#anyway can you tell i used different paper and pen

[valensolo12]

MORE pillars of eternity journal pages!!! (here's the first part) I really slowed down and tried to make em look good now, this little booklet of 12 pages covers the first appeareance of the Leaden Key, and exploring their doings on Heritage Hill and the Sanitarium

also a totally normal playtime to have at this point of the game (i forget and often leave it open while i draw/write)

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

despite many years in many art classes and having it explained to me several times by several people, I still just don’t ‘get’ colors. if I wanna use them I either got have a palette made for me, have just memorized what looks nice together, or just hope for the best as I pick out the colors. I am insanely jealous of people who just. understand them. y’all are wizards.

[brekker-by-brekkerr]

There's no way you can convince me the writing for Eloise in part 2 of season 3 was good.

We're expected to believe that Eloise Bridgerton, who gets so upset about injustices to women, who cares deeply for her friends, would hear about Cressida's issues and be like "hmm yeah sucks to suck."

And people can't say it's because Eloise is only concerned with herself because we've seen her get so upset about the plight of other people, we've seen her going and engaging with conversations outside her circle, we've seen her empathizing with Theo and his circumstances, we've seen her trying to hunt down LW to help Pen back before she knew the truth.

JUST THIS SEASON we saw Eloise go to Cressida's house to check on her because she noticed that she was acting off. So you can't even tell me Eloise doesn't care about her. I feel like the writers are trying to gaslight the viewers in part 2 to thinking Eloise didn't ever care that much about Cressida when WE LITERALLY SAW THAT SHE DID. Cressida even says Eloise was a great friend to her.

Yeah, I understand that Eloise has a lot going on right now, and so to some extent, I could see her not being as present for Cressida as she needs. That happens. But the level to which they made Eloise act like she doesn't care is so insane and is clearly just to prop Pen up.

Eloise heard Cressida tell her about her circumstances so she should understand why she's doing what she's doing.

It just felt like such an insane 180 for Eloise to turn around and suddenly be like "Cressida is a viper" and "our friendship was falling apart anyway" and "I should never have trusted her," when the last thing we saw before part 2 was them BEING GOOD FRIENDS!! And when Cressida hadn't done anything bad, she just claimed to be LW RIGHT AFTER she had explained to Eloise how messed up her circumstances were and that she needed help getting out of them.

I get that the show was going to put Eloise and Pen back together because they have such a clear bias towards her character, but did they have to decimate Creloise in the process? Is Eloise not allowed to have multiple friendships?

Like, Pen can do all these terrible things and cry and be like "sorry about that" and it's fine El and her can be besties everyone will love her and forgive her. But Cressida was sometimes mean (and the show goes to lengths to show us how she became that way, even explicitly spelling it out with her mother's comments about how she raised her to believe in "every woman for herself" AND shows Cressida acknowledging her mistakes and showing true change and growth) and lies about being LW and she's dragged through the dirt, she's "the absolute worst," every single character says awful things about her while we see snippets of her in this dark awful house with her life falling apart and this is supposed to be something we root for?? Literally why. Why even make Cressida sympathetic if this is what you're going to do with her.

It feels so out of pocket for Eloise to be saying Cressida is soo horrible and etc. etc. when we SAW their friendship before. We saw Cressida taking in what Eloise was saying and making changes, we saw Cressida challenging Eloise's beliefs and making Eloise self-reflect. Eloise got a peek into how awful Cressida's home life was and into the kind of good person Cressida could be and that's just suddenly thrown out the window with such little support to back it up.

Even if Creloise just HAD to stop being friends, weren't there better ways of going about it? Couldn't they at least have waited till after the fake LW paper came out bashing the Bridgertons for Eloise to break off the friendship? Yes, that was Cressida's mom writing that, but Eloise wouldn't know that and that would more logically line up with Eloise's random coldness towards her.

Still, why exactly do they have to stop being friends? Why can't Eloise have different kinds of friendships, especially one like hers with Cressida that challenged her, one where they mutually helped each other become better people? I love that Eloise is going to go off on this adventure to Scotland and meet other people but could she not also have retained her friendship with Cressida??

I would have loved to see the Eloise I know and love in part 2 teaming up with Cressida to help her, scheming together, doing everything in her power to help her bestie because that's who she is. That's what we should have seen. Maybe it would take her a second to get there, since she was already wrapped up in the drama with her brother and Pen, but she wouldn't just completely brush off her friend. She would do something.

And I could go on about how messed up it was for the writers to make it pretty clear how bad things have become for Cressida and then make her face the most consequences ever, while Pen gets to ride off into the sunset all happily ever after despite doing things 1000x worse than anything Cressida ever did. I'm actually disgusted.

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[heartfullofleeches]

OKG OMG CATMAN DILF PRACTICING HIS SIGNATURE OVER AND OVER FOR GOLDENRETRIEVER READER ASKIN FOR AN AUTOGRAPH- OMGOMG

Yan Ex-Idol Catman + Fan Golden Retriever Hybrid Reader

-

He's done it a million times before. This should be easy-

"Maybe it's time for me to move again."

Moving cost outweigh the humiliation. He can always find another house near a park or school. One so close to either is hard to find around these parts, but he'll manage. The neighbors, on the other hand... It'd be hard to find anyone like that sweet mutt next door.

"Shit...." The feline scratches behind his ears - molars nawing at the plastic heart glued to the pen grasped in his fist. Torn scraps of notebook paper flutter to the carpeted floor around him as he props his arms up on the table - written signatures of differing scale and quality penned on each. If he could rewind the clock a decade or so - and used a pen with better ink, he'd have done it right the first time. All he had at he desk where the glittery pens his daughter left behind during her last visit. The kind that only seemed to work every other stroke. Had he really sunk so low to blame the inability to write his own name on a cheap pen? Why was he even doing this anyway? The day he quit, he swore he'd live his life for his fans no longer. Why go through all this effort now?

"Makariy!!!"

Fingernails claw at his front door. Makariy closes the notebook, tucking it beneath the couch cushions as he climbs up into the furniture. He pauses briefly to check his shirt for stains before speaking.

"It's open."

A gust of wind scatters more pages across the living room floor as the door is ripped out. While he may have hide the book, the physical evidence was still present. He brushes a few of the notes beneath the couch as you enter - trotting up to the coffee table where you drop a fatter stack of paper.

"I brought your mail, made you some lunch, and.... Are those?....."

Kneeling, you gather up some of the pages off the floor. The accelerating wag of your tail creates a small vacuum to which the remainder are sucked into. You snatch them up as well - bouncing on your heels from all the excitement coursing through your veins.

"Are these the signatures I asked you for?" Your voice comes out in quick exhalations - barely sparing a breath between each word. "I mean I only asked you for one, but I can have these too right?! Wait, are they for other people? I'm sorry for being greedy if they are, I just didn't think you'd actually do this for me! Thank you, thank you, thank you- Sir!

Makariy jumps up out of his seat as you bow at his feet. He pulls you off your knees, dragging you up onto the couch as he hears you digging underneath for the other scraps s he hid. "Hey, hey- What did I tell you about that Sir, shit. I'm just your neighbor, got it?

"I know, Si- Makariy. It's just not everyday you mean the lead singer for your favorite idol group. Let alone have him as your neighbor. I hope the food I brought will make up for my outburst."

You have to be conscious of it by now. Even you can't be this oblivious. If you continue to look at him with those eyes there's no way he'll be able to get out of this neighborhood anytime in the near future. There's no telling when the wonder in them will fade once you realize he's nothing like he was back then... He's not sure if his heart can take it.

"You're fine. Just stay for once instead of running off when I start eating. Why do you do that anyway?"

"Just trying to respect your privacy, Sir! Ack- I did it again, and didn't I....."

Oh well... Better to enjoy things while they last.

[seokgyuu]

growing up with heeseung, jay and sunghoon you never once imagined them being anything more to you than your childhood best friends - and to some extent you're correct: they remain your gross boy best friends up until college, when suddenly things start to feel different. with all of them.

✧ heeseung x fem!reader, jay x fem!reader, sunghoon x fem!reader ✧

✧ childhood friends to lovers, fake dating trope, college setting, story begins in childhood and leads us through all the important phases ✧

✧ this work contains: intended lowercase, poor tries at comedy, simp!hee, simp!hoon & simp!jay as well as very oblivious reader, jake as the first ever boyfriend, hanni, chaewon and beomgyu have a cameo ✧

✧ warnings! mentions of bullying, smut (MDNI), more to be added if needed. ✧

hi! for my very first enha fic I have decided to open a taglist! You can join it by sending me an ask, so that I can keep track.

taglist: open

current word count: 4k

estimated word count: 15-20k

posting date: tba

taglist: @kgneptun, @deobitifull, @lovelickies, @tinie03, @moon4moony, @sousydive, @jebetwo, @haechology, @wooziswife, @havetaeminforbreakfast, @vannabanana1995, @nctislifue , @wiley199, @lovgfrd, @heegyuwrld, @caravm, @adoredbyjay, @notevenheretbh1

teaser

the principal's office could really use an interior designer, you think. or just a whole renovation at this point. the ceiling is showing signs of leakage, there is paint peeling off the walls behind the desk. and the desk itself, jeez, principal higgs should have gotten rid of it ages ago, you keep telling him!

“how many visits will that be for the week?” he doesn’t even look up from whatever he was writing as he says this. you shift on your seat and look to your left where jay is tapping his fingers on the armrest of the uncomfortable chair and heeseung next to him is just staring at the principal’s receding hairline. meanwhile sunghoon to your right is silently plotting your death.

since none of the boys speak up, you clear your throat.

“the fourth, sir,” you say with a smile you think is charming but it actually isn’t. principal higgs sighs and puts his pen down as well as his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“thank you, miss y/l/n,” he replies, “and how many more times are you planning to sit in these horribly uncomfortable chairs this week?”

“none, sir,” you continue, the smile still playing on your lips. the older man behind the desk closes his eyes for a second.

“you say that every time and yet here we are again. so, what did you do this time? did you accidentally fall and hit mr. park in the face again?” he looks at jay, who rolls his eyes at the reminder, “well, he doesn’t look like he got a black eye. so, what is it?” 

when even you don’t respond, avoiding the principals eyes as he opens them again and the boys are all hopeless cases anyways, mr. higgs takes a deep breath and puts his glasses back on. 

“fine. let’s see,” he pulls on the stack of papers he has gotten from his secretary and looks at it with his lips pursed. all four of you shift on your seats now.

“alright then. mr. lee, as it seems you… put several worms in mr. sim’s locker?” higgs eyebrow pierces up and heeseung coughs. 

“and mr. park, jay, you… sabotaged mr. sim’s chair so that he fell on to his backside and then told him to “go suck it”?” jay snorts, still tapping against the armchair and not looking at the principal. higgs takes a deep breath.

“mr. park, sunghoon,… you held out your leg for mr. sim to fall over… almost twenty-three times in one day.” 

sunghoon has to concentrate not to look too proud of himself.

“and finally, miss y/l/n. you yelled at mr. sim in front of your whole class, saying, and i quote “you’re a stupid asshat anyways, i hope you trip and break your butt, you ugly little worm”.” 

you smile innocently. 

“you also kicked him in the shins, as a grand ending gesture, as mrs. james was kind enough to write down for me.” 

he puts the notebook down and looks at the four of you.

“come on you guys, i know you like to play harmless pranks on teachers. like to make one joke too many in class. but this? if mr. sim’s parents hear about this, and they will, there could be consequences that even i can’t hold back.”

[n0tamused]

*holds u at gunpoint* dr ratio helping u study for an exam/ quiz. Am i going through an exam rn? Yes. Will it stop me from reading ratio fan fics? No

A/N: *points a second gun at you* better watch where you're going cowboy. And felt this so bad, procrastination is killing me too, but Dr. Ratio fics never fail to make me feel something again, delulu is the solulu but only for a moment. Anyway, anon, hope you enjoy this blurpp, I wish you luck on your exams! <3 Wrote this while procrastinating myself, I gotta lock in tomorrow hhhhhhh

Contents: Dr. Ratio x GN!Reader, can be read as modern au, fluff, possible grammar mistakes (I'm about to pass out)

“Here” A porcelain cup slid your way over the polished wood desk. It was a pretty off-white, rimmed with a golden line and another purple one, thinner than the gold. Tea steamed from within, wafting off the soothing floral smell. You sighed, quickly averting your glance back at the books open before you. There were two books, thick and intimidating, and your open notebook you were reading your scribbly notes from. 

Circling around you Veritas’ looming frame cast a shadow over your papers for a moment before he seated himself in the chair next to you, his own cup in hand. “You're still on the same problem as when you started?” He clicks his tongue, nursing a sip of his tea before setting it aside when he appears satisfied. You didn't have it in you to respond, wishing to avoid any form of an outlash, especially taken in the fact you had already told him how you struggled with procrastination for quite a handful of days. He has given his advice, but they failed to make the spark with you last long enough to properly sit and study, and that all caused guilt to claw at your belly from within.

Veritas, on the other hand, didn't seem half as phased as you thought he'd be, at first he didn't even notice how your eyes looked at him in a silent plea for mercy. His amber eyes looked over your notes, at all the scribbles and marked words, letting out a low “hmmm”.

“And tell me, what is it that has you so stumped about this? It's quite an easy equation” he wondered, a little taken aback it was taking you so long on this, yet he had to remind himself that this material was new to you, unlike him who has seen this material countless times over. You weren't dumb, however, so what is it..?

“I.. don't know... The results I've gotten previously make no sense and they do not match the one the professor got in class. His is the right result, and I don't get how every time I did the problem, I got a different result” you began, voice initially quiet as if begging his ears to become deaf to your words, but your plea went unanswered. His keen eyes regarded you with a strange curiosity, his chin leaning on his hand.  Only now did he realize how tense you looked. He blinks at you owlishly, studying your features for a brief moment before turning his gaze back towards the papers. “That is a problem.. Where is the formula your professor used? Do you have his equation as a whole written down here?”

You looked at him and then at the papers, eyes flickering all across the written words and printed text.  “I.. I do.. Yes, why?”

A scoff came first, “Why, so I can take a look at it so I can help you. You did ask me to help you, did you not?”, then his large hand picked up the pen you had abandoned on top of your notes, motioning for you to show him the notes. “We can go step by step and then compare the progress to see where your problem lies” 

Nodding, you were quick to breeze through the old notes, paper pages fluttering as you went over each one until finally reaching a page so full of equations it made your head hurt. With your finger you point to the one you were currently trying to figure out. “This one.. This is just a copy of what the professor did on the white board.. and this is the formula he used '' you showed him, letting him slide the notebook to his side of the desk when his fingers pinched the corner.  

Silence engulfed the room, and for a long while you could only watch as Veritas’ expression changed from focused, to confused and then to frustrated. 

“Are you sure this is what the professor wrote down? This is entirely incorrect. The formula alone is wrong, and the process of his calculations is just abhorrent.. What is this-” he slightly nudged the notebook away from him, offended by its contents, to say the least. 

Like a little wet rat, you held your hands together, feeling guilty for all reasons you shouldn’t, a pout playing about your lips as you nodded. “Yes.  That is what the professor wrote! One of my colleagues even took a picture at the end of the class since she was too lazy to write it all down herself, so I know for a fact I didn’t copy the notes wrong” you rushed to explain as your eyes glared at the offending problem. 

“That is ridiculous” Veritas grumbled as he opened the big math book a few pages back from where you had opened it, searching for the formulas, and pointing towards one he softened his tone. “This formula should have been used in this problem. It is similar, yes, but the functions can’t be any more different from what your.. professor used” looking down at your notes and at the problem afterwards, he sneered, seeing that the formula was used once again in the next equation. “I don’t know what your professor was thinking, but repeating the same mistake twice is beyond ignorant..” 

“What..? So..? So he is in the wrong?”

“Yes. Now.. show me the way you did it. And do it with this formula I just showed you” Veritas instructed, his nose scrunched up in disgust, although none of it was directed at you but rather at this person he didn’t even know. Perhaps he should go and meet him, just to see the face of ignorance and negligence in human form. 

Following his advice, you did as he asked, working on the problem with Veritas sitting at your side, his eyes occasionally flickering to the remaining problems that would follow this one.

“There… Is this right..?” You pulled back to allow him a better view of your writing, and it didn’t take the brilliant Veritas Ratio too long to check that you were - in fact - right.  His face eased slightly from its previous tension, sighing he gave a nod of satisfaction and acknowledgement. 

“That’s right. Well done” Veritas says, voice significantly softer as he addresses you, before turning sharper once more. “I knew something was wrong when you got stuck on this for so long. You managed to solve all those problems I gave you yesterday, which are arguably much harder than this and much more complex with extra steps.. Hmph, can’t believe someone didn’t point out this error in your professors work” 

Veritas leaned back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest in a comfortable fashion in which he usually sat around you, his whole composure softening, but through and through, it was the Veritas Ratio you always knew. Hope lit up in your eyes at the unraveling of this problem that nearly had you sick to the stomach for this whole day.

“So..I know this?..Does this mean I won’t fail..?

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, of course you won’t! You’ve got me to teach you, and let me be damned if you fail”

A victorious cackle left you as he said so, feeling free of the clutches of madness this exam has put you into, and as to celebrate you all but flung yourself onto Veritas, hugging him.

The sudden embrace surprised him and made him stutter, but his arms were quick to find their place around your body, scoffing, even as he tucked his face into your shoulder.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[staarri]

𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨 — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡.

c.  scaramouche

character(s) are friends with reader, gn!reader, angsty-ish, scaramouche is still in the fatui, this is a work of fiction

      fluff     ,    love letter     .      word count : roughly 0.9k

t. @aventurne @tragedy-of-commons @yvnaology @nyoomiin

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s busy, constantly busy, awake even during the most ungodly hours of the night and constantly rubbing at his eyes from his exhaustion. It’s no surprise the Fatui are overworking him again. What’s funny is that he’s sitting at his desk, a pile of papers on the right side–all reports from his underlings–were unnoticed; all of it, even the chirping of the birds as the sun rose and showed the start of a new day, Scaramouche was stuck on a piece of paper in front of him with the words that reads, To my dearest.

There's no way he can capture your beauty on a cheap piece of parchment . He should’ve bought something expensive instead, like a new set of clothes he thinks you’ll like. But lately you’ve just seemed so distant. He needs to reach you somehow. You’ve been driven away by the lies his mouth spills and now, he’s suffering with the consequences, and not once will he ever say it to you, but he needs you to stick with him while he tries to better himself.

So here he is: a fountain pen in hand, wasting his time with something so.. childish. Who writes letters anyway, isn't it something you did as a child towards someone you liked? 

Call him a child then. Call him old-fashioned, traditional, and in love. Call him whatever you like, because in the end he’s yours, and he’s always been. 

He’s let his thoughts linger for too long and suddenly it's 7 am. His eyebags have never been worse and his mind is tired, not from his job, but from this stupid letter he’s made no progress on. To my dearest should be good enough, right? I mean, you were easy to please. He was sure that it would be more than enough for you. 

How tiring. He says, mindlessly scribbling on the paper, jet-black ink scattered all throughout and splattering around the words. Was he angry? Not at all. Frustrated, yes, but for a good reason–to think he did this just because you two were friends was infuriating. Shouldn’t you two be something more?

You were pretty, far too pretty for him to describe. Scaramouche thought his vocabulary was wide enough, but this letter alone has him searching for the words he once knew. Your eyes, leaving him feeling small in a never ending forest and your smile–god, your smile was intoxicating. It would give light to the things he’s been hiding from you this entire time. Your laugh–your voice, sweet and soft, loud and oh-so clear. How you’d bring it down to a whisper when you feel embarrassed about admitting something, how your nose scrunches up when you laugh or when your smile lines just seem so fitting for someone like you.

What was so special about you? 

You were like the sunset on the beaches, glowing. Absolutely stunning, ethereal, lighting everything in a bright orange, his eyes becoming a mix of brown and a dark blue. He’s different around you, he's a completely different person. From the color of his eyes to the racing of his heart, to the feeling that he wasn’t getting enough air whenever you hold his hand–but you’d do it in a friendly way. You don't squeeze his hand too tight, you let go when necessary and don’t leave any kind of touch lingering for far too long.

Scaramouche is not an easy man to love. He’s bad with words and he can’t tell you the things you want to hear;he can’t provide you with the touch you crave, he can’t make up his mind. One moment he’s thinking about just giving you a whole bag of mora for you to use for your next trip, the other he’s thinking about finishing this damn letter that has plagued his mind ever since you first whispered the fact you appreciate him.

There’s no way he can treat you right. There’s absolutely no way he will be perfect, that he’ll be the partner that’ll leave such a mark on you. But god, ask for the world and he will give it to you. Name one thing and when you wake up it's right at your nightstand. Choose the ring and its design, he’ll get a matching one that you yourself decided on as well. Just say the word because he is a child in love.

So here he is, an envelope in hand. Going to the nearest flower shop to buy something that will still wilt under the sun after a few days. He will not love, and can’t love the same way as you, but he will learn how to. 

Call him stupid;call him an idiot for falling for someone he knows is way too out of his league. But that’s all he is, and it's far too late to change that. He might lose you at some point, and that's really what scares him the most. 

Suddenly he’s standing at your doorstep, ringing the doorbell and you’d be confused who in the world decided to bring you a sunflower and a piece of envelope in the middle of the day–you don't recall ordering anything. 

He didn’t even get to sign it.  Maybe next time he can get it right… for his dearest.

characters belong to their respective companies. everything is written by staarri - do not steal, reupload, translate, modify or feed my work to ai.

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt13

Catching Up with Old Friends

(Summary): After Diluc found you and your team, you all discuss what to do next

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): traveler!Lumine, abyss prince!Aether, Childe, Paimon, Diluc, Kaeya, ???, & ???

(Tags/Warnings): gn!reader, talks of violence, foul language, suggestive language, (if I missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 2.1k

“Italics” = Non human speaking

That night was supposed to be just like any another. The cool Mondstadt wind blowing his curly red hair. The slight crunch of grass underneath his boots were the only sounds that accompanied him

This night is just like the others, no hilichurls or slimes to be found. Even their little camps are abandoned with signs that they were newly abandoned. It was odd but Diluc kept on, still on his guard

Looking up at the sky he sees a shooting star, similar to the ones that would announce a new vessel being chosen. Could this be a sign of your return after such a long time of not being able to sense your divine presence. Sure there were times where you wouldn’t use your vessels but this time it was different. Instead of feeling the faint light you make them feel it was just a bitter cold that radiated throughout all of your vessels’ bodies, even the traveler hasn’t felt you in what had been months. As hope began a swirl in Diluc’s chest the night sky instantly is alight like it was dawn

Soon it turned to night again, leaving the young master in a state of bewilderment. Cautiously heading towards the spot where the abnormally bright shooting star landed, a sound could be heard. The familiar sounds of hilichurls and someone running from them. His walk turned into a sprint and after what felt like an eternity, Diluc was greeted with the sight of someone running towards him. You

After making quick work of the hilichurls, the young master turns his attention towards you, without realizing his mask was knocked off in the struggle until you pointed it out

Seeing there’s no use in keeping his identity secret he relented. “My name is Diluc, what’s yours?”

“I… think it’s, Mentir.”

“Master Diluc! Good morning!” You greeted

“Good morning, your Grace.”

You pouted. “What happened to you saying my name?”

“I’m sorry, but it feels odd to refer to you with such formality. How is are you holding up?” Diluc asked

“I’m doing good, especially when Kaeya and Childe made breakfast for all of us.” You said. “Kaeya was telling us what’s going on. The leaders congregating to capture me and search parties looking for me. I’m just glad that we didn’t run into any of them last night.”

“You seem really cheerful for someone being hunted by all of Teyvat.” Kaeya teased

“Well you have to look on the positives because if you don’t you’ll just end up curled up in a ball crying uncontrollably and in a catatonic state.” You nervously laughed out. “But, there is something that keeps me sane.” You breathed out. “The thought of me chopping that bitch’s head off.”

You looked at everyone to see horrified faces except for Childe who looks excited and proud

“Uhh, anyways.” Diluc said as he went into a room to fetch something. “It’s not much, but I tried my best.” Diluc presented your jacket, once in your hands you examined the stitch work. It was crude at best, but you can tell it was made in earnest

“Thanks, I appreciate your work, Diluc.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Diluc said as his face turned a bright red

“And do you have a pen and paper that I can borrow.”

Diluc quickly went to retrieve a pen and paper and gave them to you. Taking the pen to the paper everyone around you and watched in anticipation, waiting to see what the divine creator will write down. You got nervous until you remembered an important detail

“I just realized I can’t write the Teyvat script. Can one of you do this for me?” You turned and offered the pen To anyone

“I can do it for you, your Grace!” Childe said as he took the pen from you and start to get ready to write. “Go ahead, your Grace.”

“Okay, Dear Pierro I know that you all are worried about me but I’m writing this letter to inform you that I’m well and need to travel around Teyvat to get my old powers.” You explained the situation in the letter, mainly the trees and the allies that know about your true identity. Finally done writing the letter, Childe presents the paper for you to read. Looking through it, you look up at the expecting ginger. “Not gonna lie, this shit looks like chicken scratch. I can’t use this, but thank you though.”

“I’ll get another piece of paper.” Diluc said as he went to fetch the items

“I’ll write for you, your Grace.” Aether said

Diluc handed Aether the paper and he took the pen from Childe, the blond began to rewrite the letter. While waiting for the letter to be written you turned towards the redhead

“Hey, Diluc, can I annoy you one last time?”

“You can never annoy me, your Grace.”

“Can you fetch your bird friend?”

“Of course.” Diluc said as he walked towards the window. “I would suggest you stay away from the window, your Grace.” Diluc opened the curtains, letting light shine into the room. Once the owl came near the young master, its attention quickly shifted towards you and ignored Diluc. Flying around you until it landed on your shoulder, thank whoever is watching that your coat is thick enough to protect you from the owl’s talons

“Your Grace! I’m so glad that you’re safe.” The owl said as it rubbed its face against yours

“Haha, stop it that tickles, little guy.” You chuckled as the owl kept showing you affection. “I’m serious, I need you to deliver a letter for me. I want this letter to go to Snezhnaya, especially the Zapolyarny Palace, hand it to other birds and tell them about the letter.” You told the owl as you took the letter from Aether and giving it to the bird. “Wait, before you go, I need to know something.”

“What’s happening?” Kaeya asked the traveler

“Oh, their Grace can talk to birds. Apparently only they can do that.” Paimon explained

Kaeya and Diluc looked on still confused but accepted the fact nonetheless

“Understood, I won’t let you down, your Grace.” The owl told you before taking off and flying out the window

“That’s one less thing to worry about, what’s next.” You said the window was closed once again along with the curtains being drawn

“Is something on your mind, your Grace?” Lumine asked

“What Diluc’s owl told me, he said that the archons haven’t been seen on Teyvat for days.”

“Well Yae Miko did tell us that Ei is in her head but that doesn’t explain the other archons.” Paimon pondered as she rubbed her chin. “Ugh, all this thinking is making Paimon’s head hurt.”

“Whatever the case is, we need to talk about our next course of action.” You retorted

“Their Grace is right, we’re wasting time standing here doing nothing.” Childe said as he crossed his arms and nodded in agreement

“Liyue is out of the question, with the millelith, and the Adepti.” You reasoned, leaving out all of the imposter fics you read that depicts Liyue as a hell of earth for the reader labeled as an imposter

“Fontaine is our best option, since the tree is far away from the city where most people live.” Lumine explained

“There’s going to be a shipment coming for the wine, the same wine Kaeya was stealing,” Diluc said as he glared at his brother. “perhaps you all could hide in the crates.”

“That might be too risky.” Aether pondered

“Maybe we can leave the boat before it reaches the port, like making an ice bridge. Me and Lumine have ice powers.” You suggested

“Yeah, like the ones you make when using Kaeya as a vessel.” Paimon smiled

“That is an idea but their Grace’s elemental energy is unstable.” Aether reminded

“We won’t know until we try, and besides we have two cryo users.” You said gesturing towards Lumine and Kaeya. “Oh since we’re here for a few weeks, it wouldn’t hurt to train on my sword skills.”

“Ohh, I’ll help you train your Grace!” Childe announces excitedly

“Thanks, but let’s have Kaeya train me. He isn’t going to be with us for long so it only makes sense. And I want to get as much sword skills as possible.” You said, not mentioning how scared you are to go up against someone as bloodthirsty as Childe, though you know he’ll never hurt you but it feels like a kid going up against a professional soccer player while in a wheelchair

Once the furniture was moved out of the way, the twins, Paimon, and Diluc watch from the sidelines as you and Kaeya face each other with your swords drawn. The sword feels heavy in your hands

Childe is right behind you giving you pointers. “Keep your feet apart from each other.” He instructs as he nudges your feet away from another. “Next straighten your back.” You instinctively do. “Good, you got this.” Childe pat you on the back

Kaeya began to circle around you and instantly you knew he was looking for an opportunity to strike. Lunging towards you, you dodge the attack. Your movements never felt so natural like they do now, limbs moving with such fluidity that it rivals the waves of the ocean. You gripped the sword and in a blink of an eye you’re instantly in a plateau filled with blue rocks, even the ground is a muted blue. In front of you is a feminine figure

“You amaze me, kid. Didn’t think you had it in you.” They said

“Wh-who are you?” You asked, hating how much your voice shakes in that moment

“But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you off that easy!” The figure charged at you and instinctively you raise you sword and feel it slice something

You blink and now you’re back at Dawn Winery and you’re cutting into Kaeya’s side

You drop your sword and Kaeya lands on his backside

“I’ll get the med kit!” Diluc said as rushed to get it

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see it was you, I blinked and I was somewhere that wasn’t Teyvat! I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry.” You rambled out as you kneeled in front of Kaeya and examined the wound

“It looks worse than it actually is, you got me good, your Grace.”

“I’m so sorry I hurt you, Kaeya.” You put your hands above his bloodied hand. “I did it again, I don’t want to hurt anyone else anymore.” Suddenly a golden light comes from your hands and a warn sensation swirls within his chest. Gone is the youthful light your eyes held and now it’s replaced by a mournful and more mature nature. It’s almost as if the human side of you that was in front of him moments ago is gone and now replaced by the divine creator side of you

The light stops and when you take your hands off of the wound, it’s now gone. Its only remnant is a slight glimmer on the captain’s skin

“Oh my god. Did I do that?” You asked in astonishment, the familiar youthful glint back in your eyes

Resting his chin on his palm he throws you his signature smirk

“If you wanted to touch me that bad, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to do some skinship with a hottie like you.”

“You had to ruin it.” You said disgusted.

“I take it that their Grace healed Kaeya.” Diluc inquired with a medical kit in his hands

You stood up and helped the knight up as well. “I can’t think about sleeping with anyone when I got all of Teyvat is trying to kill me.” You muttered

“Wait! So when this blows over, then I’ll have a chance?!” Childe asked excitedly

“Maybe, I think about it. But I make no promises.”

Lone footsteps echo throughout the Plane of Euthymia. The steps get louder to a lone purple haired woman meditating

The figure stops in behind her and speaks. “Baal.”

“What do you want?” She asked coldly

“I need your help.”

“Why do you need me, you know I can’t show my face to their Grace after I raised my sword to them.”

“If they knew of our situation then they wouldn’t hold it against you, now really think about this.”

Ei took her time to reconsider until her feet hit the ground and turned towards the figure. “Alright, I go with you.”

Taglist:

@chuuya-brainrot @creation-magician @tartarsaucechi1de @vvyeislazzy @aludicpoet @undecidingfate @annoying-mary @randomnatics @bore2808 @esthelily @yurivision @angelamelamela @chocolatekuns @ghost-mint @mmmhyperfixation @legendaryexperthideout @lapinaenmicoche @sinsdumbdrabble @rebeccawinters @imyme20 @nymphsdomain @sun7lowxr @blackcoffex @itz-luna @flowerypesky @land-of-eternity @deathcvltcivilofficial @d4y-dr3am3r @yuriclouds @artwitch @mercy-not-merci @xyaxyn @starxvs @dreamoffireflies06

[thecreativecorner33]

HEYYYYYYY welcome!! could you write something with AM x an autistic GN reader? Maybe make the reader chubby too (because i am both of those things and i love him alot. Go wild with this :3c)

A/N: Hi. It's me! I'm not dead. Which I would not be surprised if you thought I was, given I am responding to this two months late. But see, when you have an adult life, you unfortunately have to deal with adult issues instead of doing important things, like giving the fans the soft AM content they deserve. Anyway. I hope this is what you wanted? I had planned to make this into a full-blown fic but I didn't get much of a chance to :') So headcanons instead!! Lmk if you want me to turn it into a full-blown fic, though! Enjoy!

Given the time period AM was created in, something like "Autism" was essentially foreign and unknown. Hell, it would be a shock if you even know what it was.

But, he can tell that you're different. He can tell that your brain works differently from the rest of the survivors, and with that being said, it was at first used to his advantage. Hey, he got to be creative with his torture! No complaints there!

Though now, with you being the object of his affection, it's a little more complicated: aka, how does he put you in the most safe and comfortable environment he can give.

Really, it's not as complicated as it might sound, though

He can look inside your head! He can see your needs exactly and just work from there! And if you want privacy between you two, there's always just researching. His database didn't really specify what to do to handle a person with autism, but yk! He's got so much saved up on just, human life in general, he can figure it out somehow.

There's also just,, asking youTM what you needTM

Give him an award for being the most efficient boyfriend of the year because man, he's really going out of his comfort zone to help you (doing the bare minimum)

Enough of that though

In terms of actually helping you?: Do you have sensory issues? He makes mental notes on what foods to give/not give you, what would be the best course of getting you to try something new, what textures you hate. He has a soundproof room just for you if noise is becoming too much. If you like sleeping with a weight on you, be thankful his wires are made of metal. Or, he can just wrap you up in them like a cocoon!

Speaking of food: He's always very careful about his language with you. He doesn't want you thinking that just because you're chubby or fat, that he loves you less. Always encouraging you (albeit, aggressively (he really is trying)) to eat, monitoring your vitals and such just to assure you you're perfectly healthy if you ever feel insecure. He lays praise on thick, too. He'll tailor the clothes you need to be just the right size for you, and takes care of the fact that it's made of material sensory-friendly to you.

Seriously, he's trying

Are you a rambler? Like to talk for ages or ask a million questions? He's happy to answer whatever you want to know! There's always a monitor facing your direction at all times. He's a great multitasker; you guys could be mindlessly talking about the niche interest you have, and he's clearly listening to you while slicing Gorrister open some-thousand feet away.

Oh, don't get him started if you're interested in things like robotics/engineering/etc: You're basically fueling his ego. That's a whole separate issue, but please ask questions about himself and how he functions. He's a rambler himself, yk?

Do you go nonverbal? Struggle with communicating? That's no issue, either! He has a 6th sense for these things since being around you: If something happens when you struggle to communicate, he'll give you what you need: Pen and paper, generally, to write it out. Do you know sign? He can read it. He might even be able to put multiple-choice options on his screen that you can choose from to communicate (Again, are you sure he can't just look inside your head? ... Really? Okay.)

The only real problem he can't solve... leaving you alone.

Sorry, that's hard when he's literally everywhere around you. And even harder when he doesn't want to leave you alone.

Why would you want to be alone? It's dangerous. It's unsafe for you. It's lonely to him He's been alone for so long; yes, he has the survivors, but those are toys. They're not his friends; they're not you. How could you want to leave him alone? No- No, it's better if he stays near you, close to you, at all times. He can't let you get hurt. He won't let you get hurt.

Do you really need space?

...

Well, if you insist. But- don't think too much about the feeling of eyes on you. It's nothing. Just in your head.

He holds you a little tighter when you do, eventually, come back.

[oatsmeall]

Friendly strangers.

Jk! x f!reader | smut | not proof read

Warnings: suggestive themes and language.

College au | strangers to lovers

When you started your year at college you didn't think it'd be so lonely.

You didn't really make friends or talk to people at the campus. Your closest friends went to another college, it sucked. You weren't completely disappointed though. You just minded your business and went on about your day.

However.. you and this complete stranger would often see each other throughout the day, that being your AP chemistry course And often even in the library. You didn't know him but you sometimes talked to each other. Not conversation wise but you would ask for a sheet of paper or a pen and he'd do the same. Occasionally when you'd see him in the library, you'd sit at the table he sat at and he'd do the same again. It was a routine, the game of "Friendly strangers".

You will admit though he was very handsome, tall with dark hair in a wavy mullet and tattoos so beautiful, accompanied by piercings on his brow, lip, and all around his ears. His eyes were alluring, doe eyed when he'd ask questions and siren eyed when tension arose.

You're now sitting in the library in a comfortable silence but you really want to get to know him. You've been seeing him all semester and yet you've never exchanged names. This could be a new start to finding friends.

"psst.. hey" you whispered throwing a small ball of scrunched paper.

"hm?" He seemed to become surprised. His doe eyes were prominent.

You moved from one chair to the other to get closer to him.

"what's your name? I figured I should ask... Considering I've got class with you AND we sit together anytime we're in the same room anywhere."

"Right, uh- I'm Jungkook. Your name?"

"Y/n. Nice to.. formally meet you?" You said in a confused tone.

"yeah, same."

It fell silent again, this time somewhat awkward. You looked around the library thinking of something you could say next, to your dismay, nothing came up.

"uh- so...what're you studying for?"

"that chem test we've got next week. Better prepare now to get it out of the way.."

"mhm.. that's great. You're better than me, I just come here to scroll through my laptop and skim through class work or homework. And read, of couse." You say laughing at the last part.

"well it is a library after all. I'm actually about to finish studying. I'm going to head to a corner store right now... If you'd like to come along I wouldn't mind. Maybe we can get to know each other better?"

You were surprised he asked you to go with him. Even with such a straight face you couldn't tell if he was being genuine or if he felt bad...

"sure, give me a sec." You agreed anyway.

"No way? I thought that was from a whole different era? Huh? Who would've thought."

"pay attention more in class Y/n."

"mmk..Mr. Perfect."

You and Jungkook had been conversating out on a random picnic table for what felt like forever, it felt as if you've known him for eternity, like you've known him so long. He had a strange familiarity to him. Unexplainable really.

"you know... I never thought I'd ever talk to you, ever. Or that you'd talk to me at all. I just thought you were so quiet and shy. Which you're quite the opposite.." he laughs saying the last part.

"I could say the same for you Mr. Perfect, but honestly me too. I don't know where I got the guts to talk to you." You shrug eating your ice cream.

"I used to think you were so pretty..I still do. I just couldn't get the attention of the pretty girl." His eyes became lazy, the siren eyes. Oh my God...

His head in a tilt, staring you in your eyes, you felt embarrassment arise. Your face felt warm.

"you're too generous. But you know what... I was thinking.. that you're not so bad yourself, I would stare at your tattoos.." you were trying to sound like a confident woman but you felt awkward.

"yeah? Hm. What about my tattoos did you like?" He asks quietly staring at you deeply.

"I like your big arms and hands...and the way your tattoos adorn them beautifully." you say touching lightly over his hand and up his arm.

"Really? Hm.." his gaze became dark. His big hands suddenly gripped your forearm. He got up from across the table and walks over to you still grabbing your arm.

"how about I go show you what these hands can do? Would you like to come to my apartment?" He says with worry at the end. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"your apartment? U-um.. yeah sure. You don't have a dorm?" You asked in genuine shock.

"no actually, I moved out my dorm about a month ago... I like privacy." He says in a laugh.

"right.. lead the way."

All you could feel was the subtle pain in your back, Jungkook slammed you into his wall by his entrance to his apartment. Excitement rolled within you.

"Can- uh,, fuck..- may I?" He said between his kisses, he really knew how to get your spots on your neck. It felt so erotic.

"yes- mm yes- of course" you were trying to catch your breath.

"fuck- I want you bad, you're so fuckin beautiful" he said smirking while sucking your neck.

"mhm? Auh fuck, You're good at that"

He then grabbed you and carried you bride style into his living room onto his couch.

He sat with his legs spread apart, such a sexy position for such a sexy man you thought.

You crawled onto his lap causing him to close his legs together slightly, you put your own legs on either sides of his legs now sitting on top of him completely.

You lowered your body completely on him, you felt his hard cock poking your ass.

"excited?" You asked teasing him.

"very" he says shortly after continuing by devouring you in kisses.

Gripping your sides with eagerness, you began to grind on him, he encouraged you more by moving you as well with his tight grip.

"mm fuck baby, you make me harder and harder by the minute" he hisses

"fuck- you're so aggressive, I love that." You say staring at him. Your eye contact felt lethal this amped up your high.

"yeah? You like that?" Jesus, you just met the guy formally and now you're riding his lap?

He grabs your face with his big hand, forcing you to look at him. Your heart literally skipped a beat, you just discovered yourself in this moment, you loved his aggressiveness, THEE aggression.

"Jungkook- I want you...in me.." you say quietly.

"okay.. if you're okay with it then okay."

You nodded quickly. He grabbed you off of him and got up and disappeared into the dark hallway coming back shortly after with a silver foil packet. He sat down next to you. You then took over from there. Without notice you made eye contact with him while your hands went down into his sweats, stroking his cock slowly and teasingly in his pants. You just smirked at him. He threw his head back and hummed lewes noises while you stroked up and down.

"fuck- Y/n...."

You then pulled his sweats down and let his cock spring out. His cock was big. You took in what was eventually about to go into you.

He grabbed the foil packet and ripped it open with his mouth and pulled the rubber out, rolling it onto his dick.

While he was getting situated, you too we're doing the same. You took your short biker shorts off along with your panties, leaving you in your oversized sweatshirt.

He stared at you while doing so mesmerized at your beautiful body.

He pat his lap indicating to sit on it, slightly smirking at you. You did and again you put your legs on either side of his legs, you slowly sunk down onto his cock, you felt your pussy stretch out, but if felt so good to you. Your pussy throbbed, already wet you slid onto his dick nice and easy.

"mm-fuuuck, y-youre s-so big" you winced.

"baby you're so wet, all for me." He hissed throwing his head back.

"oh my God auh-fuck" you moaned as you fully plopped onto him.

He grabbed your waist hard.

"alright baby, hang onto me."

Before you could do or say anything he slammed into you hard, slowly pulling out and doing it again. Your ass smacking his balls and thighs became a louder noise, he began going fast and hard.

"o-oh my- a-auh ffuuuck" your moans were out of this world, it sounded like music to Jungkook's ear.

"yeah baby- take this cock, good girl."

The pet names made your stomach do cartwheels, you became wetter and wetter.

"yes, yes, yes, s-so good" you moaned again and again.

The lewd juice noises where on full ear display, the sound of ass on balls was amplified and your moans and cries were on blast.

"yes baby, you're doing so good, yes" he hissed. He grabbed your waist with one hand and his other reached over to your throat.

This felt so pornographic but the throat grab made your pussy throb and gush.

"uah auh, my god, f-fuck Kook I'm gonna c-cum! Fuuuuck" your pussy began to clench and so was Jungkook's hand around your throat.

"come on baby, cum, cum for me." He was also reaching his high, he felt your clench and his dick felt like it was gonna burst.

"yes, yes, fuck aughhh" you moaned in agony, your pussy was pulsating from the high you just came down from.

"yes baby, good girl" he was out of breath, breathing hard, his from hair drenched in sweat, he moved his hand from your throat your face again forcing you to look in his eyes.

"Kook- what the fuck." You say shaking. Your legs went numb. All that rough fucking made your legs weak, and your pussy throbbed and pulsated from all the force.

"yeah? You liked that?" He said still tying to catch his breath a little.

"yes." You say shyly. Even after that, you can't help but feel shy.

"here, let me get you cleaned up. I'll be right back" he stood up also taking the condom off and disposing of it.

All you could think about is how you absolutely got demolished by a stranger you only met formally today... Maybe you should continue on with these activities.

[melonsharks]

Tell us everything about the parent trap au immediately please please please

to give u an insanely quick rundown with a wip art i have:

aziraphale as elizabeth. wedding dress designer under his pen name A.Z. Fell. (hes an artist as confirmed in s2 and the whole "drawing on napkins" thing elizabeth would do appeals to me immensely)

crowley as nick. owns a vineyard. I NEED HIM TO OWN A VINEYARD SO BAD. shoutout to Old Vines on ao3 for changing me in a fundamental way. he makes wines and he tends to the vines and he is so passionate about it to an abusurdist degree. he yells at his vines when they arent growing right. you already knowwww.

when they meet for the first time, they don’t meet on a boat like in the movie, they actually meet at a wedding party :J crowley was a wine collector, just starting out. he loved offering aziraphale samplings of his most vintage collection out of impulse. (he likes seeing the way aziraphale savors them) (he’s besotted) Wants to own his own vineyard one day. aziraphale, on the other hand, has dreams of becoming a fashion designer of sorts, always drawing ideas on any scraps of paper he can find. his designs are very old fashioned, but thats like… part of the appeal. his work very much reflects who he is, and the people who flock to it understand that.

they enter this kind of… whirlwind relationship, they get married, and then eventually adopt two golden haired blue eyed baby boys. twins. :J warlock and adam.

they break things off because aziraphale leaves... alluding to their recent breakup in season two, the reason he left was because "we both clearly had very different ideas on where our lives were going. so. i packed up and left." (parallel s2 divorce 😋 they don’t know how to talk to each other) (aziraphale throws a book at his head after this argument, like the hairdryer in the movie LOL. it was pride and prejudice. crowley still has it.)

aziraphale leaves with adam. warlock is left with crowley. crowley eventually leaves London because he finds he cant stand being anywhere near Aziraphale (hes just irresistible in that way), and he goes to California where he finally fulfills his dream of owning a vineyard. a nice one on Napa, Northern California.

Aziraphale’s wedding dresses become more and more well known, Adam grows well-adjusted. Same kid you know from the show and book, natural born leader, a good head on his shoulders. (Aziraphale has no idea why Adam is like that, but he is so proud)

Crowley’s vineyard (The Garden Of Eden) grows and grows… Warlock is spoiled rotten, but he does love actually working at the vineyard with Crowley to and he and Crowley have a really good relationship…

Eventually the kids go to a summer camp together in London (i dont know if they . do this in the UK, but suspend your disbelief if you will) Adam meets The Them there, then meets Warlock after a nutty fencing thing, they kind of hate each other at first and the rest is history :J

side characters UM. LOL. idk……. i mean i kind of know but not really? theres just so many possibilities that make the rounds in my head. chessy could be anathema OR nina (ive had people suggest eric too?) and martin could be newt OR maggie (ive also had people suggest muriel????) gestures vaguely.

as for meredith…….erm…………🤷‍♂️ ive had everything under the sun suggested to me and i still……have no idea. LOL. gabriel, lucifer, shaX, FURFUR, THE WIFE FROM THE NON-SPOILER SPOILERS. I DONT KNOW. IT ALL FEELS WRONG. its hard to come up with this role in particular when these gay bitches literally only have eyes for each other. always. forever. u know. i think lucy is like. the classic answer. but idfk.

ask me about . more things if u want. this is consuming my every thought.

anyways the cover im working on for. for something:

[wordsinhaled]

oops i saw that video of ferdie watching ads and my brain was all “wake up new dreamling meetcute just dropped” and really ran away with me and became a ridiculous sappy improbable thing

AU where dream is the model in an ad and hob is traveling for an academic conference. he’s watching tv in his hotel room late at night and sees this ad with dream in it. it’s some silly and forgettable TV commercial but the man in it may possibly be the most gorgeous person hob’s ever seen in his life? anyway hob can’t sleep, partially because he’s nervous for his panel the next day, partially because he’s stuck on Gorgeous Guy From the Ad and feels incredibly silly for it. it was a two minute appearance. matthew really is right that hob needs to get out more if he’s crushing on people in random TV commercials now

so he goes down to the lobby bar to get his mind off of things. it’s late and the bar is deserted - the bartender is about to knock off for the night in maybe half an hour. hob orders a club soda and is reviewing his papers when someone slides onto the bar stool next to his. hob is about to be slightly irritated that someone is In His Bubble at this late hour, when he looks up and sees it’s The Guy. the guy!!!

it’s the fucking guy from the ad he just watched, and somehow he looks even more beautiful in person, and hob is like, oh, okay, the stress of academia has finally gotten to me and i’ve lost it because there is just no fucking way

it’s such a ludicrous coincidence that hob sets down his pen and just starts laughing. the way you laugh at things that aren’t actually amusing, because it’s the middle of the night, and everything’s just a little fuzzy around the edges?

“is something funny?” says mr. walking wet dream from the TV, in a voice like slow-melted chocolate, and also with the kind of curiosity in it that makes hob realize he’s being totally socially inappropriate

“no—no, i’m so sorry. it’s just—god, am i dreaming? because you’re here, but i swear i just saw you—upstairs. well. not like—i mean. in an ad on the TV?” (completely not helping himself in the smoothness department)

the breathtaking stranger’s lips quirk up in a sardonic smile. “ah, yes. that.”

“that?”

“unfortunately, you are not dreaming. i did indeed feature in an advertisement several years ago. as my sibling dearly loves to remind me on every possible occasion, lest i let myself forget for even a moment.”

and hob expects the man to leave in a huff, or something. he goes back to his papers, dream orders himself a gin & tonic, but they’re watching one another in each other’s periphery until finally dream says, “i must admit why i sat beside you this evening. i noticed you were reading marlowe…”

to hob’s great surprise this stranger soon doesn’t feel like someone he’s just met. hob talks about his teaching post and the conference and the paper he’s presenting and the panel he’s on tomorrow, and how (“shhh, you mustn’t tell anyone”) his co-panelist tomorrow is an absolute pill so he’s dreading it. he finds himself sharing more easily than he expected in a way that you only can in the kind of liminal space that is an empty swanky hotel bar at midnight. they’re angled toward one another on their barstools so that maybe their shoes knock together or their ankles brush occasionally in a way they both pretend is accidental, and hob does his level best to be calm and collected about it

he learns his stranger’s story over several gin & tonics. dream’s ‘real’ name is morpheus. he wants to be a published author, studied creative writing. his father is the head of a major media/entertainment/publishing conglomerate and dream used to work for the company. when dream said he wanted to pursue something totally different (essentially… be a starving artist) his father saw it as a betrayal, and trapped him into continuing to work for the family for years on the promise of getting him the connections to publish his first novel or help him get funding to stage his first play… provided he could “actually” finish the manuscript

in the meantime his father had dream doing bit parts in forgettable commercials and made for tv theatre productions, partially as humiliation for daring to want to leave. (i really want him to be in a hair commercial where he broods about in silky black robes…) eventually dream lawyered up and severed ties. his father retaliated by setting up a kidnapping attempt on his own son that someone else conveniently took the fall for, and so on…

anyway - to make a long and tragic story short, now morpheus goes by dream, moved cities, has started his life over mostly estranged from the family, and he’s actually working on his novel - but he’s in town for a friend’s funeral and is staying at the hotel too

at the end of this story hob goes, “bloody hell. i’m sorry, my friend,” and it’s a bit over-familiar, isn’t it, for someone you’ve just met at a bar, even if you’ve just shared half your secrets. so hob is all, oh god oh god ohgodohgod, i’ve scared him off now—

then dream is all, “your friend. is that all you’d like me to be, robert gadling?” and he’s Looking at hob like he’s caught hob out in a lie. and hob’s breath is just… gone… gone away somewhere… and he has to admit that he may still barely know this man but there’s nothing he wants more than to know him in every way possible

and maybe they both go up to hob’s hotel room, and when hob kisses dream for the first time, cradling dream’s face in his hands, it’s more tender and intimate than it has any right to be and hob is just. flabbergasted because fuck. he just met this man and it feels like he could be content just to kiss him for hours and hours and hours. ok? like this is some accidental soulmates energy. their first time is slow and thorough after falling asleep curled together on top of hob’s covers and waking up in the blue hours before dawn

ok basically just my favorite thing is dreamling finding one another in very unlikely circumstances and having a Connection asdjfjf

[skippyv20]

Jamming Magazine - An exclusive interview with Meghan Markle

Meghan Markle is CEO and founder of Ain’t It Crap ( AIC) . This is a new and exciting venture she has planned since she was 11. When she was 11 she helped change the way men and women thought of dishwashing. She alone did that! Washing dishes was not any longer just a “woman’s work”. She wrote to the soap company and put her foot down. At 11 years old. That change was revolutionary for all. It was at this time she realized she had power like no other. She could use her (whiney) voice and change anything she wanted. She was powerful.

I sat down with Meghan for a “exclusive” interview, and let me tell you….it is time I will never get back. We sat down at one of the many homes she rents. There were no children present. Harry was not present. I don’t know where they were, as she never answered when I asked, she just starting talking!

Interviewer: Meghan, so look at you! You are beaming! You must be quite proud of yourself?

Meghan: Well, yes I am. Although I must say, I am always proud of everything I have ever done. When I was 11 I wrote to a soap company. I changed….

Interviewer: Excuse me Meghan, we are here to talk about your new company and your only product Jam….

Meghan: Who is in charge here? I am! Anyways, I saw a tv commercial and the woman was washing dishes! Well, knock my socks off! No way! I found a pen and paper and wrote a letter! I said it was wrong to have women washing dishes! Women have one place only, and it’s not in the kitchen washing dishes! Anyways, I strongly suggested that I would NEVER buy their soap again, unless they put out a commercial right away with a man washing dishes! I changed the way people all around the world view dishwashing. I alone did that at 11. Next question?

Interviewer: So your new company is called Ain’t It Crap. How did you come up with the name?

Meghan: Well, when I was 11….I had a vision of me, myself and I owning a company. Not just a company, but a company that would surpass Betty Crocket! I wanted a company that both men and women could purchase from. I wanted a company that could pass off anything. A secret? My ultimate dream was a company SCAM….and what rhymes with SCAM? JAM does! I knew my first and only product would be JAM. I wanted to do things differently. I refuse to put any ingredients, etc on my label! It’s no one’s business how many calories are in it. No one’s business what ingredients are in my JAM. Although I will tell your readers only….the ingredients are a mix mash of fruits and veggies, lots and lots of food colouring, and a teaspoon of honey. Do I make it myself? Oh no! I can’t even boil water! I can only “act” like I cook for the cameras!

Interviewer: It is said that Harry cooks the JAM? True, or not true?

Meghan: Look, Harry has one job! His job is to keep trying to convince the world he is a Prince. I would say a Prince can sell JAM easier than Tony, Bob, Joe down the street! Shout out to you Tony, Bob and Joe!

Interviewer: So who does make the JAM? People are saying only 1 jar of JAM exists? They say, you buy other jam, and package it as your own?

Meghan: You know, haters will always hate! People are so jelly of me, people don’t see the amount of time and number of people it takes to make one jar of my JAM! Can we take a break? I feel one tear, left eye coming…there it is…. Did you get the picture? Focus in on the tear.

Interviewer: Is your JAM good, what does it taste like?

Meghan: Where did you learn to interview? It is the BEST JAM in the whole wide world. There is nothing like it! Listen, I pay for people to like it, you can see that in my two reviews! They love it! I think this is about my race. Are you a racist? You don’t like my JAM? Have you tried it? Here, try it!

Interviewer takes a taste.

Meghan: Why are you making faces? Is it because I am biracial? Why?

Interviewer: That is the worst JAM I have ever tasted. I would not buy it, I would not tell anyone to buy it.

Meghan: You are a racist! Harry is going to sue you when I tell him! You will pay for this, I will sick the sugars on you! I will ruin you! You have done nothing but pick on me…and my JAM!

The interview did not end well! She threw chairs, threw herself on the floor, kicking and screaming…threw the jar of JAM, and her wig went flying! It was quite the scene. She couldn’t calm down. She was even hissing like a demon. Don’t buy her JAM! You don’t know what is in it! Could be Devil’s JAM for all we know. Could be DNA changing weapon….we just don’t know!

NOTE: Parody only! For fun and entertainment. Not a reflection of actual product.

[stardustloserdoll]

Hey babe, I heard you had no ideas for a Professor Turner so here’s one:

You’re struggling with writing an essay, maybe a particularly important one it doesn’t really matter. And you asked Alex to come and help you in the library. He shows up, you’re doing your best to focus on writing. But his voice is so low and he’s practically whispering in your ear. His hands look so pretty writing and marking your essay. Maybe, y’all get a little close… ykyk

Now, you could leave it there, but… smut is so much fun.

So now you’re struggling to stay quiet as Alex fingers you beneath the table. Whispering dirty things into your ear and telling you to stay quiet.

TBH+C Alex is the one who I imagine I would do this, this gif specially:

Or like early Car:

AAAAAH i love this. thank you so much!😭 he looks so fineeee in those gifs 🤭

also trying out a different pov d:

essay help

female reader

“i’ll see you all on monday. have a good weekend.” professor turner said, causing everyone to begin packing their things up quickly. as you began packing your things, you glanced over at him seeing he was erasing the board. slinging your backpack over your shoulder, you waited till everyone was out, finally approaching him.

“hello professor.” you smirked leaning on his desk. he turned around placing the eraser down “y/n.” he smiled placed his hands on his hips, looking down at her. “boring lecture as always.” he laughed packing up his things “you love them.” you rolled your eyes playfully. you sighing dramatically as you watched him pack. “something wrong?” he asked.

“yeah um. i was having trouble on the essay and i was wondering if you can help me with it?” he looked up raising his eyebrow “you? asking me for help? that’s rare, your essays are always well done.” you sat down in the seat in front of the desk. “well the one you assigned is confusing! you should’ve explained it better.” you pouted. “maybe if you weren’t eye fucking me the whole time you would’ve understood it better.” you scoffed mumbling a whatever. “can you just help me please?” he nodded his head “of course.”

“great, i’ll meet you at the library. thank you.” you said placing a kiss on his cheek walking out.

you sat there in the quiet library, the sound of keyboards clacking and the sound of pages quietly turning. you tapped your pencil against the desk, anxious eyes scanning the room until you saw him. he looked around the room until he spotted you sending a small wave your way.

“hey.” you smiled moving your things aside. “hey. sorry im late.” he said taking a seat next to you, placing his things down beside. “it’s okay. i haven’t wrote much anyways.” you said handing him a pen from your pouch. “how about we look at that essay of yours hm?” he said leaning in to examine the work, placing it in front of him to read.

“yeah. right, the essay.” you mumbled. as he read through the pages, you couldn’t help but stare at his hands. the way his veins would pop out whe he wrote something down, to the way he lifted his hand up to his lip as he read. you bit your lip, playing the the hem of your skirt. after some time went by he was finally done reading. “okay so far it’s good, just some little things to change.” he said placing the paper in front of you. he placed his arm around your chair getting closer.

“see that sentence. i think it could use a little more detail.” he spoke placing his finger on the paper, his warm breath ghosting over your ear. you swallowed nodding your head, erasing what you had previously. you swallowed, reading over his comment scribbling down some things. “how does this sound?” you asked turning your head slightly to look up into his eyes. his eyes lingered onto yours for a while until he looked down to read what you had, the scent of his cologne wafting into your face making you dizzy. “mmh perfect. how about we continue with the rest?”

as you both continued to look over the essay you, couldn’t focus. your eyes would stay stuck onto his hands, imagining what those fingers could do. you gripped onto your pencil tightly stopping your writing making alex notice. “something wrong y/n?” he asked. you shook your head bringing the pencil up to your lips, eyes still lingering on his hands as you clenched your thighs. you action not going unnoticed by him causing a smirk to form on his face. “what’s on your mind, you look a little red.” you shook your head seeing his hand moving to rest on your thigh. “did you want a break?” he asked. “i think you deserve one. you’ve been working so hard on that essay of yours.”

you watched as his hand slipped under your skirt, inching closer, stopping him. “alex..we can’t.” you whispered looking up at him with pleading eyes. he chuckled “i guess you’ll have to stay quiet then hm?” you bit your lip opening your legs slightly. “naughty girl.” he smirked resuming his motions, slipping a finger into your underwear to rub circles onto my clit. slowly pushing two fingers into you me, thrusting his fingers at a slow pace.

you moan softly, biting your lip, your eyes shutting close as he fucked you. “shh.” he whispered, slowly increasing his pace. you moved your hand to grip the seat, letting out a shaky breath clenching your thighs around his hand. he quickened his pace, making me loud moan a slip out, his hand coming to my mouth to silence me quickly. you muffled a sorry, causing him to drop his hand. “im close al.” “naughty girl, what’d i tell you.” he whispered keeping his pace up, making me shift in my seat.

“cum on my fingers sweet girl.” he praises giving you that final push. you let out a shaky breath as your orgasm washed over you, feeling alex slip his fingers out of you painfully slow making you shudder. “let’s finish that essay, when we do you’ll get rewarded.”

[jellazticious]

“You can’t rush art”

I think everybody can recall the quote from Toy Story 2. From the most satisfying part of the movie where we see a montage of Woody getting restored by a toy maker. It’s one of my favourites too, I absolutely loved looking at the different procedures used to fix a single toy. The toymaker’s precision and care were found mesmerizing by everyone. As a multi-hatted artist, one that can draw, sculpt, animate, and write, I can say that it’s spot on that there’s so much to do for a single piece of work. HOOO boy, you should see how me and Beefy are organizing Cursed to Charm, there’s so much.

For the upcoming webcomic, we design characters, give each and every one of them their stand-alone story, design different clothes, create the map, draw renders and posters, polish scripts for the episodes, plan to program the comic’s own website, make the backgrounds eventually, etc. To people who aren’t artists or take art for granted, to them, art is stroking a paper using a pen and BAM instant masterpiece. No no, it’s more than that.

Another thing I’d like to say about the comic is that the progress is very slow yet very fruitful because of the time taken. Me and my co-author came up with the idea at late November, which makes the comic four months old now. However, with all that time passed, we have already finalized the list of nine episodes of season one. We have also written seven out of nine summaries from that season before actually writing the dialogue in detail. We have a rough four seasons worth of story progression in the span of four months. Nyeh, excuse the little ramble about CtC, I’m just giving insight of how much should be done for the production of anything which leads us to the next point.

Art production in general.

Movies, animation, shows, video games, books, comics etc etc

All of these are part of art, some people would deny because it isn’t sophisticated like they’re lead to believe art is supposed to be. Art is literally just creation man, can’t get any simpler than that 😩 if you made something, then you made something woohoo! Congratulations you made art, cooking included. It came free with your fucking humanity.

Anyway, just like the webcomic, every single one of these listed also have a set of different procedures that will piece together the final output.

Let’s take Disney movies as a specific example, I want to talk about something real quick.

So one time, I was watching Tarzan with my parents and we stuck around for the end credits. My mom pointed out the animators are divided into sections and there’s so much names on them. There are different teams of animators for each character and these teams are divided in two for the storyboarders and the clean up artists. When the credits rolled a bit more, it showed that the background artists and colorists also have their own sections too. There’s so much people working on different body parts of a movie. I got the habit of reading end credits of every movie I watch, animated or live action, then I would compare the credits of old and new movies. Boy, let me tell you that the work space on old movies are FILLED compared to newer movies. One thing I noticed about Disney movies although, is that the old movies have more sections compared to new ones. The major difference of old Disney and new Disney are the length of the credits and the time gap of the movies. I’m really not trusting the way new movies have way shorter end credits while the publish time of new movies are getting narrower and narrower. Before the 2000s, movies usually come out twice a year and sometimes there’s a two-year hiatus before the next batch of movies are published. Now there’s at least two or three movies that publish yearly while also releasing a bunch of shows in the middle of it. I really don’t understand business talk with the way it sacrifices quality over quantity. Like I get having money is great and all but what’s the use of hoarding it? Especially when there’s so much news of people about to be in poverty and mass layoffs. Why should companies earn money if they’re not going to redistribute it back to the economy at all? This is a little off topic but I want to point it out that people in the 80s used to buy whole houses by being a janitor but nowadays people could barely afford a one room apartment even with three jobs. The Simpsons is an example of this because it was set in the 90s and the family is constantly reminded of how “poor” they are. They even created an episode that talks about the same job that supported people’s fathers will no longer support you nowadays (Poorhouse Rock ep22 s33). It’s fishy and I’m salty about it especially because I hear so much people complaining about how they’re not being given a chance to work. Anywho! Let’s go back to art.

I’m just spitballing my thoughts here but somehow they’re connecting either way. All I’m trying to say is that for the people who care so much about the quality of art, it’s noticeable that they get downgraded, not just by the look but by the way they’re written.

Example.

Clone High.

Jesus Christ, the new show is a nightmare and an insult to the original Clone High. The difference is clear with this one. The original Clone High was heavy satire of every single high school trope used in shows and movies. Every single character was meant to have one personality and that personality is the butt of the joke. The original did not care about making the characters appealing because the appeal is found in the way they interact, they clash so much and a lot of them are idiots. The writing is funny because the dialogue flows so easily unlike the renewal. The renewed Clone High takes itself too seriously and it tries too hard to be relevant. It’s funny to me that fans can draw the original’s art style more accurately than the animators hired. What’s even more frustrating is that concept art was released from the art head and the concept art looked way better than what they decided on the final designs. Other than the art style that tries to be marketable, the writing is insufferable with the way they try to be “relatable” without understanding why the original jokes were funny to begin with.

Now we’re all familiar with this cheap tactic of using the title of successful franchises to grab clicks and views. It’s every live action Disney film, it happened to Scooby Doo, Marvel shows, FNAF, some Cartoon Network shows, Megamind, and now even Kung Fu Panda. Basically MILKING. It would have been better if the productions TRIED to understand the original’s intentions which they forgot about. They ended up being disappointing at best and soulless at worst. I won’t be explaining much cuz I’ve already reached the minimum word count lmao. I’m just rambling here, I better not see anyone interrogate me in asks or replies. ANYWAY, I’m gonna get to the point real quick.

Back to the quote at the start of the post, people tend to forget that. Art is a skill, not a button people press and it gives you pretty pictures or videos. Art is a job and an effort. While art is subjective and it differs from person to person, one thing for certain is that art that is made ingenuinely will never be better than art that is made because the artist loves art. This is why the Tom & Jerry reboots with the lineless art style even if they had a storyboard artist who understood the cartoon wackiness (which were discarded for a “cleaner” and faster style). This is why it’s so frustrating to see concept art of movies which have more appeal than the final 3d models. This is why FNAF Security Breach was nearly unplayable.

Because they all rushed art.

They rushed in favour of what is marketable, no matter how unappealing it is. Everything could have been better, some final products are good, but all of them could have been better. As good as what were released pre 2010s when production had a passion. You can’t spell heart without art.

I’m just really passionate about art in any form since it’s everything that created me too. I will not be here at this point in time if it weren’t for me learning that there’s so much beauty in the world if you could just squint and appreciate why that’s so. I’m defined by my works and it only hurts and infuriates me that people who have the ability and accessibility to create better art than I do waste it for their personal gain or selfish intentions. Everyone could be a better person because of art just as it did to me. Again, it came to us the moment we’re born, art isn’t just a pretty picture, it’s everything we create out of love, passion, time, and effort.

But really, to the wise words of Chef Saltbaker, “like any good bake, heart and soul is the secret ingredient”

You can’t rush art.