thanks as well to @hitlikehammers, and of course my official unofficial cheerleader @pearynice!

Featuring art in this chapter also by @penny00dreadful!

[Penny Art Link] and @/SissayeRys [Art Post Link]

R: Mature | WC: 4427 | | Ch 1/8 | Read on AO3

Chapter 1: As The World Falls Down

Steve was running late getting home.

Literally running, because his last ever basketball practice had gone long with everyone wanting to say goodbye to the departing seniors, and he was supposed to be home an hour ago to babysit his little brother.

Not that anyone asked if he wanted to watch the stupid nerd, It’d just come to be expected of him. He'd run into a bit of a dry spell lately as far as dating went, and grown tired of playing third wheel to Tommy and Carol, but after one too many Friday and Saturday nights spent at home, his Mom and Gary seemed to have decided he was now at their disposal every weekend to watch Dustin while they went out for their fancy dinner parties. 

Which he wasn’t bitter about, or anything. 

It’d been overcast all afternoon, the smell in the air all but promising rain, and just as he was cutting through the last backyard with his own house coming into view, the sky opened up, soaking through him to the bone in seconds.

“You’re late.” His mother said, scowling from the top of the porch steps with her arms crossed over her chest. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“Sorry,” Steve grumbled. He’d forgotten to plug in his phone last night and its battery had died by fourth period. “It’s not my fault. Practice–”

“Well don’t stand out there in the rain, you’ll drip all over my nice clean floors.” She cut off his explanation, turning on her heel and striding into the house.

It was a little late for that. Water was already running from his sopping shorts down his legs, but Steve still rushed along behind her, kicking his mud-coated sneakers off by the door to try and minimize the damage.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Steven. Your stepfather and I go out very rarely–”

Lie.

Steve rolled his eyes at her back as she turned to grab her handbag off the foyer table. 

“–And you know I only expect you to babysit when it won’t interfere with your own plans.”

“Like you care about my plans,” Steve mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

She looked him up and down, wrinkling her nose as she adjusted the purse resting on her shoulder. “Go take a shower and check on your brother. He's in his room. Gary left some cash on the kitchen table so you boys can order a pizza for dinner. We should be back around midnight.”

Steve nodded curtly and turned to head up the stairs, but paused, looking back over his shoulder when she called to him again. 

“Oh, and Steven?”

He managed to hold in his sigh, but only just. 

“Yes, mother?”

“Don’t indulge him too much about that fantasy game, whatever it’s called. He’ll never live up to his potential with his head stuck in the clouds like that.”

No problem there. 

Steve had no interest in Dustin’s Dungeons and Dorks game anyway.

Again, he simply nodded, and this time watched her leave, waiting until the front door closed behind her before taking the steps up to his room. 

As much as he loathed babysitting, it was infinitely better than being dragged along as a show and tell object, like he’d been in the past. A pretty trophy to prove that divorce or not, she was still the perfect mother. Look, I raised the co-captain of the swim team! The captain of the basketball team! He’s sure to get into an elite university one day, just you wait and see!

And sure, it was a lot, but she just wanted what was best for him, right? Even if it was a little… suffocating at times.

But, in the end Steve hadn’t done that—had he? Nope! Here he was, set to graduate high school in just a few short weeks, and had gotten exactly zero acceptance letters.

A “gap year”, they called it. He was taking a gap year to discover himself, to travel. That was the lie his mom and Gary would tell their friends when asked which Ivy League school their eldest son would be attending in the fall.

It was kinder than the truth, that his GPA and test scores were no match for the candidates he was up against, no after how hard he’d studied, that he hadn’t caught the eye of even one athletics recruiter. 

He was good, but he wasn’t the best—in anything. 

He couldn’t even attend the local community college with Tommy and Carol to fill his time. The deadline to apply had come and gone, with his mom and step-dad staunchly refusing to let him submit the paperwork. No son of theirs would lower himself to attending the public school equivalent of higher education. 

It left Steve in a rough spot. His chances at getting into what his parents considered a good school wouldn’t be any better in a year's time, and amidst his failure he felt like he’d been written off, his mom and Gary now focusing all their efforts on their youngest son, the one who still had the chance at a proper future.

As much as it pained Steve to admit, he actually liked the kid, loved him even, but he couldn't help feeling a little jealous about the fact that Dustin still had time. He had his whole adolescence ahead of him, while Steve felt stuck, and more than a little lost. 

It was the one shred of truth in his mom’s gap year nonsense. Steve did want to discover himself—yearned for it. Eighteen years on this earth and he didn’t have the first clue who he was, or who he wanted to be. He’d been too busy trying to live up to others’ expectations.

Once upstairs Steve showered quickly, threw on a fresh pair of sweatpants and his favorite yellow sweater, and crossed the hall to Dustin’s room. 

“Steve!” The kid’s face lit up the second he came through the door. “Hey, do you remember that campaign I was telling you about?”

Steve raised his head to the ceiling, praying for patience.

Here we fucking go already.

Dustin barreled ahead, undeterred by his lack of response. “You know, the one with the goblins and the Goblin King who comes to this plane and steals children away? Well, technically he only comes when someone wishes for it. So I guess it’s not exactly stealing but that’s part of the trick, right? And–” 

“Yeah, yeah, I vaguely remember that I guess.” Steve finally jumped in waving a hand, knowing if he didn’t Dustin would keep going on-and-on until the polar ice caps melted, and the sea level rose to the point that their house was underwater.

The kid grinned broadly. “I’ve been working hard on it every night this week, and I think it’s finally ready to play! What do you think?!”

“You want—me—to play your nerd game?” 

Dustin’s smile faltered around the edges. “Yeah, I mean, I know it would be better to play with more people, but I thought—”

“You think more players would make this appealing to me somehow?” Steve asked, incredulous. He crossed his arms, only to drop them back down to his sides immediately, shuddering with the realization that he was doing a perfect imitation of his mother.

“But, when I told you about it before you said it was cool!”

Steve sighed. He probably had said that, but in his defense he hadn’t actually been listening. 

Time for a new tactic then. 

“Dustin, you know how our parents feel about this stuff.”

“Why do you always take their side?!” The younger boy shouted.

“I-I don’t!” Steve sputtered. “They just want what’s best for you, and–”

Dustin scoffed. “That’s bullshit!”

“Buddy, come on–”

“No! You just want them to ruin my life like they did yours!"

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever seen red so fast. He balled his hands into fists, fuming, and turned to leave without another word.

“Wait! I didn’t mean it!” Dustin called after him. “I’m sorry, Steve. Don’t go, stay and play with me… please?”

“I wish your stupid game was real. I wish the goblins would come and take you away!” Steve hissed through gritted teeth before slamming the door behind him. 

Was it childish? Yes. But at least in his effort to have the last word, he’d gotten the creatures’ name right. 

He was pretty sure.

Steve ran down the stairs, stomping his feet on every step along the way in another juvenile display of anger that he hoped Dustin could hear. 

Itching for something—anything to distract himself from the words Dustin had thrown in his face, he slid some shoes on and took the trash out to the curb for morning pick up, the rain having slowed while he was in the shower. It did nothing to slow the spiraling of his thoughts.

Was his life really ruined? 

Had he made a mistake in following his mother’s direction?

Or was it his own fault for not working harder, not being good enough? 

Was it too late to try for something different?

Steve puttered around the kitchen for a while, killing a little more time before finally calling to order their pizza, and when he felt like he’d cooled down enough to not throttle his kid brother, went back upstairs to check on him. 

“Alright, the pizza should be here in thirty, and If you want, I guess we can play until—” Steve began as he opened the bedroom door, but cut himself off mid-sentence, realizing that Dustin wasn’t sitting where he’d left him. 

“Dustin?” He called out, stepping further into the room. The kid had to be in there somewhere.

A thump over by the bed caught his attention, and Steve turned to see a sizable lump wriggling under the comforter. “Gotcha, you little shit.” He whispered, tiptoeing over as quietly as possible before flinging the covers off to reveal… nothing.

How had the shrimp pulled off that trick?

Steve scrambled around to the other side of the bed, convinced he’d find the boy crouched beside it on the floor, or even hiding under it, but he was nowhere to be found. 

“Okay,” Steve chuckled nervously. The hair on the back of his neck was standing at attention, and his upper lip was starting to sweat. “I give up, you can come out now!”

A sudden and heart-stoppingly loud crack of thunder made him jump, startled, and a flash of lightning seconds later, followed by the room falling into darkness around him as the power went out, was enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Shit.” 

Steve ran over to the light switch on the wall, flicking it up and down to no avail. His pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, panic threatening to overtake him, but not quite loud enough to drown out the distant sound of giggles somewhere in the shadows. 

“This isn’t funny, Dustin!” He shouted in the vague direction of the sound.

A muffled bang, and a crash on the opposite side of the room had him swinging his head around again. How was the kid making it sound like he was everywhere, and also nowhere at once?!

“Aren’t you getting a little old for hide and seek?!” 

Steve lunged for the old bay window that took up almost the entirety of one wall of Dustin’s room, intent on throwing the drapes open to let in some moonlight, but before he could reach it the window burst open, letting in a rush of cool wind, sending the curtains billowing and the shadows dancing around him. 

From one moment to the next Steve blinked, and where before there was nothing but the damp window ledge, now stood a boy the likes of which he’d never seen before. 

A riot of dark, unruly curls fell around a pale, pretty face. His deep brown eyes were lined in charcoal, with a silver shimmer painted artfully above, accentuating their already otherworldly beauty. He wore a top of leather armor, like something straight out of medieval times, or one of Dustin’s fantasy novels, and skin tight pants that looked buttery soft, hugging the contours of his hips, calves, and thighs, as if they were painted on, drawing special attention to a certain rather prominent attribute that had Steve looking quickly away, his cheeks positively flaming. Slung over it all was a long cloak that glittered in the dim light. The color so dark blue that it was almost black, with a high fluted collar.

Steve swallowed hard, feeling suddenly lightheaded, like he was about to pass out.

“W-who are you?” He asked.

“You know who I am.” A deep, husky voice emanated from the stunning figure’s throat. “After all, you are the one who called for me.” 

“The Goblin King?” Steve's mouth fell open, his own voice full of doubt and disbelief.

Not only for the fact that none of it was supposed to be real. It was just a stupid game, wasn’t it? But shocked too because goblins were meant to be small, grotesque, monstrous creatures, as far as he knew, and none of those were words he’d use to describe the walking wet dream who’d just broken in through his little brother’s window. 

The Goblin King’s plush lips spread into a wide grin. 

“Not what you were expecting?”

Steve mentally shook himself. He had to focus, Dustin was missing for fuck’s sake. “What did you do to my little brother?”

“Exactly what you asked me to do. I took him away.”

“B-but I didn't mean it!”

The boy gave a gallic shrug. “What’s said is said, sweetheart.”

Though he knew it was only meant to be condescending, a thrill ran up Steve’s spine involuntarily at the pet name. He pushed the feeling aside, shouting, “Bring him back!”

The Goblin King pursed his lips, unimpressed.

Steve cleared his throat. “Um, please?”

“Go back to your life, Steve. Hang out with your friends, play the good son again. Forget about your brother.”

“I can’t!”

“Sure you can! Look, I’ve even brought you a parting gift.” The Goblin King raised his hand, which Steve was sure had been empty before, and held up with the tips of his fingers a perfectly clear flawless sphere, a little larger than a billiard ball.

“What is it?”

“A crystal.” As The Goblin King spoke he began to weave the ball through his fingers, rolling it back and forth along the surface of his hand in a way that appeared to defy gravity, and Steve fought hard not to be mesmerized by the display. 

“If you look into it just right, it’ll show you whatever you want, your wildest dreams even. But something like this?” The man paused, raising an eyebrow as he stilled the crystal and held it out like an offering. “I wouldn't give this to just anyone—say, a pathetic boy who happily spends his nights with his whiny little brother. Give him up, and you can have it.”

“No,” Steve ground out, well aware that he was being baited. And he refused to fall for it. 

“You don’t want to do this, trust me.” The King shook his head. “You’re no match for me and my goblins.” 

“He’s my brother, I have to get him back!”

“Very well.” The Goblin King tossed the crystal skyward where it vanished into thin air, and jumped down from his perch on the window sill, tilting his head as he studied Steve's face. 

Steve held himself carefully still, caught between wanting to shrink away from the other boy, and a strange desire to lean in close to him. 

“You want your brother back?” The Goblin King began, turning to point out the still open window behind him and the view beyond—no longer the night sky and the backyard Steve had known for most of his life, but something entirely different, a stretch of valley, mostly dead and barren, and just beyond that…

“He’s there. At the center of the Labyrinth, in my castle beyond the Goblin City.”

Steve blinked rapidly, taking a few steps closer to the window. He’d never seen anything like the intricate maze before. It was massive, made up of various levels of high walls, and hedges, and who knew what else. And set right in the center of it all was a tall stone castle. 

“Still want to look for him?” The King asked.

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. “It doesn’t look that hard.” 

The enchanting boy began to pace a slow circle around him, and when Steve turned his head to follow the movement, he realized with a start that they were no longer standing in Dustin’s bedroom. The window was gone—the house was gone. He was in that place, standing on the dry dusty grounds that surrounded the Labyrinth, about half a mile from its perimeter. 

“Harder than you think.” The Goblin King gestured down at Steve’s wrist, pointing at the watch he wore there. The hands on it spun wildly as he watched, then all at once came to rest at the top, where an extra hour had appeared on its face. “And time is short. You have 13 hours, one for every year of your little brother’s life, to solve the Labyrinth before he becomes one of us, stuck in the goblin city forever.”

“Forever?!” Steve gasped, raising his eyes to find only empty air. 

The Goblin King had vanished without a trace, and Steve had no choice but to start walking, the sound of his watch ticking its countdown making each step feel more urgent than the last.

As he had done so many times before, Eddie sat back on his throne, legs draped across the arm of it, sulking over the monotonous reality of his existence. 

The Goblin King.

It should have been a dream gig. 

There were parts he found enjoyable, of course, but all-in-all it was lonelier and far more boring than he could have ever imagined. He quickly grew tired of what little entertainment was provided by the plethora of creatures he was now responsible for ruling, and it didn’t take long before he’d explored every nook and cranny of the Labyrinth—his Labyrinth now—to the point where he knew it backwards and forwards, and could find his way to any place within its walls with his eyes closed, with or without magic.

Chrissy’s appearance had been a welcome surprise. Another stolen child left to rot in the Goblin City—one more in a long list of things his predecessor had neglected to mention before he fucked off to god knows where—she had been living among the citizens as one of them for years, unbeknownst to Eddie. Until the day she’d shown up on the castle steps asking to speak with The King about some neighborly grievance or another. He no longer recalled the reason for her outrage but he did remember being impressed by her.

They became fast friends, the only two humans living amongst the wild creatures of the realm. Well, former humans was probably a more accurate descriptor. Surely Eddie was something else now, considering he hadn’t been able to do magic before he became whatever he currently was, and neither he nor Chrissy seemed to be aging at a normal rate. His humanity, or lack thereof, wasn’t something he usually liked to think about too much.

It was wonderful for a while, finally having a real friend by his side, someone he could be himself with, not feeling the need to put on the act of King with her like he did with the goblins or the rest of his subjects, but eventually even Chrissy’s companionship wasn’t enough to fill the gaping void in his chest.

So here he was, sprawled on his throne, swirling a few of his crystal balls around in his hand as he stared into them, looking for something he couldn’t put words to, while watching the other world go by, when something caught his eye—a pretty face with a body and voice to match. He was playing basketball, of all things, and Eddie had never understood the draw of sports before, but he could certainly see the appeal of this particular boy in those sinfully tight little shorts. 

It became a habit after a while, to look in on him every now and then… for research purposes.  

Steve, the name Eddie came to know the other boy by through listening in, was a baffling specimen. As nice as he was to look at—and he was very, very, nice to look at indeed—he was also a bit of an entitled asshole, at his worst around his friends and in school, through classes and sports alike. He became a slightly different version of that guy at home when faced with his parents, and yet another when he spent time with his little brother, who he seemed to hate one minute and love the next as though he couldn't decide one way or the other. 

Then there was the Steve he was when he was by himself. 

Alone in his room with no one around to observe—that he knew of, anyway—Steve was quiet, contemplative. At times Eddie thought he might even be lonely? Which just seemed like a wild concept considering the boy was, more often than not, surrounded by friends and family. 

It pissed Eddie off a little, to be honest.

Here Steve was with the world laid out at his feet. A nice house, a brother who looked up to him, parents who were there, maybe bordering on overbearing sometimes but was that really such a bad thing? Born with a silver fucking spoon in his mouth, and he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t seem to appreciate any of it.

But no matter how much the other boy annoyed him, Eddie couldn’t seem to stop watching, wanting to know more—see more—look his fill, and unravel the puzzle that was Steve Harrington.

Then one day, it happened.

The thing Eddie had been equal parts looking forward to—if only to break up the tedium and escape his own realm for a while—and dreading since the beginning of his tenure as the Goblin King. 

Someone made a wish.

And he was duty bound to see the deal through. He was pretty sure he had wiggle room, but the basics were clear: steal the child, explain the terms, and if the guardian chose to play the game and fight for their child’s return, then play the game he must.

Eddie stood in the middle of his closet, discarded clothes thrown haphazardly around him, and knew he was running out of time. The goblins were anxious to get to work and do their part.

“What are you even doing in there?” Chrissy shouted from the other room. 

She’d been out there waiting for him, judging him, while he swiped on a bit of eye makeup, teasing his hair a bit for good measure, and changed his outfit at least three times, looking for just the right ensemble to help him pull this off. He sighed, looking down at himself—leggings and leathers, It would have to do. 

Eddie poked his head out into the bedchamber. “Uh, getting dressed? What does it look like!” 

Chrissy was lounging on top of his bed, her head propped up while she read over a small stack of scrolls. There were hundreds of them lying around the castle, tucked into desk drawers, shoved in corners, collecting dust on bookshelves, and Chrissy had taken it upon herself to read as many of them as she could to figure out how things worked around here so they could make the most of it. It was slow going, admittedly, Goblin being her second language and all, but she was getting there, and had already uncovered many tricks that were about to seriously come in handy. 

She shot him a sharp look, eyebrows raised.

He grumbled wordlessly, quickly ducking back into the closet to lace up his boots and throw his favorite cloak on for good measure, before finally stepping out.

“Took you long enough,” she said, throwing the roll of parchment she was reading aside. 

“Can’t rush perfection, darling. I have to make sure it all sends the right message.”

“Why, because it’s your first time going back?”

“That, yes. But also—” Eddie looked down, nervously tying, and untying, and retying the fasteners at his neck until his cloak hung just so. “I can’t believe it, but It’s him, Chris.”

“Who?”

“Steve.”

“Oh,” she squeaked in surprise. “The guy you’re always creeping on while you fondle your balls, or whatever?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “I am not creeping, I am observing. How else am I supposed to keep up with the times when I'm stuck here?”

“Sure, Jan.”

“I’m going to assume that’s one of those references I don't understand because I've been here since the dawn of time.”

“The eighties were hardly the dawn of time, Eddie.”

“Some days it feels like it,” he groaned, flopping himself down on the pillowy-soft mattress next to her. “How do you know so much about pop culture anyway?”

It was a genuine question, one he'd asked many times before with no luck. She’d been in the Labyrinth much longer than he had, and yet somehow still had a better grasp of the modern outside world. 

“You have your ways of keeping up with the times, and I have mine.” She gave his shoulder a hard shove. “Now, get up and get a move on. You have a job to do, Your Majesty.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” he huffed.

“And you don’t have to wear those ridiculous collars, but here we are.”

Eddie jumped back up to his feet, slapping a hand to his chest in mock horror. “You wound me! The clothes are the best thing about this job! They’re cool!”

“Yeah,” she snorted. “To nerds.” 

“You’re just jealous.”

“Of what? Your extensive collection of feather boas?”

She was stalling. 

They both were.

Eddie snapped his mouth shut abruptly without another retort, swallowing hard as he backed his way to the door, wishing he could take her with him for moral support.

But Chrissy was right. He had to go, and he had to go now before he lost his nerve. 

“I-I guess this is it. I’ll be back soon with the child,” he said quietly.

She nodded, offering him an encouraging smile as he slipped out. “And I’ll be right here to make sure no one scares him too badly.”

Chapter 2: Into the Labyrinth

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[genericpuff]

I'm honestly amazed by how well you can imitate the LO S3 art style! Have you always been good at this sort of thing or is it a skill you developed due to your work as a tattoo artist?

ahhh thank you, but ima let you in on a little trade secret -

it's literally just referencing LMAO which is a valuable skillset to have! but one that I think a lot of folks tend to overlook because they think "learning to draw" means "I need to be able to draw everything perfectly from imagination!" Which sure, learning how to draw things without needing references might be cool, but it's ultimately not the sole defining feature of a "good artist" and I think there's frankly way too much emphasis put on "drawing without references" these days because it creates this unrealistic expectation of what an artist is. Referencing is part of the process! It's important! And it's a valuable skill to have so that you can actually grow your skills beyond your own limits! Referencing is as important to the process of creating art as research is to the process of writing, you can only produce so much new stuff if you're not taking in new stuff alongside it.

Though I use this skill a lot in tattooing as well, it's mostly rooted in my animation schooling which broke me out of the habit of drawing purely from imagination and taught me how to properly reference other material for educational purposes.

And I'm sure there are people in audience right now gasping at the fact that I simply cropped a bunch of different shots of Minthe from S3 and rearranged them like some surgical madman playing with body parts-

-but this is like, the actual majority of the process when it comes to learning other art styles and this process is taught as a skill in a lot of art schools because it forces you to draw what's there rather than what you think is there. This is the basis of master studies, to learn the techniques of other artists by trying to mimic them as closely as possible. Don't know what tools that artist used specifically? Try to recreate the work anyways with your best guess. Even if you only get close but not perfect, you'll still likely learn a lot along the way and may even develop some brand NEW techniques that weren't present in the original work you're studying from.

Imagination is necessary to the creative process, but it's only part of that process, you can't suddenly learn how to draw the way other artists draw through imagination alone because your imagination is limited purely by your own lived experiences. Our brains don't come pre-installed with these skills, they can't just magically unlock the capability to "do the thing". Just like how we have to learn to follow recipes as a means to becoming a baker or learn to read the alphabet to learn how to read and write, we have to learn how to draw what we see and reference the material around us if we truly want to expand our own innermost knowledge which will allow us to draw from imagination.

Here are some other examples of studies I've done, such as my attempts to learn the art style of The Doctor Foxglove Show:

As well as a background study from S1 of LO:

And of course here are a handful of the shitloads of studies I've done to try and "figure out" how to draw Hades and Persephone from S1 of LO:

Aaaand just for the fun of it, here are some completely non-LO studies, like the ones I did of Kazuma Koda's background work and Akihiko Yoshida's character designs for Nier: Automata:

And this sorta rotoscoped ??? animatic of Mitsuhiro doing the opening jig for Still Feel by Half Alive which is 100% not done and probably never will be LOL

I'm always progressively doing studies of both LO and other media in this way so that I can update my knowledge and continue to improve my skillset.

Though, despite my best efforts to mimic the original creator's style, works like Rekindled will always have my own stylizations present, as that's just an inevitable consequence of it being made by myself and Banshriek (and the fact that we just refuse to draw worse to look more like LO because jfc so much of LO's original art, even the stuff we love, is rooted in Rachel's trial and errors lmao), but that's a feature, not a bug :') <3

So the answer is yes, the Minthe S3 redraw was done through skills I developed over time, though not necessarily through tattooing, simply through learning how to actually practice properly beyond "drawing a lot". And you can too! Draw lots, but also remember that your brain isn't naturally just going to "get better" at whatever you're trying to achieve just because you really want to achieve it. I try to avoid the mantra of "just practice" because it oversimplifies what's truly necessary to learning - having something to learn from outside of your own imagination. If you don't learn how to practice properly, then you'll just wind up repeating the same mistakes and reinforcing the same bad habits over and over again.

All that's to say, if you want to learn how to draw like a certain artist, try and recreate their art for yourself ;0 (but like also please for the love of god remember that it's for EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES, I shouldn't have to tell y'all not to copy directly off other artists' work for your own because that's just deadass stealing lmao) I know this enters the ethical dilemma of tracing, and whether or not it's a "valid" way to learn, but there's a lot of virtue in learning through referencing other artists and building new skills through them. I'm sure folks will argue that it's a 'crutch' or 'training wheels', but that's all often being touted from the perspective that crutches and training wheels... are automatically bad things and aren't meant to help people ?

Like obviously if you want to create your own thing that isn't purely "living in the shadow" of the works that inspired you, you WILL have to make that leap into the unknown. But that leap's a lot less scary to make when you have a parachute.

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[ashessonfire]

Bonjour, lovely!! I adore your fics, your choice of words are just *✧delectable✧⁠* and I'm amazed at how you beautifully written Kaz. If you may, could you write a little fluff with the reader being a skilled painter/sculptor and she helps the crows in art forgery. (I personally love when there's a little angsty yearning in the mix but I trust you will blow it out of the waters). Mercii!!

Stolen hearts - Kaz Brekker x Reader

Prompt : As a crow who specializes in art, what happens when Kaz stumbles upon one of your personal sketchbooks and gets a little jealous? - Pairing : Kaz Brekker x Reader - Warnings : Jealous Kaz, Kaz being an idiot, he gets a bit upset but nothing too crazy :)

A/N : Hi my loves, this is a pretty long one but I ADORED this idea, and so I let myself run with it.This may just be one of my favourite things I have ever written so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this!! As always requests are open, and please check my list here for other characters I write for!!

click here for masterlist

click here for characters I write for

(Also it seems as if we are getting closer to finding out if we are getting a SOC spin off!! After the writers strikes we should hopefully know, so lets try keep the Grishaverse fandom alive on here!! <3 )

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"You want me to recreate that in two days? Kaz, the original is painted in oils, they don't even dry in that time!" You exclaimed, peering over the top of a stolen painting at your boss, his gaze hard yet not harsh.

"I am aware," Kaz began, "But that's why I hired you, isn't it? You have not missed a deadline once, and I know you won't miss it now," his firm voice rung out into the acoustics of his office.

And of course, he was right.

Although you would have to take a few shortcuts, you could feel your fingertips twitching against the oak frame of the piece, mind already composing each element of the scene. Tucking it beneath your arm, you let out a gentle sigh, nodding swiftly in his direction before departing from the room.

He had saved you, and this painting was only a fragment in your repayment of Kaz Brekker.

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A fire had swept through your village just beyond the confines of the Barrel, leaving you with nothing but your pouch, filled to the brim with pencils, inks, and as many types of paper as you had been able to salvage. The corners of your paintings began to singe as your home was engulfed, pain piercing your heart as you sprinted down the path to evade the impenetrable walls of flame.

Ketterdam beckoned you into her grip, as you ventured through the dim alleyways until shadow gave way to dazzling light displays. The Lid revealed itself to you, and with no other choice you slotted yourself in with the penniless street merchants that lined the alleys of Ketterdam.

For years, you offered sketches, portraits, and paintings to the rich tourists that marveled at Ketterdam's wonders. Although mere pennies were offered in exchange for your work, it was enough to renew your supplies and evade sleeping by the canal, or being trampled by tourists.

As time crawled along your skills blossomed, transforming your rough ideas into magnificent pieces, worthy of far more than a few kruge. Soon, you began to slip into galleries, memorizing each stroke until your mind could guide your hands without a single thought. Portraits that were worth thousands were then being passed into clueless pigeon's hands for only a few hundred kruge, as your skills were unmatched in the art of forgery.

Little did you know that you were being kept under the watchful eye of Kaz Brekker's wraith, your talents being thoroughly observed and reported back to the leader of the crows.

You were able to swindle the pigeons for a few months until the Watchstadt began to take note of the remarkable artistry of your paintings. Overnight, the tides of your fortune changed, awaking one evening to the thudding of leather against stone, inching closer to you as each moment passed.

In a desperate attempt to escape your fate, you clutched your belongings and shot down a back alley, shadows offering you a blanket of protection from the moon's shimmering light. However it seemed as if your luck had reached its limit, as several guards barreled out in front of you, as your other exits were swiftly stolen from you.

Tears began to blur your vision, lightheadedness overtaking your senses, the guard's words became muffled and distant, as panic overtook your being. You were barely aware of a gentle voice calling you from your terror, a soft hand wiping away the beads of pain falling from your eyes.

In the hours that followed, you scarcely registered anything but your gratitude towards Inej, and ultimately to Kaz who had been increasing the hours that his wraith was sent to protect you. In a few swift meetings, Kaz Brekker had settled a deal with you, sheltering you from the darkness of the Barrel, whilst securing a valuable new member of the crows.

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"Thank the saints that that is over," Jesper all but shouted, falling backwards onto the sofa in the common room of the slat. Placing yourself on a worn armchair opposite, you felt somewhat peaceful as your painting had been so seamless that the entire mission was cut short by a few hours.

After jobs, each crow fell into their own routines to unwind the tension that undeniably interwove into each of them. Kaz's cane thumped lightly against the creaking oak of the staircase, ascending to his room to continue plotting. Hushed whispers often omitted from Wylan and Jesper as they basked in each other's company.

Inej was usually missing, as she was now, exploring the endless expanses of rooftops whilst allowing the bitter air to cool her down. Taking in the couple across from you, and a now slumbering Nina beside you, you reached for the familiar leather binding of your sketchbook.

The glowing embers of the low-lit fire cast soft shadows on your friends, and the light washes of orange and red watercolour aided in your attempt to capture the peaceful scene unfolding before you. However, the absence of a certain presence pulled you from your portrait, thoughts straying to the man who undoubtedly was scheming once more in his office.

Since joining his crew, a small fondness for the "demjin" had harbored itself deep within your heart, impenetrable and unmoving. He treated you with a cold kindness, gifting you small tins of expensive paints, or the latest papers, completely dismissing the fact they were irrelevant to your job.

With a short shake of your head, the thoughts dispelled, returning your mind to the clarity it needed to produce your sketch, the flames from the fireplace dimming as the room began to fall into shadow. The peace that art instilled you with returned, as your heartbeat slowed and a sense of calm washed over you with each brushstroke.

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Settling into his chair, Kaz let out a short breath, tension easing slightly from his body as relief gripped him, all thanks to you. Your painting had exceeded his expectations, not a single person suspecting the image to have been forged, and the original stolen into the possession of the Dregs.

Few things could entrance Kaz Brekker, yet something about the way your colours melted into each other, or the clear emotion engrained into every miniscule detail of a painting pulled him in. Perhaps the depth of your sculptures, or the smooth yet carefully crafted edges of the clay coming to life in his imagination were to blame for his admiration for you.

Kaz's mind wandered as he thoughtlessly ridded his desk of it's papers, hastily stacking them into neat piles as he tried to shake his thoughts of you.

Suddenly, Kaz was startled from his inner battle, gloved fingers brushing against a foreign texture, a hard leather cover of, something? Curiosity urged him to retrieve the book from underneath the blueprints and paperwork, eyes scanning over the front in search of a clue as to what the binding held.

Carefully undoing a well tied string, the front page fell flat against his weathered desk, the candle beside him offering a gentle illumination. Kaz's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the contents of the book, the etches of the pencil being too precise to belong to any person, but you.

The charcoal marks formed on the fraying page to portray Jesper, content as he sat on a patterned bar stool in the Crow Club, eyes slightly creased in content. Thumbing to the next page, Kaz discovered another depiction of his sharpshooter, however this time he was polishing his guns. Unlike the previous image, Jesper was now depicted in a light wash of colour, bringing him seemingly to life.

Enchanted by your work, Kaz continued to marvel at each sketch and painting, however a sharp feeling grabbed at his chest as he came to a realization. Apart from a few pages here and there, the subject that lined the parchment was always Jesper. Turning the pages increasingly quicker, a feeling of dread seeped into his stomach, a twisting combination of jealousy and annoyance building within him.

A gentle knock broke him from these thoughts, as your voice called out in the hope you would be permitted entry. Carefully, Kaz slid your sketchbook to the opposite end of his desk, pretending to analyze a discarded stack of papers before allowing you in.

"Hey Kaz, I was just coming to check in on you, I didn't get to catch up with you after..." you began, speech diminishing as your eyes fell upon the bronzed edges of one of your sketchbooks. Your eyes lit up as you began to grin.

"You left it on my desk," Kaz stated, trying desperately to burry the knot in his stomach, as your expression brightened at the thought of finding the book full of Jesper. "I've been looking everywhere for this one, thank you Kaz," you respond, hastily reclaiming the book, folding it snuggly between your arms and your chest.

"It shouldn't be here," Kaz snapped, a sharp tone piercing the previously warm atmosphere, "It's your personal sketchbook, so it needs to stay personal. Understand?" Kaz bit out, stunning you into silence as you backed away towards the door.

"Oh," you began, "I didn't mean to leave it here," voice cracking as you battled through the shock of his manner, and the hurt of him snapping at you. "Make sure I don't see it again, although I'm sure Jesper would love to," Kaz concluded, practically spitting out your friend's name.

The dismay you felt began to ebb away as you took in your boss' expression more closely, your upset being replaced with something resembling humour. "Kaz," your voice quietly began, "You're not jealous, are you?" you question.

Although the room remained silent, his features spoke a thousand words to you, his eyes widening fractionally to reveal fright, face becoming tinged by a rosy blush. Before you could utter another word, Kaz had guided you to the arched doorway, pushed you through the threshold, and slammed the door before you could witness the tips of his ears turning crimson.

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Through the warped glass pane of his window, Kaz was stirred by the early rays of sunrise, face gently caressed by each stream of light that infiltrated the darkness. Despite the restless sleep he gained, the bastard was surprised he had managed to fall unconscious at all.

From the moment he had shut the door on you, feelings of jealousy and shame had consumed him. He swore he had heard a splinter echo throughout his chest as he recalled the hurt spreading across your face the previous evening.

Letting out a short breath of frustration, he slowly contorted his stiff limbs into a sitting position, and only then did his gaze cast onto the unfamiliar shade of leather perching on his nightstand. Unease began to spread through his body, fingertips sparking with anticipation as he reached over to retrieve the sketchbook.

Frustration began to wrestle with the discontent, as he unwound the ribbon binding the wrinkled pages together, yet the colour of the leather seemed to shift underneath his gaze. Unlike the book he had previously discovered, this one was made of a darker material which he could only liken to the darkness of midnight. As he angled the cover, flecks of gold appeared, the early sun dancing light off of each one, illuminating the leather as if it were a sky full of stars

Nimbly undoing the ribbon on the side, the first page fell open, and to his surprise, a neatly penned note fell out of the cover, revealing an image behind it that Kaz was sure he would have permanently engraved in his memory. A pair of sharp eyes met his own, and his breath caught in his throat as he questioned whether he was glimpsing into some sort of mirror.

With a desperation he himself could not even comprehend, Kaz began to flip through the pages, the guilt he had initially felt now burning him from the inside out, singeing at his chest. Each portrait captured his every emotion, each stroke precise and beautiful in a way he had never experienced before.

Gently unfolding the corners of the note, Kaz's gaze deepened with each curling letter of your short message -

Dear Mr Brekker,

After your discovery yesterday, I thought it only fair to also show you your notebook too. I have one for each of the crows, yourself included, and so I kindly ask you not to panic further about Jesper being the only muse of my pieces.

Love, your favourite artist

P.S ~ You also have a second book, if you are interested.

Kaz's breath hitched at the word 'love' before his mind could even comprehend it, head spiraling with thoughts of you as he pictured your gentle teasing laughter as you penned the note to him. The guilt and shame became so consuming in that second that his chest constricted, and he knew the only way he could alleviate the weight was by visiting you.

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A sharp knock pierced through the silence of your room, pen stopping mid point as you called a gentle welcome to the man behind the door. Kaz's figure slowly filled the doorframe, waistcoat slightly untucked, and hair somewhat out of place as if he had raced to see you.

A teasing grin began to illuminate your features, and the sunrise seeping through your window was more than bright enough to display Kaz's rose dusted cheeks as he averted his gaze. Without so much as a sound passing through his pursed lips, a gloved hand directed itself towards you, clutching onto the dark sketchbook.

You smile faltered, the glimmer seeping from your eyes as your lips fought to stay curved, as you questioned, "You didn't like it?" Kaz shifted his dark gaze to meet your own, brows lightly furrowing as he grumbled "I thought you might want it back."

Your gaze softened as the walls you had been beginning to construct around your heart crumbled, "Oh, I meant it more like a gift Kaz, plus I have several more books dedicated to you anyway," you uttered tenderly. The figure before you lowered his head towards the object in his hands, knuckles whitening beneath his leather gloves as his grip hardened.

After a fleeting moment of your boss' gaze sweeping over your features, he gave a swift nod in gratitude, the scent of ink and secrets trailing behind him as he ventured back to his office. Disappointment clung to your chest at his swift departure, hoping that he would have remained in your presence for a few moments more.

However, as your gaze travelled upwards to glimpse at his departing figure, you noticed how he had faltered in your doorway. His broad shoulders were facing you, allowing you to to observe every deep yet ragged breath that lifted his chest.

"I..." He began, voice so low that it was barely audible, "I'm sorry for last night, I shouldn't have said those things to you," Kaz almost spat out, the words tasting foreign on his lips as he attempted to quickly escape to the confines of his office.

"Kaz," you called out, hope unravelling the knots of anxiety from previously, leaving you with streams of a newfound confidence, "I just thought you should know you are my favourite subject. No one else in Ketterdam seems to have a better facial structure than yours."

Kaz could hear the thick inflections of your smirk within your words, ribbons of humour intertwining with each letter you spoke. Despite your teasing being met with a remarkably loud silence, your words had planted themselves deep inside Kaz's heart.

Racing back towards his office, the beat of his cane against the oak panels of the slat hastened by the second.

Yet not even they could match the pace at which Kaz's heart was beating, as his mind replayed your words over and over in his head until the way the word "favourite" was all he could hear.

Thinking back to your short note, Kaz's lips formed a ghost of a smile, since not only were you his favourite, but he was yours.

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Kaz Brekker tag list : @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @ell0ra-br3kk3r @swhisperer @sleepynightchild @atlasiiae @kaiinohh @sannunah28 @at-the-chateau @withbeautyandragendrage @animalistic00 @whos6claire @any-corrie @daisydark @shara-ne @xxinvisiblexx @ldhpeter @viperinferno @kozbtchx @wishyouwere-sober (please comment if you would like to be added to the Kaz Brekker taglist)

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P.S - The best way to support writers on here is to repost / repost + add tags! If you could spend a minute or so doing this, it would mean the world <3

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/20/2024 Crew Recap

TLDR; David Jenkins Message on IG; How you can help; Contacting Netflix, Prime, AppleTV; General Guidelines for Wooing Networks; New Hashtags; UK Crew Updates; Petition/Fundraiser Status; Articles; Extras; Rhys' Stiddy

=== Chaos Dad's Message ===

David Jenkins messaged us FRIENDS and gave us a new heading to steer the ship for the crew. Truly an amazing and sweet message, and helping give @renewasacrew a good place to start on new networks.

== How you can help ==

So based on Chaos Dad's tweet, what the folks over at @renewasacrew have recommended is we focus our efforts on Netflix, AmazonStudios, and Apple TV. We'll be polite menacing but also doing some more specific wooing this time so please see below for more information.

= Reach out to Netflix =

You can reach out to Netflix Here.

= Reach out to Apple TV =

You can reach out to apple tv by going here.

= Amazon Prime: Thank you @mermaid-stede for this write up: =

1) if you have an Amazon account, go to My Stuff > Settings > Help & Feedback > Provide Feedback

2) If you don't, write here

3) might as well try their customer service 888 280-4331, using the same strategy from above (though you might need an Amazon account)

4) and here's an email! complaints@amazon.co.uk

Amazon.com: AIV Website Feedback Form

DIGPRJSURVEY.AMAZON.COM

You can see more of their write ups here

=New Hashtags=

#AdoptOurCrew #RenewAsACrew #SaveOFMD

Things to remember:

Only Message 1 of the 3 networks at once. We are wooing them, they want to be enticed, not included in a crowd. If you are reaching out to one, make sure to reach out to all three (just separately)

Be Polite, this is a bit of a different strategy from max, we WANT these people to pick us up, we're not grumpy at them.

Yes you can use season 3 and beyond, use the same terminology David Jenkins did.

More specific info from folks regarding the things to remember:

=== UK Crew ===

Great job everyone! Your efforts made a difference! Thanks for the update @lamentus1!

Something else to mention for our UK and International Friends that are reaching out via social networks or email/phone:

=Daily Engagement Reminder!=

Our Flag Means Death Wikipedia Page

Google Search for Our Flag Means Death

Google UK Search for Our Flag Means Death

Our Flag Means Death IMDB

=== Petition / Fundraiser Status ===

Petition: ALMOST at 75K!

Renew as a Crew - Benefiting Rainbow Youth is fully funded at $17K!

OFFP Care for Gaza - HITS $10K!!!! Great job all!

=== New Articles ===

Fans Declare War Against Warner Bros., Light Up Times Square for Beloved Show

Our Flag Means Death’s Renewal Campaign Lands Times Square Billboard

=== Other Stuff ===

Some BTS from Vico's IG reels

=Wanna help out our fellow cancelees?=

Sign the Petition for Rap Sh!t!

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

So Dad's message kind of blew everything else out of the water today, there were some sightings of various crew on the web but most of them were reactions to David's reel so I figured it probably wasn't worth adding today. Thank you as usual to the @renewasacrew team, and @TheCozyPirate for all their steering and insight and helping make these pivots possible each day!

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

Side note: I saw a lot of really great stuff today-- people focused more on action with the renewal and starting to discuss fun things more and more, less dealing with trolls. I hope that means you all are getting some rest and avoiding some of the crazy shit going on.

Seriously, you're doing amazing. David sees it, the cast sees it, the crew sees it, we all see it. You should all feel super proud of yourself for all the hard work you're doing, whether it's just enjoying the show, being active in the renewal efforts, or just being you.

Please continue to make art, and fics, and goofy memes, and silly videos, and everything. Your creativity is so inspiring and fun and it keeps us all sane! (Also please share them with me I love them.)

On that note, here's Rhys grabbing one of those Stiddies.

Gif courtesy of ofmd-ann's post here

[roguephenon]

II: The Thing That Will Always Be

"...Knowing this was the outcome, would you have still done the same?"

"In a New York minute." (Chapter cover is by @pinkmeanschaos. Check them out; they have fantastic work.)

The beginning of the end lies under the cut.

This would be the part where I post a tease of the chapter, followed by a link to said chapter.

Let's switch it up this time.

You've all given me so much love and encouragement, and I appreciate and cherish it all. Thank you so, so much.

But I'm not the only fanfic writer for this fandom. There are so many others who deserve love too. Some come to mind.

Like...

@geekinclara just recently started a KND fic, "Those Were The Days". It looks to be their take on Rachel's days as Supreme Leader and maybe even beyond that. It's off to a fantastic start. I've occasionally seen their posts about how much prep they've been doing for it (did you know making a cohesive timeline for this show is hard? Because it truly is), so it could do with some love, non?

And then there's @spicedwatermel0n and his KND fic, "The Rebellion," a GKND AU with 15 chapters already. It explores darker themes (which he's gone through the effort of listing before it starts to prepare his audience; he cares!) while weaving a narrative of the cast trying to fight an oppressive GKND regime. In space. Which is dope. He even has his own art of his designs. I hear he loves people asking about his AU and headcanons on his side blog when he has time to answer.

Nowadays, I write stories and create art for myself first and foremost, and I believe that should be the ultimate goal. Learning to love and take pride in your work should compel your drive to tell stories!

But comments matter, too. Feedback and engagement are rarely ever not a boost. I read every review left and respond to what I can when I have spoons, and it's an amazing feeling.

So, this is just me saying, "Help them feel amazing, too!" And not just these two, but all fanfic writers! If you see a fic you like, leave a quick sentence of your favorite moment!

Even if it has no traction, you'll just be their first!

Even if it has yet to be updated in 14 years, maybe there's a chance they'll come back one day!

Just something that came to mind to me today! And, of course, everyone has boundaries and things they like and dislike. Be respectful of those, too! Seriously. I've had to learn lessons the hard way, and I hope you don't have to have as harsh of an experience.

Thanks for listening to me yap!

Here's the link to Cold Reception's penultimate chapter for your trouble.

[hiveworks]

Interview with Mad Rupert, author of Sakana

September 2023

Sakana, the story of life and love in a fish market, is coming back from its hiatus soon! The strip comic style webcomic began in 2010 and follows Jiro, Taisei, Yuudai, and Chie as they navigate their relationships and learn to face their feelings. We asked creator Mad Rupert, author of Robber Robert and artist of Bunt!, for an interview to celebrate the series return.

Read Sakana | Shop books & merch | Read more Hiveworks comics

Sakana has been your baby for 13 years. What has the webcomic journey been like for you over the past decade?

It really has been over a decade, hasn’t it! There have certainly been ups and downs, periods where I was updating as much as I could, and also long hiatuses. I feel like webcomics have always been an amazing space to practice my craft and stretch my writing and drawing skills alike. You can kind of do anything you like with webcomics, and oftentimes people come up with wackier, and imho more interesting concepts than if they were beholden to a large publisher. Not that I haven’t made my fair share of traditionally-published comics and graphic novels… but there’s just something so gratifying about coming up with your own wild story and working towards its end on your own time. Webcomics are incredibly tough and time consuming, but also the ultimate form of self expression. 

What is the origin of Sakana? What made you want to tell this story?

Sakana actually started as a class project when I was a junior at the Savannah College of Art and Design. I had been accepted into the Sequential Art department’s yearly Japan trip to study comics and cartooning in Tokyo for a few weeks, and our final project was to create 11 comic strips based off of something that made a strong impact on us during the trip. We had visited the old inner market (now demolished) of the Tsukiji Fish Market at 4am one morning, and it was the most incredible place I’d ever been, so I decided to craft a short story that took place in the market. Beyond the first 11 strips, I decided to continue the story for as long as I could as a way to practice the comic techniques I was learning in class. That was over a decade and 600 strips ago! It really has become the most ambitious project I’ve ever undertaken.

Do you have the ending already written? Do you see a conclusion in sight?

Yes! I’ve always had something at least resembling an end in mind throughout most of the comic’s lifespan. For a long-format comic like SAKANA, I think it’s very important to have a rough ending planned out as early as possible, otherwise it becomes difficult to keep the narrative moving in a satisfying direction, drop little tidbits of plot that will pay off later, or even maintain your enthusiasm for the project. To be clear, the details of Sakana's “end” have changed many times, which is only natural with a very long project like this. But I’ve always kept crucial details the same: basically certain characters in a certain place at a certain time doing certain things (to keep from getting too spoilery haha.) HOW they get there, WHY they’re there, and WHAT exactly they’re doing will ebb and flow as the years go by and I myself get older and older. But having a general sense of the end in mind has kept things moving all this time. The story’s got one more volume to go, and then I’ll be done!

Your hiatus is a result of working on a traditionally published graphic novel, coming in 2024. Is there anything you can tell us about your book?

My new graphic novel is called Bunt! and it’s a collaborative effort between myself and my dear pal, Ngozi Ukazu (author of popular webcomic Check, Please!) Ngozi wrote the book and I drew it, and we’re both really proud of what we’ve made! It’s already available for preorder all over the place and it will officially be out in stores in February 2024. We’re really looking forward to getting out there this fall and winter and spreading the word about it!

You recently successfully completed a Kickstarter for an 18+ comic, Robber Robert, as well. What is it like balancing these different narratives, genres, and mediums of publishing comics?

It’s definitely been a struggle at times to balance everything, and I definitely don’t recommend working on 3 giant projects at the same time! I finally had to admit that I couldn’t do it all at once, which led to me putting Sakana and RR on hiatus to finish Bunt!, and then keeping Sakana on hiatus while I finished up RR. I really burned myself out on comics for a while, and it’s been a huge struggle to get myself back to a good place with my work. Finishing Bunt! and RR Chapter 1 has really helped reenergize me, but I can always feel myself trying to overload my work schedule again and again. It’s my greatest weakness as a professional artist.

What keeps you inspired?

Making something for myself, practicing my craft, and putting my own stories out there are all huge driving forces in my life. Learning to stop overwhelming myself with work has also helped a lot. Looking back on all the art I’ve made and all the different things I’ve tried makes me feel like I can do anything I put my mind to, so long as I give myself the time and space to enjoy the process.

Do you have any webcomic or graphic novel recommendations?

I’m a big fan of anything fantasy or sci-fi, especially if the narrative approaches the fantastical elements in a weird, unique, and kind of gay way haha. My favorite manga is currently Delicious in Dungeon, but I’m also a fan of historical series like Golden Kamuy and Bride’s Story. For webcomics, I love anything by Evan Dahm, like his long-format series Rice Boy and Vattu. As for Hiveworks comics, there’s too many to list individually but my current favorites are Fairmeadow by KP, and Tiger, Tiger by Petra Nordlund. 

Any advice for new readers of Sakana?

I would say…despite its high page count, it’s not that long of a read! The strip format keeps it moving at a pretty quick clip when read all at once (but it certainly didn’t feel like that over the last 13 years updating one page at a time!) I know that the format and the black and white rendering might feel a little dated in the current era of Webtoons and full-color stories, but I’m too stubborn to change now, and I really appreciate anybody giving it a shot! Also, no matter who you are, or how much you dislike him in the beginning, Yuudai will probably be your favorite character.

You can read Sakana for free at sakana-comic.com and print books are available at hivemill.com