#been in a bit of an art slump lately so this was a good way to get me back into it

[beneathashadytree]

SLOW MORNINGS - NANAMI KENTO X READER

Warnings : none I think, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : domestic fluff for daysss <3

Word count : 1.2K words

Additional notes : This was fully inspired by this gorgeous, gorgeous Nanami art I saw on X by @3-aem. I dedicate this piece to my bff Mona (she’s the best ever btw!!!) and to the man himself whom I miss an awful lot.

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Masterlist

Most weekdays, they’d wake up to a gentle kiss to their forehead, almost fleeting. With bleary eyes and still feeling quite groggy, they’d barely make out the figure of their husband, buttoning up his suit jacket as he made his way out of their bedroom. He’d glance back, and the corner of his lips would curl upward ever-so-slightly at seeing them lazily paw at the sheets to pull themself up.

With a quiet, “Good morning. I’ve made you breakfast,” Nanami would quickly set their heart pounding so early in the morning. It didn’t matter how late he was running (he almost never was, anyways, being such a man of routine), he’d always make sure to make enough breakfast for the two of them. It wasn’t anything too fancy by any means, but they were both content by the gesture itself more than anything.

When they’d first started living together, he’d been hesitant to wake them up every morning, but their insistence to see him off to work, and his desire to see them blink up at him so endearingly, won out in the end. And so that’s how their routine was born—out of a gentle love and the little habits that came with it and they built their lives upon.

When their body slowly dragged itself out of a deep slumber and they began to rub the sleep out of their eyes, it took them a bit to register the sun filtering through the slits between the airy bedroom curtains. They danced in the slight breeze, teasing pretty little shadows across the dresser and causing the mirror by the end of the bed to glint a little with each shift of the fabric.

Ah, it must be late morning.

With just a little more difficulty than usual (after all, they had to pay a hefty price for getting to sleep in), they began to shuffle out of bed and across the hall, where they could smell the bittersweetness of roasted coffee beans and fresh cream. It lingered in the air longer than it did on most days, and that was how they knew that their husband had—finally—the time to indulge in his morning cup.

It wasn’t a half-bad sight to wake up to, really. There he was, leaning against the couch’s armrest while his other arm balanced his slumped head, a slightly-weathered book in hand. It seemed that leisurely position was all he could do to stop himself from dozing off, the week’s exhaustion clearly leaving him barely able to stay awake regardless of how engrossed he was by what he was reading.

Though Nanami wore nothing remarkable—just his favorite t-shirt and pants, a little crumpled from the position he sat in—he somehow still managed to look like the picture of elegance. Perhaps it was the doing of the thin-framed glasses perched on his nose; something they’d long egged him on to get prescribed, after having caught him squinting at small-lettered fonts one too many times.

All half-consciousness considered, he seemed to be pretty immersed in what he was reading, and the slow turn of a page despite them having walked in meant that he hadn’t even noticed their presence. A small amused smile came on their face, and they pattered up to him, the cold of the floorboards a little sobering.

“I don’t know how you manage to do it.” Their voice sounded a little scratchy, but that was fine. A slight flicker of his hazel eyes was the only indication that he’d been startled by them, before his face melted into an expression of contentment. His freckles stretched across his fair skin, and with each wrinkle that marked a year of growth, they think they fell in love a little deeper.

They suspected that part of the reason why they found the sight of him so mesmerizing was the knowledge that they get to see him grow old beside them. A fanciful thought, admittedly, but no less true.

“Do what?” Nanami softly asked, shifting his position and setting his legs down on the floor. He didn’t even have to do more than just leave his arms open a little for them to take the invitation and crawl into his lap.

As soon as they settled with their back against the armrest, his free hand began to absentmindedly stroke at their calf, while the other set the book down (a Victorian classic he was currently enamored with, though he regretfully had little time for) in place of the cast aside—and fully drained—coffee cup. Every single object he touched, he seemed to breathe a little life into.

Sometimes, it felt like that was the case with the entire house. Sometimes, it even felt like he did that to themself too.

“Not sleep in on weekends. How you still wake up at a decent hour is beyond me.” They shook their head in mild disbelief, reaching out to push back a strand of blond hair that fell in front of his face. He looked so much more at ease like this; hair just tucked back and not styled to perfection as it usually was. Hell; even his features had softened and the sharp lines and edges of his face had dulled into the familiar warmth they liked to feel underneath their fingertips.

He hummed, partially to voice agreement and partially as he reveled in their touch grazing his cheek. “Force of habit.” It was only when he began to lean in with eyes brimming with affection that they had to put a finger to his lips, causing him to grunt.

“Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

Nanami huffed out a half-laugh, gently pushing their finger down. “Doesn’t really matter,” he mumbled against their lips, before stealing a short but no less sweet kiss. Still, he gave into their wishes, choosing a chaste peck over the slow, all-consuming kisses he liked to indulge them in. He could never say no to whatever they wished.

A quick glance at the empty table brought another thing to their attention. “You haven’t had breakfast yet?”

“No. I thought I’d wait and cook breakfast with you.” His deft strokes against the skin of their leg were almost as distracting as his silken voice. “We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Surely you haven’t missed the mess I end up making,” they said, arching an eyebrow at him, to which he chuckled.

“Not the clean-up part, no,” he agrees, a smile dancing across his lips. “But messy as your methods might be, it’s more efficient that way.”

“And more fun.” They began to begrudgingly slide off his lap, knowing that they would have to get up sooner or later for food before they could laze around for the rest of the day.

“And more fun,” their husband agreed, fondness lacing his softly-spoken words as crow’s feet appeared by his eyes. Like it was merely second nature to him, a large palm rested against the small of their back as they walked to the kitchen, marking the start of a slow, laidback day at home. “Eggs benedict and fruits?”

“Hmm… I’m feeling more like an omelette and sausages today, honestly…”

Taglist : @blondeboyfriend @mrsgiovanna @sherlockscumslut @the-foreigner @thispersoniscrazy @em-3456 @angry-and-yandere @avvsfs

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[crazyyluvr]

Gotta put Some Color in the Miserable Place — Much to Dirtyhands' Liking

pairing: kaz x gn!reader

summary: A famous graffiti artist has been roaming around Ketterdam for a while now. It was about time you set your sights on the Slat, bare and just waiting to be painted on. A certain gloved man didn't exactly like that.

genre: idk how to label it but it's the beginning of something

wc: 2.3k

content: art-inclined reader, they/them pronouns, kaz getting annoyed, ooc kaz? not sure how to write him properly yet, spraypaint exists because I need it to, fighting

note: just a little something to get me out of my slump — it sucks, i'm sorry

oneshot under the cut :: not edited :: part 1/?

Ketterdam wasn't known to be the most luxurious of cities in Kerch. Yes, it did have places where people with money could settle down and quality napkins for them to wipe their buttcheeks on, but the "slums" part of the city overpowered that luxury. There were numerous criminals, thieves, pickpockets, and people of other illegal occupations roaming around the streets, especially the streets of the West Stave. At every alley, there would be at least some signs of a beating that occurred not too long ago. Even when people inhaled the air, it didn't feel clean.

One of your biggest concerns about the city, however, wasn't about how cleanly it was. What worried you the most was about how damn plain it seemed to be.

Where was the color? The flare? Come on, if people around the lands travel to Kerch for business, they might as well have some pretty things to look at as they cautiously walked on the streets.

You took it upon yourself to rectify that. Which was why, for the past two years, you have been one of the most sought-after criminals of Ketterdam that everyone called the “Painter”. Not because you murdered people or stole kruge, no. It wasn't even because of the fact that you decided to spray your art without permission.

It wasn't really the art that concerned other people (most of the time), but rather where you decided to put it up.

Plain old alley walls weren't the only victims of your spray bottles. Your style ended up on the main doorways of well-known brothels like the Menagerie, or the ground leading to the secret bases of different gangs. It made you a target not only of officers, but of other criminals as well. You may or may not have been the cause of the Dime Lions losing one of their main strongholds to a rival gang because you put skipping stones of Pekka Rollins' name leading to it.

You were flattered by the attention people were putting on you, but you felt unsatisfied. You had tried to put at least a little bit of your art on every visible wall of the West Stave and some of the East Stave as well, but there was something missing. Like there was one part of the Ketterdam map that hasn't been colored by you.

You got the answer to your problem one mundane day, while you were coming back from the market with a bag of groceries.

The Slat.

You had no idea why it hadn't hit you sooner. Sure, the Slat was the home of the Crows besides their bar "The Crow Club." Sure, the gang had been gaining a dangerous reputation this past year. Sure, the man calling the shots was scary as hell.

But it was just perfect.

You had long admired the Crows and their leader Kaz Brekker. You had spotted him going about business during late nights when you decided to test your skills by evading the Wraith that always pursued him (you hadn't been attacked by her, so you assumed that you were really good at sneaking around).

He was a man of business, a boss that liked getting his hands dirty — maybe that was how he got his nickname Dirtyhands. You don't see much of that in Ketterdam, and that interested you quite a bit.

Not to mention he was attractive in his own, ghostly way.

The Slate was also one of the very few canvases that you had left blank in this wretched city due to some unknown and unconscious reason, but now you had just the perfect artwork in mind for it.

—————

Kaz was in a bad mood today.

He woke up to his leg in pain. Well, it was always in pain, but it felt particularly worse that day. He almost face-planted while hobbling down the stairs in the Slat.

He had a small heist, with just him, Jesper, and Inej, but it was still messed up due to the unexpected appearance of a drunk group in the house they were robbing.

He got jumped on by some stupid pickpockets, idiots who were unaware of his identity and his reputation. He didn’t obtain any injury, but the blood that still stained his black gloves and his long black coat made him feel disgusting.

Just when he thought that he would find peace in the Slat, peace in just holing up in his office with no one to bother him, he limps down the streets of West Stave to the home of the Dregs to find a small crowd gathered on the side, murmuring to each other.

They were all members of the Crows, and they were all looking at something that was on the wall of the Slat.

His already creased brows creased further at the sight of the gathering. What were these idiots looking at this time?

Jesper was the first one who first saw him, eyes drifting over his blood-splattered clothes in slight concern.

“What’s going on?” Kaz asked, not giving Jesper the opportunity to worry over him.

“It seems that the Painter finally set their eyes on the Slat,” Jesper replied, his voice containing its usual mischief and mirth.

Kaz forged onwards, making the sharpshooter step aside to make way for Dirtyhands.

The small crowd parted for him as well, conversations dying down to small murmurs as Kaz got a better look at what they were ogling at.

He had to blink to make sure he was actually seeing what he was seeing.

When “the Painter” left Jesper’s mouth, Kaz wanted to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. The days when infamous the Painter set sights on establishments or gang bases were the days when gangs or businessmen would get publicly humiliated by the art on their walls. Normally, it would ridicule the head of the place (The Menagerie spent a significant amount of money to wash off and paint over the caricature of Tante Heleen in a horrid neon green outfit) or reveal some interesting gang secrets (two gangs were exposed to be stealing from each other and there was a little war between them).

Which was why Kaz had to blink twice to make sure he was seeing it right.

The artwork on the side of the Slat was a large mural of the Dregs’ signature crow perched on the lip of a cup, but a trail of black roses swirled around it in a spiral. Surrounding it was the Crows’ motto “no mourners, no funerals” in black and white. The irregular red and white shape behind it all emphasized everything, making it look like a banner rather than something someone actually took the time to spray on a wall.

It was unlike any artwork that was spotted anywhere in the city.

And even Kaz, who’s never had any particular interest in art, had to admit that it was nice. Flattering.

Beautiful, even.

"The Painter has their favorites, huh?" A Crow chuckled, making his mates laugh and shake their heads.

"If everyone's done having a staring contest with the wall," Kaz called, making everyone turn to their boss, "get back to work."

And just like that, they lost their interest in the artwork and dispersed. Some drifted away to different alleys to visit some gambling house, most passed by Kaz to finish some unfinished business of theirs, and others went back inside the Slat.

Kaz felt a familiar presence beside him. "Can you find this Painter, Inej?"

The Wraith that appeared out of nowhere replied, "I can try, but they're slippery."

Kaz rose an eyebrow, curiosity piquing. Someone who can evade his best spider? Now that caught his attention.

"Do it. Bring them to me," Kaz said, dismissing her with a wave. He didn't have to look to know that Inej had dissolved into the shadows.

He examined the mural once more, the barest ghost of a smirk on his face. Maybe you can come around to work for me, "Painter".

—————

You were having a good time.

If running away from some angry traders was something people would consider a good time.

"I'll kill you!" One of the men chasing you bellowed, hurling a stone that hit a wooden pillar dangerously close to your head.

You laughed, a manic cackle that only came from someone facing a certain death.

You leaped over crates, weaved through people with barely any gracefulness that would have made dancers feel second-hand embarrassment, but you didn’t care. Being chased around West Stave was one of the best things to do in Ketterdam, and you were enjoying every single bit of it.

You turned left into a random alley, only to find that it was a dead end. You looked upwards, but found only ladders that led to heavily-barred windows. You were trapped.

"Nowhere left to run, scum," A man laughed, his companion grinning as well.

You turned to flash them a charming smile. "Actually there is one way, but you're blocking it, so if you'd kindly move aside so I can peacefully make my leave."

They both looked at each other before turning back to you. "Not until we've got our money."

You pretended to think for a moment, not knowing what they mean, until you widened your eyes. "Oh! The money! That's what you were after? Why didn't you just say so?"

You rummaged through your deep pockets. "Here it is!"

You took a few quick steps forward and took out a spray can, squeezing it and drifting it over the closest man's eyes, creating a thick yellow line across his face.

The man yelled and stepped back in surprise, prompting you to catch his heel in yours and pull, making him fall.

You bent down to punch him twice before rummaging in his pockets, taking out a few loose coins and pocketing them.

You turned to face the other guy, who you found already on the ground with a figure standing above him.

The Wraith.

"Oh." Your gaze alternated between the sudden assistance and the man on the ground, before you decided to focus on the one standing and smiling at them. "Thanks for your help, Miss Wraith. Now, if you don't mind, I'll take my leave —"

You turned, only for Inej to block your exit, making you sigh. "What is it that you want from me this time?"

"For you to come with me to the Slat," Inej responded, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the alley.

You sighed again. This was going to be a long day.

—————

"Look, if this about money, I don't have any. I'm very broke." You stared at the man sitting in front of you, a desk separating him from your standing figure.

The Bastard of the Barrel didn't respond to your statement, opting to just look at you, his eyes examining your movements.

You let the silence drain on for a few more seconds before you lost patience. "What do you want?" You asked, frustrated.

"You're the Painter," He responded, putting his elbows on his table and lacing his gloved fingers together.

You waited for a moment, waiting for him to say more. When he didn't continue, you replied. "Yes."

"Everyone in Ketterdam is aware of your reputation to leaking powerful people's information," Kaz finally continued. "But that's not what's interesting. What intrigues me, is how you acquire the information in the first place, when the Wraith has never spotted you out in the open other than spraying on some random wall."

You shrugged. You had your ways, and if the Dirtyhands didn't know your methods, then there was no way you could reveal them. "I have my ways."

Kaz rose an eyebrow. "I can have you killed right here and now, did you know that?"

"And I’ve gotten out of these chains three minutes ago, did you know that?" You mocked him, shrugging the cuffs off and tossing them on his table. Inej moved, pulling out a dagger. Kaz put up his hand, and Inej paused, waiting.

You approached the desk, putting your hands on it and leaning forward, leaving half a feet of space in between your face and Kaz's.

"You want to know my methods so you can have the Wraith master them and use them," you said, leaning a bit more. "But then she can't. No one in this place can do what I can."

"I suppose there's an underlying deal somewhere in those words," Kaz hummed, seemingly unfazed by the distance.

You grinned. "Indeed there is. I can work for you, as long as I get paid. I'll do my thing, get your information, even infiltrate a few places if you like."

"Hmm," Kaz thought about it for a moment. "Two thousand kruge for each mission."

You paused. That would be enough to buy your food and pay your rent for a week or two, maybe even enough for some new clothes.

Yeah, you didn't have that good or luxurious of a lifestyle, but hey, money is money.

"Alright," You decided, sticking your hand out to seal the deal.

Kaz stared at your hand for a moment, before taking it. You pulled him up from his chair, face now barely away from yours. "If you think about double-crossing me and leaving me out in the cold, then you risk some of your own information being revealed... Rietveld." Your voice was barely louder than a breath, words only for Kaz’s ear.

His eyes widened, looking at you. Just the mere mention of his old last name, the one he shared with his brother, was enough for the water at his ankles to pool around his knees.

But you had already pulled away, brushing against the Wraith with a nod as you left the office without another word.

"What was that?" Inej asked — more like demanded.

Kaz didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the door. It took him a long pause to reply.

"The start of another painful alliance," Kaz muttered, running his hand through his hair.

The start of something indeed.

[ffc1cb]

new art blog

the short version:

1. i made a new art blog: @cbge;

2. @ffc1cb will stay up as an archive.

the long version:

hi everyone. this announcement is somewhat late, since the blog in question has been up for a few months now, and i’ve already started posting art on it. the reason it took me so long to “reveal” it is because i’ve been trying to figure out whether a new blog is something i actually want, or if it's just me throwing darts at a board, trying to make myself feel better somehow.

i don’t know when precisely it all started, but ever since sometime last year i’ve been going through a hard time, both emotionally and creatively. i’m not sure whether being depressed is what made art harder, or art becoming harder is what made me depressed (a bit of both, i think), but lately, drawing has been a struggle. 

i’ve found myself having less and less energy for art, and this lack of energy resulted in poorer quality of drawings, which resulted in me feeling like i’m getting worse at it, despite my efforts. i knew i could make good art, art that i’m proud of - i’ve done so countless times before, - but somehow it felt like i just couldn’t anymore, like my hands forgot how to. nothing looked right. 

i’ve been trying to experiment. i’ve learned some new things, tried this and that - it was enlightening, to say the least, and even though i kind of liked how it looked, it made me feel a sense of displacement. i was at odds with myself, my art, and how i felt about it, when previously i was always in sync. i was making art, yes, and it looked nice, but it felt like it wasn’t mine.

i suppose part of it was also the growing lack of engagement, and i don’t mean likes and reblogs - i never particularly cared about those. they are all just numbers to me; dry and impersonal. what i’m talking about is actual, human interactions: personal thoughts in tags, asks, replies, etc. a conversation. 

i don’t mean to sound “old” or anything, but i remember when talking to artists online was more commonplace. my wife tells me it’s because the internet culture has changed over the years, that people have become more reclusive, less willing to be open with their thoughts, and she's probably right, but in my slump i find it hard to believe. somehow it feels like it’s my fault for being less “engaging”, for seeming unapproachable or perhaps intimidating. maybe it’s “just a skill issue”, maybe it’s because i have stopped churning out fanart for popular fandoms, maybe it’s because i refuse to torture myself emotionally by having an art account on twitter (i can’t fucking stand the place anymore; i still post nsfw art there, but only because it’s literally one of the only places on the internet that allows you to do so. i miss when you could post female presenting tits on tumblr).

i have always, ever since i started posting art on the internet back in 2012, done it for human connection. i wanted to talk to people, and have people talk to me. i wanted to inspire people with my art, and i wanted to bring them comfort. i wanted to elicit an emotional response, and have people tell me about it. it was one of the main reasons i drew in the first place; having lost that, i’ve been struggling to stay passionate about making art.

i miss being a small artist on the internet during the 2010s. i remember when i could make a post going, “hey everyone, how are you all doing today?” and it would not seem weird to people in the slightest. it is just me? does anyone else feel that way? am i too deep in my own head? the internet feels so unwelcoming nowadays, especially to artists. we are all just content machines; people scroll by our stuff, or maybe look at it for half a second and leave a like before scrolling away. i know it’s unfair to demand people’s attention, especially now when our lives are already so overwhelmed by everything - no one has the energy to pay closer attention; i myself am not immune to mindless scrolling. but it feels bad. i wish we were all sincere and enthusiastic again.

anyway (sorry for rambling. i hope i haven’t bored you to death), you might want to say, okay, but how is making a new art blog on a “dying” social platform going to help with any of that? the truth is, i don’t know. i just felt like i needed a change. 

i’ve been running this blog since 2016 (that’s almost 8 full years!). i feel incredibly attached to it, but at the same time, i feel it weighing me down. 

there are people who followed me years ago for one specific thing, still expecting me to post about said thing (i still find it mindboggling that some people follow artists for a specific fandom only, but that is a whole other matter for a whole other post that i will never write). a third, if not half, of my following are probably dead blogs. and with my current struggle with trying to regain the joy i once felt for making art, looking back at all the art i’ve done over the years makes me feel tired. i still love it all; it’s all very dear to me. i’m proud of it; looking at it makes me mourn my younger and more passionate self.

so i’ve decided to make a new blog, where i will let myself post whatever i want, in whatever stage of donness i feel like. maybe it will help me, somehow. maybe it won’t. but if you care about my art, if you want to keep following me on my artistic journey, i welcome you to join me there. similarly, feel free not to - no hard feelings.

thank you everyone for your support over the years; it matters a lot to me. i’m not planning to delete or private this blog; it will stay up, and i will still be reachable on here. i will still answer asks, if there will be any. i’m just not planning to post any art here anymore. this is it for my dear old friend ffc1cb.

i can be found in other places:

@cbge, as mentioned earlier,

@k0nstanta, an art blog dedicated solely to my wife and i’s ocs,

@inquisimail, a dragon age ask blog that has become my dragon age sideblog in general,

and multiple other blogs, none of which are art related, but feel free to ask, if you’re curious.

thank you very much for reading all of this. i hope you have a wonderful day.

[darkhymns-fic]

Can I get a tiny umbrella to go with that?

So, a Princess of Hell walks into a bar…and the bartender isn't prepared for what she's asking. Luckily, Husk is a softie at heart.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Husk, Charlie Morningstar, Alastor Rating: T Word Count: 4342 Mirror: AO3 Notes: This is a nicer HH fic for once! Wanted to write both mine and @ms-notebook's favorite characters interacting. (There's also lovely art by her for this story!) Please forgive me for the dumb humor in this.

--

Husk heard the princess slump against the bar counter behind him. A small groan, followed by a thud. Then, followed by a plaintive “Oww…”

He sighed, turning around from setting up the shelves with new stock. “Tripped?”

Charlie had a hand pressed against her forehead, a little pout forming on her face. “No…I just wanted to lay my head down here.”

“Yeah, well, don’t exactly got pillows.” Husk gestured to the lobby. “The couch is right there if you want to relax.”

But he already guessed that was not what she came for. Still, he wasn’t going to pry unless she opened herself up. And he knew behind that usual bright, and sometimes manic smile of hers, there was a lot weighing on the girl’s mind.

Charlie took a deep breath, finally ignoring the little bump on her scalp. “Um, actually I wanted a different way to relax… You know?”

Husk raised a large eyebrow. “Do I know?”

“Y-yeah! Of course you do! Oops, sorry… I shouldn’t just assume.” Charlie brushed away a lock of her hair. She shifted nervously on the bar stool, her other hand tapping away the counter. “You just usually seem to know things…”

Yeah, he did. And he had a pretty good suspicion right now. “You here for a drink?”

Charlie looked left and right, now using her hands to twiddle her thumbs. Then, she nodded vigorously.

“Heh. Does Vaggie know you’re ‘partaking’ in some sin?”

“I mean! I just want a little sip! Or… unless you think I shouldn’t.” Charlie gave a small whine, hanging her head. “It’s just been so stressful lately with the Extermination being pushed up and we still haven’t gotten any new guests since Sir Pentious…”

Probably because they had Mr. Smiles as their marketing manager and a drunk manning the front desk/bar, but Husk wasn’t really about to point that out now.

“Hey, kid. No worries. I’ll fix you up something real nice then.” He leaned towards her, wings tucked in, feeling more awake than usual. “So, what do ya want? This your first drink?”

Charlie giggled nervously. “Ah, I’ve had champagne at this fancy dinner once… Like half a glass.”

Husk smirked. “So, you’re saying we should start you off strong. Got a couple of shots of vodka here in the back if you’re daring.”

Charlie’s eyes brightened in wonder. “Vodka… I always was curious…” Then shook her head. “Um, maybe not yet! It might be too strong for me…”

At that, Husk had to laugh a bit. His shoulders shook slightly, half-covering his mouth with his hand. “I was mostly joking. Look, we can start off small. You seem like you’d be into cocktails, so I can fix you up a dry martini, tequila sunrise, whatever sounds nice to you.”

Somehow, just listing off basic drink names was enough to get the princess�� face glowing, like she was a kid in a candy store. It was almost adorable, the way her already-blushed cheeks seemed to blush even more. “Tequila sunrise…that sounds so beautiful! You can make that?”

“Been making it for years. Known plenty of ladies who were into those. Though…” He tapped a finger against his chin, giving her another smile. “If I made you a piña colada instead, I can give it to you with a special garnish.” A pause, seeing Charlie wonder just what he meant before he finally said, “A tiny umbrella.”

Charlie stared open-mouthed. “No one ever told me drinks had tiny umbrellas in them!” She brought her hands to her face, awed by this knowledge. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Husk literally could not remember the last time someone got this excited over him making them a drink. (Well, maybe except Mimzy, and those weren’t pleasant memories). But Charlie’s excitement was infectious, and Husk had gotten a little soft for the princess. Even if he thought her redemption ideas were half-baked at best.

“You never knew what you were missing, huh?” he teased. “Just sit tight and I can whip you something up here—”

“Oh wait, I forgot!” Charlie straightened, hands pressed flat on the counter. “Alastor recommended me to get a certain drink from you!”

And suddenly, all the good mood in Husk’s heart went sinking right into the damn floor. Oh. So that’s why she was here.

“…The boss?” Husk blinked. “Recommended?”

Charlie nodded, still beaming her innocent smile. “I told him I’d been feeling a bit stressed lately and… that’s when he mentioned you! And your bar! And your special drink!”

Husk didn’t have a ‘special drink,’ unless one counted the cheap booze he kept underneath the counter for his own imbibing, but he didn’t deny it just yet.

“What did he say exactly?” Husk asked, trying to keep his tone normal. Maybe his boss was just actually being considerate of Charlie. For once. It’s not like Alastor didn’t come by and ask for a few fingers of rye on the rocks himself. And he and Charlie were basically business partners, in a sense.

Charlie clasped her hands together, smiling at Husk as if she was being the most perfect student, all attentive and eager. “Well, he said… Oh, actually he even instructed me on how I should say it! Since it’s a secret menu item and all!”

This was the first he ever heard of any secret menu item. Husk was waiting for the moment all hell would break loose, but he played along. “Okay, uh… go ahead?”

The princess’ expression then turned all serious. She cleared her throat, clenched one hand, and then slammed it on the bar counter. Or, at least her version of slamming a fist. The force of it was barely able to rattle one of the whiskey glasses that Husk was still in the middle of cleaning.

“Husk,” she started, her tone low, her eyes narrowed. “Give me your tallest glass of milk.”

He had to take a moment to be sure he heard that right. Charlie still gave her hard-set stare, which wavered to softness by each passing second.

Yeah, okay, she did just say that.

“…Are you asking me for regular milk?” He paused. “Or like a milk brandy?” There was no way she even knew what that was.

Charlie blinked. She shook the hand that she had slammed with, waving away the aches she must have given herself. “Uh, Alastor didn’t mention? He just said you had some very special milk! And that I should go and try it! Because I also like milk!”

“Special milk? The fuck did he—” Husk blinked. Then, he realized.

Then, he winced. Oh, that disgusting bastard.

Charlie was still in the dark and just kept talking, oblivious to the implications. “Alastor was really raving about your milk, too! How it’s the best out there, but that it’s rare to get? And that you only serve it when you’re in a good mood! He told me that even he can barely get it that much from you himself—”  

Husk pressed a hand to his face. He wanted to be buried alive, right now. “Charlie, please stop talking.”

“Oh.” Charlie hunched a little, noticing now the changed atmosphere in the room. “Did…did I say something wrong?”

That was such a loaded question but Husk didn’t have the energy to explain it all, nor did he think explaining would do any good except make Charlie give out a string of apologies that he would barely be able to handle. So instead, he gave another deep sigh and placed a hand on the princess’ shoulder.

“Here, just a piece of advice. If Alastor seems too excited about something, I’d take it with a big fuckton grain of salt. The guy does stuff for shits and giggles and you’re prime entertainment for that.”

Charlie’s eyes lowered, her perky energy from before looking all sapped away. “Oh, so he was just playing a prank on me…” She then looked to Husk again, with what little hope she had left. “You don’t have any milk at all?”

Husk really wished he could fucking kill Alastor this very second. Or at least kick him in the teeth if doing so wasn’t going to get his stomach sliced open for the Radio Demon’s buffet.

“I don’t got milk, kid,” he finalized with a pat on her shoulder. Then he looked to the side, muttering to himself. “At least, not as much anymore.”

“Huh?”

It almost physically hurt hearing his own slip-up coupled with Charlie’s curiosity. God dammit, this whole stupid thing from Alastor was now messing with his head! Husk stepped back. “Just— Don’t worry about it.” 

Ugh. He was already exhausted. It didn’t even make any sense to Husk. This wasn’t his boss’ usual style of humor. Did he pick it up from Angel? But he also remembered how Alastor didn’t even like Angel that much anyway, so that wasn’t it. Whatever. This wasn’t a mystery he needed to solve and didn’t fucking want to anyway.

By now though, Charlie looked deeply sadder than before—and also guilty. She knew she had made the air between them awkward, even as Husk tried to get past it. It's not like it was her fault that she was as naive as they come.

“Look, let me just make you something. Still want the umbrellas?”

But Charlie no longer looked as enthused, and shook her head. “Maybe…maybe another time. I should probably get back to work. I forgot, I have to set up the Pilates schedule for everyone! All, um, two of them..”

Ah, man. Husk mentally kicked himself for getting so worked up before. “Hey, Charlie, it’s–”

“No, no, don’t worry! I shouldn’t have bothered you while you were working anyway. I’ll just get out of your way!” And with that, she quickly got up from the stool, put on her great smile that was stretched just a little too wide, and looked a little too tight.

She wasn't as good at hiding things like his boss was, but he could see the similarities.

“I’ll see ya later okay bye!!” And then she hoofed it out of there, even before Husk could say another word. 

He leaned on the bar counter, chin placed in his hand and sighed. So much for always bitching to the bartender. Because Charlie just took up all her hurt and swallowed it away instead.

--

“Alright, everyone! Great job today!” Charlie gave a double-thumbs up, panting heavily as she wound down from the routine–and kept doing so, still wearing her long-sleeved coat and pants while doing stretches and jumping jacks just a few minutes ago. “We’ll pick it back up tomorrow with some pictionary later, alright? Oh, and, uh, sorry about before, Sir Pentious.”

He didn’t really hear her, because he was too busy crying into Vaggie’s shoulder, who had resigned to carrying him to his room. She struggled a bit, occasionally tripping over his long tail/body that kept wriggling in her hold.

Angel, meanwhile, was wiping away some yellow goop off his boots as he followed them out. “Ugh, I told him to not let his little Egg Boiz get near me! I can’t really pay attention to stuff when I’m in the zone!”

Eventually, all left the hotel lobby, leaving Charlie by her lonesome. She finally put down that smile of hers, and sighed, letting herself fall against the couch cushions.

She must have been really out of it, to not notice he was still around.

A quick tap on her left shoulder, and Charlie turned to her left, seeing no one there. Then a quick tap on her right shoulder, and she turned to her right, again seeing no one there. “Huh? Whuh?”

Husk was right in front of her, giving a small wave. “Hey.”

“WHOA WHAT THE HELL?!”

The yell was unexpected, making Husk lower his ears. The girl really did have a pair of lungs on her.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry! I, uh, just didn’t see you there!”

“I mean, I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes,” Husk explained, feeling awkward as he stood plainly right in the middle of the room, wings half-extended. “Watched the whole pilates exercise. And the death of Egg Boi number… four? Two?” He shrugged.

“Oh, right… I’m sorry, again. It’s just I’ve been… um…”

Trying to avoid him, he suspected. He could already see the guilt come back to her face, her fidgety hands playing in her lap, the flush of shame on her cheeks. The tension between them was already back.

Well, looks like he’d have to make the first move.

Husk then stepped over to the couch, sitting right next to Charlie, his wings folded in to avoid them bumping into her. He placed a hand into his pocket. “Hey Charlie,” he started to ask, eyes shifting to her. “You like magic tricks?”

Immediately, that got her.

Husk had never actually seen anyone vibrate from excitement before, but he swore he could feel it through the couch they both shared. Charlie had turned to him, eyes shining in wonder, her body thrumming like some sort of machinery. She was no longer just a kid at a candy store, she was a kid that got brought to the circus for the very first time.

“You mean the magic they do on Earth that looks like real magic but isn’t actually at all?! I love those!” Charlie had her feet tapping in excitement. “I didn’t know you did that type of magic!”

“Heh… yeah, it was a thing of mine back in the day.” Before all the real magic came into his afterlife, but he can’t help but love the classics. After a quick shuffling of his deck, he then held out several cards in his hand, their black foil surfaces gleaming in the lobby’s lamplight. “Pick a card. Any card.”

“Ooo, I know this one!” Charlie kept bouncing in her seat as she quickly picked the left-most card. “And then I memorize it, right? Oh, and I can’t tell you!”

Husk nodded. “Yep, you already know the rules. Now you know what happens next?”

Charlie, grasping the card in both hands, looked at Husk with that same wonder. Stars were literally in her eyes, making Husk blink at the brightness. “I give it back to you?”

Husk shook his head. He then took off his hat, revealing a bit of fur tuft that he never bothered to comb back anymore, and held the open end of it to Charlie. “Put the card in here.”

Charlie blinked, then blinked again. Then she vibrated again. “This is different!!”

“The key to magic is to keep them guessing,” Husk said with a proud smile. “Or would you rather hold onto that card as a keepsake?”

“Ah, no I want to see the trick!” Charlie then quickly deposited the card into the black abyss of the hat’s opening. It was so dark inside that no light seemed to be able to penetrate it.

Husk then lifted the hat to eye level, turning it over a few times for Charlie. Then he reached in and pulled it inside out. There was felt and lint, but no card to be found. “Nothing to see here.”

Charlie gasped loudly. “Where did it go?” Then, a haunted look in her eyes. “Wait, does this mean I lost your card? Oh no… I didn’t mean to…”

“Huh? No, this is fine!” Husk quickly answered her, already seeing the guilt come back again. Damn, she was the kind of girl to get weepy over stepping on a blade of grass too hard. He’d have to be careful. “This is how it goes. Relax, kid. We’re still not done with the trick.” 

“Oh, okay!” Charlie smiled brightly again, then clapped her hands. “This is so exciting!”

Husk couldn’t remember the last time he had a great audience like Charlie. It kinda made his chest feel warm at the thought. Clearing his throat, he pushed back the inside of the hat so that it was normal again. Then held it out to her. “Now go and get your card back.”

She blinked, looking at the hat, then pointed to herself. “But, I don’t see it in there?”

“Just humor an old man, why don’t ya?” Husk said, making sure his tone was as easy as they come.

Charlie only hesitated a second before putting her hand inside the hat. Husk had to do all he could to suppress the grin he was feeling at the edges of his mouth.

Because then he saw the look on Charlie, saw her mouth gape open as she pulled in her arm, and was now holding a certain cocktail drink in her hand, in a tall highball glass with orange and red colors, complete with a matching orange slice and–

“Oh my gosh there's even a little umbrella!! ” She gasped, looking at the drink even more. “How was it even in there!? You were moving your hat around and, and, oh wow is that fruit? I love fruit!”

“Yeah, figured you had a sweet tooth.” Husk chuckled, plopping the hat right back on his head. “Now, if you want something with a bit more kick to it, you can try the sunset version, but I think tequila sunrise suits you more.” 

The cocktail was one of the easiest he could make. It only took him a few minutes to make, and the presentation was worth the effort, giving a simple drink that little flair that Husk used to enjoy more before he became a certain Overlord’s minion.

Charlie kept looking at it like it was a piece of art, admiring the colors and poking at the umbrella that stuck to the orange slice, and had a pierced cherry right in the middle. “Can I, um, eat this? Or is that frowned upon?”

Husk snickered a bit. This princess was good to have around. “You can eat the cherry. The orange slice is for flavor, but if you wanna gobble that up too, feel free. I don’t suggest eating the umbrella unless you have a specific taste for it.”

With a happy squeal, Charlie picked up the umbrella to gulp the cherry. She was kicking her feet in excitement, once again looking to the drink, then back to Husk. Then back to the drink.

“Charlie, if you think you need my permission to take a sip, you don’t.” Still, he gestured to her with a furry hand, and that was apparently the last barrier for the princess to get through.

“Okay, well… bottoms up!” She took a sip–a big one, which maybe Husk should have warned her about. Because right after, Charlie coughed, the ice clinking together with her motion.

“Whoa, slow down,” Husk said. His wing had instinctively moved, the tip placed against her back as he helped her clear her throat. “Unless you’re having shots, drinking doesn’t have to be a race.”

Charlie straightened then, blinked at Husk. What followed was a wide grin, coupled with starry eyes that were even more radiant than before. “It’s…good! I mean, it’s a little burney in my throat, but I can deal with that. It’s really good!” She took another sip, only coughing a little bit this time. 

Damn, at this rate, he wondered if she’d get tipsy already. But nah, surely the Princess of Hell could handle it, even if she never drank before. It was in her makeup, wasn’t it?

But before she had her third sip, she stopped just in mid-tip to her mouth. She then lowered the glass, her brow furrowing.

Husk would have been lying to himself if he said he wasn’t worried. “What’s wrong? Something about it not agreeing with you?” He’d known people who got tired of a drink just a few sips in.

“Hm? Oh no! It’s great! But I’m just remembering the card… Where did it go? I saw it go in your hat…”

Ah. Charlie didn’t like leaving loose ends, he noticed.

Husk held out one finger, then pointed at the umbrella held between her fingers. “May I have that?”

“Uh, okay.” She did so, laying it gently in his palm. The little pink and violet colors that made up its tiny canopy was bright against his fur.

He then rolled the umbrella to hold between his claws by its wooden stem. Then, he closed the umbrella so it was thin, balancing it on his knuckles for a bit. Suddenly, with a flourish that was hard for the eye to catch, he was now holding the missing card in his hand. “Two of hearts, right, princess?”

If Charlie was already drunk by this point, maybe it would have explained a few things. How she gasped loudly, eyes getting so wide that he wondered just how she was able to do so without transforming into some demonic entity. “That’s amazing! It was the little umbrella this whole time!?” 

Or, maybe that was just how Charlie was. He flipped around the card in his hands once more before it vanished into thin air. “Can’t tell you all my secrets. Now come on, you still got a lot to chug down.”

Charlie, with a little giggle, went back to nursing her drink, now taking her time to enjoy it. Husk relaxed then. Maybe after this, he could have her try another mix, if she’d be up to it.

--

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to Husk that Charlie would be a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

The fact that after her fourth sip and numerous giggles, she then promptly fell asleep on his shoulder, snoring loudly, was a bit of a dead giveaway.

Husk had to, carefully, take the half-empty glass from her hands in case she spilled it. Seriously, four sips? And then lights out just like that?

Occasionally, she giggled in her sleep, rubbing her face into his body with no shame. “Hehe, this pillow is furry…”

“...Kid, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Husk muttered. It wasn’t the first time he’d have a drunk fall asleep on him (or get angry with him, or flirt with him. There were many kinds of drunks in Hell), but he’d fight back or throw off the drunk for invading his personal space.

He could let it slide for Charlie.

But when a familiar shadow slid over them, he felt his fur stand on end. The result had Charlie giggling more, saying something about being ticklish.

“Well, Husker! Truly a compromising position I find you in.”

Husk rolled his eyes. In reflex, he started drinking Charlie’s cocktail for the familiar, pleasant buzz. It was the only way to deal with the constant buzzing that was Alastor’s voice. “I’m on break, so don’t get all uptight.”

With both hands on the top of his mic cane, the demon raised an eyebrow as looked over at Husk and Charlie. He then leaned forward, eyeing Husk in particular as Charlie snored open-mouthed, and a bit loudly.

“Now, my good man, I hope you’re not doing anything untoward to her. It certainly wouldn’t do any good for this hotel’s reputation.”

Husk could physically feel a vein pop in his forehead, as well as a growl leaving his throat.

“I’m gonna rip that mouth of yours if you don’t quit it with these stupid fucking jokes.”

“Jokes? I’m simply voicing a concern.”

“Bull shit. You just–” Husk tried to stand, then felt Charlie’s weight, which kept him locked in place. “Ah, fuck.” He didn’t want her to wake up to an argument.

Alastor placed a hand on his chin, his textured chuckles sounding even more obnoxious than before. “Are you now the princess’ pet as well?”

Husk made sure to keep his voice low, but he put all the annoyance right into his inflections. “I’m no one’s pet. And you know this isn’t actually anything. First you tell Charlie some weird fucking joke because you knew it would piss me off and now you try to make it sound like I’m being a creep. What is your damn problem? You’re the one that forced me to work at this hotel in the first place. Worried I’ll make friends here or something?”

And with that, he realized it. It was quick, but the twitch in Alastor’s right eye and the sharp little static that fizzed, Husk had been able to learn his boss’ tells.

Maybe Alastor just hadn’t expected Husk to change his ways.

But the Radio Demon simply shrugged, turning away as if he was suddenly bored with the situation. “I was brought here to keep an eye on the hotel, and all of its residents. I only want to make sure everything is in working order. Also,” he turned his neck completely around, the crack making Husk wince. Ugh. He always did that to weird him out. “I just like to have a bit of fun once in a while.”

His boss’ exits were the same as his entrances–quick and full of shadows, but this time leaving the lights in the lobby brighter than before. Husk sighed once he saw Alastor was gone. He didn’t know if that was another weird temper thing with his boss, another prank of his, or what. 

Charlie started to murmur in his sleep, sounding a little upset. “It’s dark…”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Husk wrapped his wing around her like a blanket, and Charlie instantly snuggled into it. She breathed more evenly, and the lines on her face were gone. “No more nightmares, ok?”

Huh, he wasn’t sure when he became a softie, but the princess did say how she wanted to redeem everyone…

Husk looked at the tequila sunrise in his hand, the ice mostly melted, the orange slice nearly slipping off the rim. Huh, what a weird hotel, he thought, before taking another sip. He’d stay here for as long as Charlie needed. He could use the rest, too.

“Sleep tight, princess,” he said, watching as she gently curled more into his wing to keep warm.

[atlasofthestaars]

Are you okay?? It's been a while

haha that's a lot of messages!

hi! i'm not dead <3 I'm back! sorry for my sudden disappearance! I've been busy with life! I've been on the grind for college and art, and somehow along the path I got a boyfriend ??? He uh. knows I make this fanfic, so maybe he can get me to update this faster

To be totally transparent, I have not written much. Like at all. I hit a major writing block before disappearing and then time flew and now we're here!

Am I dropping this story? Nope! I plan to update and finish this thing, even if it takes me months between updates, sorry about that haha

Well, I'll be working on chapter 17 now! I felt bad so I have the entirety of what I HAVE written below! It's just the intro flashback like usual so there's not much, sorry about that :(

“I’m surprised you said no to Sonya’s offer.”

You stared ahead, watching the sunrise over the cityscape. Gold and pinks stained the sky, the colors seeping into the clouds that passed by overhead. The air, though it’s been a week since the final showdown, still felt like it was scented with the ashes and blood of those who shouldn’t have died. Maybe it was because of your animalistic traits, but you swore it smelt fresh too. You tried not to close your eyes, or else you’d see those things again.

“Is it really that surprising?” You asked. Your voice was scratchy. You couldn’t tell if it was due to a lack of speaking or too much speaking. How much silence and talking you’ve been taking felt murky. The whole last week felt like a blur, in all honesty. You rose a hand up, massaging your throat. You heard a shift, and finally you allowed yourself to look at your companion.

“In all honesty?” Johnny’s voice felt like it had lost much of the grandeur. If you were feeling in a better mood, you would have maybe even joked about the rather plain way he was speaking. Making jokes, however, was the last thing on your mind. You watched him carefully, his shoulders slumping forward as he took a good long stare at you. Did you look as much of a wreck as you felt? You felt your body try and straighten up, to attempt to look somewhat put together. “Yeah, I kinda am.”

“Why?” You asked, still analyzing the actor. There was a long stretch of time where the both of you simply stared at each other. You noted the uncharacteristic eyebags, and just how…normal he looked. “Isn’t it obvious I would choose to stay with Lord Raiden and help those back at the White Lotus?” You inquired further. A tone of offense slipped into your tone, one that you only noticed until you saw the slight cringe from the man.

“Well, yeah, I guess.” Johnny replied, his face scrunching up slightly. It seems he was still reeling a bit at your harsher tone. “But you seemed so…adamant about working with Sonya over the last week. You wouldn’t even rest, sleep, or eat until either she or I practically dragged you out of whatever task you busied yourself with.” He pointed out.

“I’m just a hard worker.” You excused yourself. You decided to ignore the very, very pointed and judgemental look the actor sent your way. Hard worker was not even an understatement, it was simply wrong. You weren’t working to earn merits. You were working to distract yourself. Catching your mind drifting, you stared down at your hands, noting the many more calluses that would form from how much you’ve been writing lately.

You don’t think you’ve written this much in ages.

“Listen, I’m not stupid. I’m not going to make you spit out whatever’s been bugging you, because I think you won’t, and I feel like I already know what it is. But I will say I do know what it looks like when someone’s trying to drown themselves in something to distract themselves.” The actor told you in a strangely stern voice. He crossed his arms, staring you down. “But like I said, I know there’s no point in carrying that point on.” He sighed, running a hand through his unusually unstyled hair. “So what are you even planning on doing when you go back?” 

You paused, looking at the actor. Was he that good at reading people, or were you that exhausted that you could not even put up a convincing front anymore? You searched his face, trying to figure out which answer was the right one. Maybe it was both, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“Anything to help the world recover.” You told Johnny Cage. You knew your answer was vague, but you guessed it was better than nothing. Plus, what you said was true. You were planning on doing anything to help your community to rebuild. Whether it be helping rebuild the building of the Wu Shi itself after the invasion years ago, or to train new initiates with your father, you were willing to do it.

You could not let what happened last week ever happen again. Not as long as you were alive.

“Sounds like a tall task.” Johnny said, his gaze now settled on the pinkened horizon. There was a bit of wistfulness to his voice, as if acknowledging the terribly difficult task you had placed upon yourself. There was no doubt in his voice, though. Instead, it felt as if he knew that you’d be true to your word, even if it meant your doom.

“What about you?” You asked, suddenly feeling awkward as the conversation had died out. You hadn’t wanted your conversation with him to be entirely about you. Not only was it something you weren’t all too fond of in the first place, but it felt wrong especially when your conversation partner was someone as ostentatious as the actor. “What are your plans now? To go back to acting?”

“Honestly? Thought about that for a bit.” Johnny admitted, shrugging. There was a certain type of look on his face, one that seemed long for normalcy that he could never have back. “But after seeing all of this shit? I don’t think I could return to that life. I was planning on taking Sonya’s offer to join the Special Forces, kinda hoping you would too.”

“Really?” You said, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. Your eyebrows rose, before you felt a soft huff leave your lips. “Was it so you could have a friend in the force, or is it so you could have someone to bug in the force?”

“A bit of both.” The actor, or rather, soon to be ex actor, said. A hint of his signature smile was sent your way, and he crossed his arms. as he looked at you from the corner of his eye. “With how long we’ve known each other, I can’t say I hate you. I could have done without the whole doom impending tournament that made us meet, though. Not a big fan. Plus, you being there would mean there’s one less hard ass there I’d have to deal with.”

“I’m honored.” You replied, hoping the sarcasm you were attempting was getting through even with your dry tone. There was a beat that passed as you considered your next words. “I’m not going away forever, Cage.” There was what you assumed was relief that twinkled in his eyes as you told him that. “I’m sure there will be help that Raiden will need from the Special Forces, and vice versa. Plus, I already told Sonya this, but if we hear anything about those revenants that Raiden spoke of, I want in. Not to mention, I’ll be sure to write.”

“Good to know you’re not abandoning us.” Johnny joked, but there was sincerity within his voice. He seemed genuinely glad you were not going to ditch any of them any time soon.

[evilphone]

Hey i'm sorry you're going through a rough time right now. We don't talk much but I started following you because of your Metalocalypse fanart and aside from that i just really enjoy seeing you on my dashboard!

I'm sorry you've been feeling suicidal, i don't know if this is helpful or not but I'M glad that you are alive. You're creative, talented, funny and unique and you make the world better by being in it.

As for not liking your own art... i draw too, and i struggle to see any strong points in my own stuff, so i'm not one to give any good advice on that. What i can tell you is that i've never seen any work of yours that i don't like. You have an excellent grasp on anatomy while also giving it your own twist and making all your stuff unmistakably YOURS! And the way you make your lineart look melts my brain by how GOOD it is. All of your characters seem so lively and just fun to look at. And you always give them such fun facial expressions that make them feel like real people! I'm not sure how else to describe it other than this, but i really mean it when i say it's great. I hope things get better for you very soon. Easier said than done, i know, but i'm still sending you my best wishes. I debated sending you this via discord (we're in a server together and we've talked a little before :D) but i don't wanna make you feel pressured to quickly reply to a private message (i often get that feeling myself) or make you feel oddly perceived by a rando with a name, so i'll just send it here, as an anonymous rando instead. Please take care of yourself, i think you're a very special person and you deserve to feel good <3

THANK U SM for all the kind words 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖!!!

I'm feeling a bit better today 🥹 but i've been in a sort of prolonged creative slump and not being able to enjoy my one and only hobby is definitely not helping my mood as of late lol.

but again tysm for the nice message <3 it rlly made my day

[jackwolfes]

Wesper // Six of Crows // 1095 words // E rated @kinktober2023 Day 30: Free Use

[all kinktober fills]

They take it in turns. 

There are rules to it, like every good game, but Jesper hardly minds. The name of the game is fun, and he likes fun. 

This isn't allowed to happen on the Geldstraat, but it can stretch outside the walls of the little flat Wylan owns on the far Eastern side of the Zelver district. Only for teasing, ostensibly, not public sex, but Wylan has been daring before and allowed much more than Jesper thought he would. This game stops when they say red but not no or even stop, and it doesn't stop for tears, either. After the last time, when Wylan was spent and slumped on his knees, truly done for the day, he'd croakily asked Jesper to push him further the next time it was his turn. To make him take more than he usually does, to push. Jesper said yes. 

It is once again Wylan's turn. 

The game starts like it often does: with an opening of bleary eyes after late night helping Kaz on some job where it made more sense to come to this little apartment than trek all the way back to the Geldstraat. The furniture is sparser and a little more worn, but the building is crammed full of art materials, things to fabrikate, musical instruments, and more than they need to be comfortable. 

The game is a habit, mostly, in this house, so the day starts with heat in Jesper's veins. He's woken up hard, and wonders if his body understands this home's significance. But this house often means a special sort of day for him and Wylan and now, as he hears Wylan waking up beside him and feels arousal in his gut, he starts to plan. 

He rolls over and gives Wylan a kiss. "Morning, angel." 

Sleepily, Wylan smiles and hums. "Morning," he croaks. He squirms, leaning momentarily into the shapes Jesper has started to draw on his waist. He hasn't really opened his eyes. When his thighs shift they brush against Jesper's body, and he inhales sharply. He blinks his eyes open and looks at Jesper. "Ah." 

Jesper grins. 

So now they’re here. Until the two of them decide this game is done Wylan is the toy for Jesper to use and play with as he sees fit. There aren't any exceptions today, although he did remind Jesper that they had to go pick up more chemicals for the midwinter fireworks display he's trying to make, and they couldn't be late. Jesper doesn't think they will be late — just that he'll have to dig out the metal plug they left here last time before they go. 

He fucked Wylan open with his fingers in their soft bed, taking his time and trying not to give Wylan too much pleasure too early on. For his own good, he'd whispered softly against the curve of Wylan's temple as he yawned, smiling tauntingly. Wylan hadn't seemed convinced. It didn't really matter anyway, because Jesper had turned him over onto his front and fucked him properly as soon as he was stretched, taking him roughly to spend all the energy locked in his chest overnight. Wylan had shrieked by the end of it, begging for Jesper to fill him, make a mess, use him. Jesper was never one to deny his love a damn thing. 

They'd both come, panting, although neither was under any delusion that they were going to stop after just one. 

Breakfast has been had, now, and they’ve thrown their plans of leaving to head back to the Geldstraat out the window. They’ll be back here tonight anyway, because it’s Anika’s birthday and they’re all due a party, but Jesper knows Wylan had planned to go back to home for at least a little bit. To do some work, maybe, or just relax there. 

They’re relaxing here, instead. 

“Hngh— nnh—” 

“Good boy,” Jesper gasps, thrusting his hips a little wildly into Wylan’s mouth. He keeps his fingers curled in Wylan’s hair to use as a handle to drag him deeper onto his cock. Wylan keeps his hands on Jesper’s thighs, holding himself still but not touching because touching isn’t really the game either. Taking is the game, and Wylan is doing a brilliant job. They’re in the little study used more for music than work, with Wylan on his knees gagging on Jesper’s cock and Jesper sweltering inside with the want he feels bursting at his ribs. He’s knocked some books from the desk, but he doesn’t care. Oh, Saints. 

“G-good—” Jesper chokes on his own words, praise catching in his throat. He can feel the messy pool of drool around the seam of Wylan’s lips. His fingertips scrabble against Jesper’s legs, but he hasn’t tapped out. He just takes it. Such a good boy. 

“Ghng—” 

That does it, funnily enough. Jesper cries out, grabbing the back of Wylan’s head possessively and burying his cock down his throat to release onto the back of his tongue. Wylan makes a surprised noise, although it tapers off into a moan. His fingers clench on Jesper’s legs all the same, and Jesper feels him start to tremble. For a moment he thinks it’s because he’s lightheaded — and takes care to pull out as quickly but comfortably as he can, for both of their sakes — but Wylan doesn’t gasp when Jesper’s cock is free from his lips. He sways, until Jesper grabs his shoulder. Wylan offers him a faint little thumbs up, and a smile. 

“Are you okay?” Jesper whispers. Wylan’s eyes are wide, pupils blown and flush unending. He opens and shuts his lips soundlessly then, seeming to see no point in trying to speak, he simply nods. He’s still trembling. Tears are starting to drip from the corner of his eyes. 

“Want— want to come,” he manages, voice croaky. 

Jesper rolls his lips together, holding back a smile. That explains the shaking, then, and the tense way Wylan holds himself. Jesper glances down at his crotch to find him hard, a small stain of darkened fabric slowly growing where his cock must be leaking precum into his clothes. He hasn’t come, though. He’s too good of a boy for that. 

Softly, Jesper kisses his forehead. There’s a long day ahead of the young man, and Jesper wants to make sure he has fun the whole time, but games are games — and they’re no fun without rules. 

“Don’t you dare come until I say so,” he whispers into the fluff of Wylan’s hair. Wylan shudders. 

But he nods, again, and says, “Yes, Jesper.”

[imaginmatrix]

Maybe it's my playing Stardew Valley, but I'd certainly like to see a nice Percabeth fic set in a remote, countryside farm town

Annabeth sat on the grass at the top of the overlook.

The small town was a cluster of scattered lights below, the rolling fields of farms rippling like ocean waves in the breeze, leading down to sandy beaches and the true sea it mirrored.

Forests and mountains encased the little community, less a wall of hostility to keep out strangers, and more a protective hug from a loved one, ensuring those in the valley felt secure. Safe.

Percy slumped down beside her, handing over a beer he’d snagged from the six pack in the back of his truck, her second of the night. Most of the evening had already been spent watching the explosion of color the sunset always brought fade to the cool blue of summer twilight.

Crickets chirped. Fireflies began to flick on their lights. A frog sang a song in its gruff, throaty voice. Annabeth cleared her throat.

“So do you come up here a lot?” She asked, trying her best not to look at him, because if she looked at him… it would only invite trouble.

She felt Percy’s shrug, “More so lately.”

“Mm.” Annabeth hummed, taking a sip from her bottle.

Percy Jackson never struck her as a country boy. From the moment Annabeth laid eyes on him in his jeans, converse, and blue Henley, he had emitted an energy that felt unmistakably “city.”

But he was far more down to earth than the men she’d interacted with throughout her life, unconcerned with networking, who knew who, or which restaurants and clubs would be “in” that weekend— not that there were clubs here, and small town gossip was an entirely different breed than what she was used to.

Still.

“So you’re an artist?” Percy interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes.” Annabeth frowned, “Well, no… sort of?”

His laugh sent electricity through her chest, the zap of static after dragging one’s feet on carpet. “How can someone be only ‘sort of’ an artist?”

She unsuccessfully bit back a smile, “I haven’t been doing much art since coming here.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time— a sabbatical from the firm, a chance to rekindle her creativity, find her passion for a dream career that had lost its shine the past half-decade, a relaxing getaway to a small town, in a little cabin, no one to interrupt her…

Except it seemed she left inspiration back in New York.

It hadn’t fit in her luggage.

“I hear that 90% of being an artist is not actually making art, so you’re on the right track.” The way he nudged her shoulder nearly tempted Annabeth into turning her head those few centimeters to meet his gaze, see his face, those green eyes, that black curly hair— no. She had to be firm with herself.

So instead, Annabeth laughed, and she took another swig, “God. I hope that’s true.”

“What do you draw? Or… paint, or whatever?”

The million dollar question.

“I… I’m trying to figure it out.”

She could imagine the way he must be raising his eyebrows at that answer, “People? Places?”

“Buildings.” Annabeth sighed, “I’m an architect.”

“Seems pretty straightforward.” She cringed. Percy paused. “…or not.”

Another sigh tugged at her lungs, but she beat it back down, “It is, usually. But… it all looks the same these days.”

“Buildings?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her eyes to the night sky, so much clearer than back home, “I’m sick of them and I need to find some way to get inspired again because— I mean— Skyscrapers? Giant vertical rectangles. Strip malls? Giant horizontal rectangles. Businesses want to fit in— and so do celebrities, if you’re lucky enough to work with one on some fancy mansion.”

“You’ve built for celebrities?”

“One.” Annabeth admitted, “But everything is so… sterile. Even interiors, which used to still have character when the buildings themselves stopped being unique, and now they’re all minimalist and shades of grey and glass doors, plain marble lobbies or open floor concepts—“

“Used to work in one of those.”

Annabeth blinked, finally inclining her face toward Percy though she still avoided a direct look, “Did you?”

“Yeah. In the same city as you, it looks like.” He pinched the brim of the Yankees cap atop Annabeth’s head, tugging it down teasingly, “Couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with my life after high school, so I kind of floated around to different things. Ended up in a tech startup, even though computers hate me— it was mostly answering phones and trying to convince people to buy useless warranties they didn’t need.”

“Why did you leave?” Annabeth immediately felt stupid for asking the question. Everything he recounted sounded absolutely miserable.

But Percy didn’t seem to think the same, his answer earnest, “It was a few years ago, and I was already looking for a new job; it didn’t cross my mind to ditch the city entirely, it’s— it was my home, but uh…” he cleared his throat. “I made a promise to someone. So now I’m here.”

Her curiosity was piqued, but Annabeth didn’t pry, figuring it was a sensitive topic. “Do you like the Valley?”

“Far more than I thought I would.”

“Me too.” She paused, “Do you think you’ll stay here?”

“Maybe.”

Maybe.

The word made her emotions churn in a way she absolutely did not want to analyze at the moment.

They stared out at the valley again.

“God this view is beautiful.” Annabeth breathed, breaking the silence.

“Absolutely.”

Then Annabeth made the mistake of turning her head to look at him, the action she’d been avoiding since he invited her to go for a drive, and Percy’s gaze was already on her. Their eyes met. Neither moved to break the delicate string that tentatively began to connect them.

Annabeth’s mind was a whirlwind. This is why it had been so dangerous to look. This is what she was scared of.

Because with him looking like that— no, with him looking at her like that— if his “maybe” response to her question of staying here became a “definitely”…

Then what would she do?

But it was too late. She was leaning in, and Percy was as well, and Annabeth knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t stop herself, because that delicate string was growing stronger, a spider web to a fishing line to a sewing thread to a length of yarn and on and on and on—

So she kissed him. She breathed in his scent, sea salt, and sweat, and lavender from the brush he’d toppled into earlier that night. She tasted his lips, warm and chapped, but not uncomfortably so, a friction in the softness that promised something more that made Annabeth’s skin prickle with anticipation. She kissed him, and let him kiss her, and maybe this would bring that much needed passion back to her life.

But she knew she was a fool.

Because in that moment, even knowing that this— whatever “this” was— could only lead to heartbreak and misery and pain, she made the decision to choose it.

Choose this.

Choose him.

Even if just for the next two months she was here.

Even if just for tonight.

*****

Okay you made me make a series of oneshots on AO3, so here it is there too

[daybreak-mun]

Belated Christmas Presents

... because I have the time management skills of a potato.

Featuring:

Laivan from @asksavel​    I know I’m coming in at the tail end of the story, but what I see, I honestly really like. Looking forward to seeing more of it pop up on my dash!

Rai from @miles-of-muses​    Honestly, roleplaying with you is always pretty fun, even if we don’t really do it as often these days. Your worlds are all pretty interesting to read through.

Neo-Ka from @pokege-ne-project    It’s been a while since I’ve seen these characters in action and I’m excited to see what you have planned for them. You’ve been a great friend over the years, and I really appreciate that. Thanks, Liam.

Cipher from @themeowsticvigilante​    I didn’t see your post about your ruptured appendix until I started this project, but I’m hoping everything goes well! Even though we don’t interact much, I enjoy your characters. The world needs more Meowstics.

Snow from @ask-a-learning-ai    The interactions with Snow I read are pretty good, and while I’ve kind of been in and out of a slump, I’d be down for having our characters interact more in the future. I can definitely see Cherry and Snow being friends.

Mukudori from @ask-a-staravia    It’s pretty interesting to see a take on Legends Arceus that manages to spin it into a different world, but still similar enough to be recognized. Looking forward to seeing more stuff from you in the future.

Shiso from @shaymincafe    You've been a pretty great friend in the few years I've known you, and I always enjoy having our characters interact. I'd be down for hanging out with you and Peaches in FFXIV once I actually catch up.

Kuno + Cucumber from @teamnextgen   I haven't really known you for very long, nor have I really interacted much with you. You seem like a pretty good person, and I'd be down for hanging out at some point.

Luxu from @asktheisle​   I haven't really read your blog, but I enjoy your character designs and general art style. I've heard quite a few good things, so I decided to put this together.

Joule from @dailyashleighraichu Your art is simultaneously a source of serotonin, and pain. I see a bit of my past self in Joule with how she was treated by random people. For me, it didn't really get to that level, but I can empathize with her in some small way.

Elliot from @ask-elliotgang Admittedly, I haven't been able to go back and read through your blog yet, but I can tell there's a lot of work put into this. Figured it'd be a neat idea for Joule and Elliot's cards to be two halves of a larger card here.

Luca from @sphaeramjourney I swear I kept thinking your url is "seraphimjourney", but that's more on me. Your art is always really good and I love the effects in your pages. As with many things in the community, I'm late reading, but I'm liking what I'm seeing so far.

Anyway, Happy New Year everyone!! Here's hoping 2023 sucks less!

Also if any of these blogs would like the full size images, I can DM them on request.

[taybatwo2]

I have been both busy and in a slump lately, but wanted to make a post on some of the new fashion packs I’ve been finding in stores. So, here’s a compromise: I just take pictures at my beat up art desk, only turn on the easy to get to light, and just use dolls that are within arms reach.

Here are the Naturalistas/Latinistas clothing fashion packs. I thought they were all pretty nice (the pink one’s fabric is kinda thin and see-through though). The yellow one ended up being my favorite and that’s what this Naturalista’s going to be wearing back on the shelf.

I knew that she couldn’t fit the LUV packs, but the purple dress is so loose in the top I thought she miiiiiight be able to fit in it. It was pretty short on her and didn’t close all the way in the back.

The shoes were also a bit too small on the Naturalista.

But they fit a Pinkie Cooper doll pretty well (the two black pairs of shoes were a smidge bigger though). They also fit a regular Barbie well too (the black strappy sandals and black heeled shoes might fit a curvy or tall Barbie’s foot better).

LUV fits both G1, G2 (pictured here because I didn’t want to redress any G1’s around me and my cat decided that the table was now hers). The sleeves are a bit short on the jacket, but not bad. I really would love to see if I can put this outfit on the new G3 Catty as the material has some stretch to it.

I LOVED this outfit on this G3 Clawdeen. After I recurl her hair and give her an Afro puff, she’s going back in this.

The outfits are also a pretty good fit for Pinkie Coopers (the top is a bit loose due to their lack of boobies).

Then I spotted four Hairmazing fashion packs and picked those up (they were much cheaper than the LUV packs). This one is a bit short on Barbie, and the headband didn’t really work. It’s a better length for Clawdeen, but loose in the top.

Sleeves were short on the jacket on my Barbie, but could work for 3/4 long jacket. The top was a bit tight, and the skirt was a bit loose. Jacket was a better fit on Clawdeen, the top was horribly loose, and the skirt was on the loose side too.

This one WOULD NOT close in the back for Barbie, but was a bit of a better fit for Clawdeen (also, the top can be seem ripped to separate it from the overalls pretty easily).

I liked the shiny fabric on this one. The skirt mostly fit Barbie (it was a bit higher in the back though), but the top was a no go).

Clawdeen could get away with it, but the top was loose.

I grabbed several curvier G3’s to see if it was a better fit on them. The skirt would not fit up Abbey’s legs, but the top was a perfect fit! The skirt actually fit super well on Draculaura, but the top was a smidgen too big.

The sunglasses fit Monster High well.

The headbands were not really a winner on either Barbie (too big and bulky), or Monster High (to small).

The shoes were a PERFECT fit on G1/G2 Monster High (so probably Ever After High too).

My Bad Batch boys were jealous they didn’t get to try on anything and just stood on the nearby shelf…so here you go! They felt very pretty afterwards.

If I had a Crosshair and an Omega they would have also joined in.

[dojunie]

i miss misdial jeno and y/n i feel like its been decades. but i hope ure doing well <3<3 btw i love ur writing style and i wish i could be as good as you or even just a half heh…

misdial is currently at 37k and i open that blasted fic almost every day <3 i promise you she is baking, thank you so so much for sticking around through this genuinely debaucherous hiatus i am putting you all through LOL

for your patience i will insert a blurb under the readmore of a scene in the upcoming ch, and its still in jen pov btw!!!

Back in highschool, when you were a junior and he was a senior, you’d had a short lived obsession with dying your hair. Mark had mentioned it to him in passing, recalling the half a dozen conversations he’d witnessed of you trying to convince your parents to let you bleach it, but he hadn’t really thought about it too seriously until he was over at Mark’s house to work on a project a few weeks later. Your brother, who’s brain stopped working properly when he was hungry, tapped out after about fifteen minutes to hit the convenience store a few blocks away for a pint of ice cream and a few energy drinks. 

It was only after the front door slammed shut that Jeno even realized you were home; he was slouched in Mark’s desk chair scrolling listlessly through his phone when he heard the bedroom door creak open, and turned around expecting your brother. It was not your brother.

It was you. Standing in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights as your eyes met, dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top, hair slicked down to your head with cherry red dye— it was all over your hands, splattered down your neck, an artful blob on the tip of your nose.

The two of you stared at each other for what felt like minutes. He hadn’t seen you this close for a few weeks now, since this was around the time that you’d started hanging out with your friends more and were rarely ever home. That was what he blamed for the way his brain seemed to start buffering at the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked.

You stood up straight and hid your hands behind your back like he hadn’t already seen them in all their bloody glory, and said, “I thought you… Left. Just now. With Mark.”

“I didn’t,” he replied. You stared at each other some more. Then, because he wasn’t quite sure what else to do and he’s never really been good at reading a room, he said,“You missed a bit, there. On the top.”

You stiffened, and then your whole body slumped like he’d cut your strings with those ten words alone. “I know. Mark has a little mirror in here somewhere that I was going to steal while he was gone, because I didn’t realize until it was too late that I couldn't see the back of my own head.”

And somehow this ended up with Jeno standing behind you in your bathroom, dutifully brushing red goo into your scalp as you fidgeted and twitched and tried to pretend you weren’t staring at him in the mirror, even though it was very obvious that you were. Jeno pretended, like he’d been doing for the last three years, that he didn’t notice— even if he was finding it a little harder than normal to not stare right back.

Back then, he chalked up his jitters to all of the physical things that were happening in that moment. He credited his desire to stand a little closer to you than necessary to the pleasant scent of cherry coming from the dye in your hair, and blamed the uneven straps on your tank top for the reason his eyes kept drifting to the curve of your shoulders. He was hyper-focusing on the tiny beauty mark below your ear not because he found it fascinating, but because it was easier to keep his eyes trained on that than to risk forgetting what he was doing and finding your eyes in the mirror.

When the dye ran out and your head was sufficiently gooped, he’d been gearing up to ask if you needed help washing it out or something, not quite ready to go back to being strangers just yet, when the sound of the garage door opening whispered through the house and you stiffened. In an instant you were plucking the empty dye bowl from his hands and then herding him out of your bathroom— startled, he turned around to mention his sweater only to find it flying at his chest with enough force to knock him back against the hallway wall. Your eyes were huge as you stood in the bathroom doorway, hand already on the door as if already positioning to slam it shut.

“Don’t tell Mark you helped me,” you said quickly, before blinking very hard a few times, “And— Thank you? This probably would have turned out like shit if you didn’t offer to help me. Thanks.”

Downstairs, the front door opened. Jeno stood there with his balled up sweatshirt in his hands suddenly feeling very odd. Only later did he realize that feeling was hesitance. He didn’t want to go yet. “Why can’t I tell him?” he asked.

“Because Mark’s going to freak out when he sees me, and I don’t want him to get mad at you too for being an accessory to my crime.”

“An accessory to your what?”

“Oh,” you said belatedly. Then you raised your eyebrows at him, lip quirking into an innocent smile that felt like anything but, and his stomach twisted. “Might’ve said too much.”

Your brother's voice rang up the stairs and Jeno made the mistake of turning towards the landing. By the time he turned back to you, mouth opening to speak— even though he wasn’t even sure what he was planning to say— he only caught the last glimpse of your red stained hand through the shutting the door.

Mark returned a few moments later to find Jeno sitting back in the desk chair, back to peering into his phone, but what he probably didn’t notice was that Jeno was really staring at the little, cherry colored splotch on his palm.

I'M IN LOVE WITH HIM!!!!! but for real, thank you for keeping up with these two dumbos........... i will open up my misdial doc in your honor tonight!!!!

[koolkat9]

NedCan Week 2024 - Day 1

@nedcanweek

Prompt: Painting || Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Pairing: NedCan

Word Count: 775

Read on AO3

Author's Note: A lot is happening right now so all these are going to be late. Anyway, have day 1.

An Image Speaks a Thousand Words

Matthew hadn’t heard the knocking at the door. He has spent all morning engrossed in streaks of green, brown, and blue. He hadn’t even heard the creak of the door when the knocker let himself in.

“Matt…you…” came a breathless voice.

Matthew jumped, jamming his knee against the easel. The painting rattled but luckily didn’t tumble to the floor. He let out a sigh but tensed once more knowing he had an intruder to face that almost ruined everything.

Jan coward back into the cottage in a poor attempt to hide himself. Matthew scrambled to shield the painting with his body cold shooting through his chest, then stomach.

They stared at each other in silence. Why did Jan’s face have to be so damn unreadable?

“You paint,” Jan noted. Simply. Slowly.

Matthew’s eyes shifted back to the painting, then back at Jan.

“It’s nothing,” Matthew muttered, “Just a hobby.”

“Matt…”

Matthew brushed past Jan into his cottage, whole body thrumming. He shoved the canvas into a nearby closet and strode back out on the back porch.

Jan reached out for him “Hey, why are you–”

Matthew sighed, eyes looking out to the cliffs he had been painting. “Sorry…I was just…startled.”

“Is that all?”

Jan slunk behind him, wrapping his arms around Matthew’s waist, pulling him against his chest. Matthew remained silent.

“You’re good,” Jan whispered.

Matthew shrugged. “I’m nothing special. Not like you and Papa. Just something I do to pass the time.”

“I also just do it to pass the time. Doesn’t make it any less meaningful and definitely not any less good.”

Matthew pulled away, collecting his palette and paintbrushes. “Better clean these up before the bristles get ruined.”

Brushing past Jan he made his way to the kitchen sink and let the water run over the brush part. Jan watched the browny mixture of paints twirl down the drain. They remained silent.

Matthew stepped back and shook the brush a bit before going back over to the closet and hanging it up. Jan followed, catching a glimpse of a wide collection of brushes in different sizes. Almost as big if not the same size as his own collection back home.

“Does anyone else know?”Jan asked, following Matthew back out onto the porch.

“Alfred because he’s nosey. And Kateryna since it was kind of hard to hide when we were sharing a house.”

“Why not me?”

Normally Jan had a good hold on his emotions, fully aware of what he was saying. But with Matthew, things just flew out. Especially in times like these.

“I don’t…I don’t know…Didn’t think it mattered.”

“You know how much I like art.”

Matthew slumped against the banister, looking back out at the cliffs. “Yes, and you’re an expert at it.”

“So you didn’t think you were good enough?”

Matthew shrugged. Silence

“Not even Francis knows?” Jan asked, joining Matthew in looking out across the way.

“Nope. And he’s the last one I want to know. Don’t need to bring something up to be the inferior version of him again.”

Matthew and Francis may have been in a better place in recent decades, even affectionate towards each other like a father and son should be. But there were still centuries of hurt, being a little doll that got dressed up and toted about, praised for how cute he was until he actually behaved like a child and in the process ruined his clothes.

“Hey,” Jan said softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I understand. Francis isn’t always the…easiest person to deal with. But at least trust me when I say that you’re good.”

Matthew looked up at him, lips drawn thin, eyes for once unreadable. “I’ll consider it.”

“I always forget you got Arthur’s snark,” Jan chuckled, pressing a kiss to Matthew’s forehead. “I hope you know that now that I know this, we’re going to have painting dates.”

“Figured.”

Matthew pinched Jan’s nose before heading back into the house once more.

“Better start dinner,” Matthew explained, “Then maybe after…we could wind down by painting together.”

Jan grabbed Matthew by the hips, whirled him around, and planted a kiss on his lips. “Sounds wonderful.”

In the surprise ambush, Matthew’s cheeks flushed. He froze for a moment, composing himself while Jan continued on to the kitchen. He was feeling kind of stupid now for keeping this hidden for so long. Jan loved him so much. Even if his art wasn’t perfect, Jan would still love and still support his hobby.

Matthew shook his hands and head quickly. No more spiraling. He strode into the kitchen to start his peaceful evening with his lover.

[juliatulia]

I didn't pay attention to the Housman bit on Autobiography, so I would love to hear your thoughts on that :)

Sorry for the late reply but here it is.

The * followed by parenthesis are my thoughts, the rest is directly from Morrisseys Autobiography.

Excerpt from Autobiography:

and, wrongly, unnecessarily, this child weeps, full of the foolish

embarrassment that his father has clearly marked out. New air is discovered

in the words of A. E. Housman (1859–1936), scholar-poet, vulnerable and

complex. On the day of his twelfth birthday his mother dropped dead,

sealing a private future of suffering for Housman, who was said to be a

complete mystery even to those who knew him. *(Whom are we talking about??) With no interest in

applause or public recognition, Housman published three volumes of

poetry, each one of great successful caress, each a world in itself, forcing

Housman into the highest literary ranks. A stern custodian of art and life, he

shunned the world and he lived a solitary existence of monastic pain,

unconnected to others. *(Again, whom?) The unresolved heart worked against him in life, but

it connected him to the world of poetry, where he allowed (in)complete

strangers under his skin. *(One know others by how one knows oneself) In younger years he had suffered from the

unrequited love of Moses Jackson, the pain of which was so severe that it

doomed Housman for the rest of time. *(Swap the names and it could be Steven Patrick talking about himself) All of his work would be governed

by this loss, as if life could only ever offer one chance of happiness (and

perhaps, for every shade and persuasion, it does?):

*(So, Morrissey introduces Housman as someone who has unhappiness thrust upon him (but he could also have been a moody melancholic from birth, who knows?). Life delt him bad cards, but used the unhappiness to create art that others found comforting. He clearly identifies with him. And the last part of the paragraph….. Words fail me. )

When the bells justle in the tower

The hollow night amid,

Then on my tongue the taste is sour

Of all I ever did

Housman suffered throughout his life, and therefore (and not surprisingly)

his life became an unyielding attempt not to cooperate. The black horizon

never shifted, and his emotional lot never mellowed.

*(Moses Jackson was very aware of Housmans feelings for him. If I remeber correctly when Moses married his wife, they didnt tell Alfred Edward until after the event (They also left the country). Jackson knew it would crush Housman. )

He would not stay for me; and who can wonder?

He would not stay for me to stand and gaze.

I shook his hand and tore my heart in sunder

and went with half my life about my ways.

At his Wildean lowest, Oscar’s personal sadness had never slumped to such

leaden fatigue; Housman suffered and accepted, death always close in his

mind’s eye – but not regrettably so.

I did not lose my heart in summer’s even,

When roses to the moonrise burst apart:

When plumes were under heel and lead was flying,

In blood and smoke and flame I lost my heart.

I lost it to a soldier and a foeman,

A chap that did not kill me, but he tried;

That took the sabre straight and took it striking

And laughed and kissed his hand to me and died.

The published poetry makes the personal torture just barely acceptable. The

pain done to Housman allowed him to rise above the mediocre and to find

the words that most of us need help in order to say. The price paid by

Housman was a life alone; the righteous rhymer enduring each year unloved

and unable to love:

Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all’s over:

I only vex you the more I try.

All’s wrong that ever I’ve done and said,

And nought to help it in this dull head:

Shake hands, here’s luck, goodbye.

But if you come to a road where danger

Or guilt or shame’s to share,

Be good to the lad that loves you true

And the soul that was born to die for you

And whistle and I’ll be there.

*(The poem is so true to the Morrissey folio. A strong friendship/connection/relationship is no longer what it once was and distance is imminent between the object and the subject. But should anything happen, "danger or guilt or shame to share" you know I will be there for you. )

It’s easy for me to imagine Housman sitting in a favorite chair by a barely

flickering gas fire, the brain grinding long and hard, wanting to explain

things in his own way, monumental loneliness on top of him, but with no

one to tell. The written word is an attempt at completeness when there is no

one impatiently awaiting you in a dimly lit bedroom – awaiting your tales

of the day, as the healing hands of someone who knew turn to you and touch

you, and you lose yourself so completely in another that you are

momentarily delivered from yourself. Whispering across the pillow comes a

kind voice that might tell you how to get out of certain difficulties, from

someone who might mercifully detach you from your complications. When

there is no matching of lives, and we live on a strict diet of the self, the

most intimate bond can be with the words that we write:

*(Here author and subject almost merge into one. Drawing the line where subject and author meets is almost impossible. I become you and you become me. When there is no one to whom one can bestow all ones affection on, the page becomes the active listener. )

Oh often have I washed and dressed

And what’s to show for all my pain?

Let me lie abed and rest:

Ten thousand times I’ve done my best

And all’s to do again.

I ask myself if there is an irresponsible aspect in relaying thoughts of pain

as inspiration, and I wonder whether Housman actually infected the

sensitives further, and pulled them back into additional darkness. Surely it

is true that everything in the imagination seems worse than it actually is –

especially when one is alone and horizontal (in bed, as in the coffin).

Housman was always alone – thinking himself to death, with no matronly

wife to signal to the watching world that Alfred Edward was now quite

alright – for isn’t this at least partly the aim of scoring a partner: to trumpet

the mental all-clear to a world where how things seem is far more important

than how things are? Now snugly in eternity, Housman still occupies my

mind. His best moments were in Art, and not in the cut and thrust of human

relationships. Yet he said more about human relationships than those who

managed to feast on them. You see, you can’t have it both ways.

*(We have to wonder why Morrissey included this in the book at all. When most authors writes their autobiography, they chronologically write about what happened to them, who they saw, or write about details about their life in descriptive detail (which in my opinion is quite dull and very little engaging as a reader). But Morrissey deviates from this enormously. He includes pieces of what made him the way he is(!). Why would he include long pieces about Melanie Safka, Buffy Sainte-Marie or W. H. Auden? Not interesting in itself to read about someone some person read a long time ago, but all these pieces gives us hints of who Steven Patrick Morrissey is.

The interesting part about including A. E Housman is how much Morrissey writes about his life, not just the poetry. I think this is the key to understanding the excerpt above. He both admire and recognise how life and art blend together and how they affect each other.

About Housmans later life, Moses Jackson died before him. Jackson suffered from cancer I think and knew he was going to die. Housman later wrote in a letter to a friend where he said: "I could not leave him behind in a world where anything might happen to him". He was a wealthy man from his academic work and became a patron of Jacksons son. He paid for his education when he didn't have to, but probably felt an obligation.

Why do we have such a lengthy part in the book about an unhappy man who lived all his life inlove with a man he fell in love with in his youth???

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ You tell me 🤓🤓

)

[meadow-selfship]

Hans x Ursula (s/i)

Day 1, 2, 3 for Self-indulgent September (first meeting, museum date (if you squint), Autumn weather/rainy day)

Like many of my 'better' works, this is vaguely inspired by a dream I had that I heavily adapted into this piece.

Pairing: Hans Gruber x Ursula (s/i)

Wordcount: 1660

Setting: a very rainy New Year's Eve.

Dividers by cafekitsune

The pouring rain strained our vision, as we ran over the slippery asphalt. My brother, Abel, followed close behind me. Even though we tried avoiding puddles, our shoes were wet and soggy already.

“In there, the museum looks like it’s still open,” I called over my shoulder. We reached the doors and didn’t hesitate for a single moment, before we barrelled in. The light in the lobby was still on, a clerk sat bored behind the monitors, glancing up from his crossword puzzle. The desk was right by the door, but just past the desk was a little area with seats. It reminded of a doctor’s waiting room with the magazines on the coffee table and the white walls.

Abel sighed and slumped against the door. We dripped all over the door mat, from coat to Abel’s jeans to my wool skirt – everything was soaked through. I wiped at my face, trying to avoid messing up my make-up.

“Good evening,” the clerk greeted and I walked a little closer.

“Hello. Do you mind if we stay here and try to dry up a bit? I know it’s late…” I said.

“Nah, go ahead,” he said with a wave of his hand. “The New Year’s party is going on upstairs so we aren’t closing anytime soon.”

“Thank you,” I said with a nod and squeezed the water from the hem of my wool skirt. Disgusting. Boisterous noises came from upstairs; yelling, laughter, people popping small fireworks. Abel and I exchanged a look.

“Sounds like quite the party,” Abel said.

The clerk shifted. “Sure is.”

“Let’s dry off in the bathroom,” I said to Abel.

“Down the hall to the right,” said the clerk and we went on our way.

“Can’t believe it’s still not stopped raining,” said Abel, nudging my knee with his foot. We sat on the couch in the museum lobby, staring restlessly outside. We worked our way through the art magazines that were strewn about the coffee table, but nothing could quell our unease. At some point, the party upstairs quieted down inexplicably, but no one came down to leave. We’d taken our shoes, gloves and coats off and left them on the radiator, hoping they would dry soon. My hair was still dry, thanks to my thick fake fur hat, that now laid sadly next to the gloves, looking something like a deflated wet rat.

“Can I write on this? It’s yesterday’s paper,” I held the paper up.

“Go right ahead,” the man said, hiding a strange tenseness by pretending not to be interested. Bored out of my mind, I circled the fun words, doing as I often do on the train; to see if there is a hidden poem in the front page article.

I turned to Abel. “It’s already half past eight. You were meeting some friends at ten, right?”

The clerk glanced up, something uncharacteristically calculating in his eyes, for a museum desk clerk. Something felt off. We’d better get going soon.

“Yeah. There’s still time. What are you doing?”

“Black out poem.” I nudged the paper to him. “Your turn. Just circle words or connect them.”

He blinked at me. “Mom and dad should’ve never let you study art.”

I laughed. “I assure you I would’ve been equally pretentious even without the education.”

A static buzz made us look to the desk, where the clerk answered a walkie-talkie.

A walkie-talkie is not something front-office workers usually have in a museum, is it? Something was definitely wrong. I pulled the newspaper towards me and penned a quick ‘er is iets mis’ on it. Abel nodded, mirroring my worried expression. We got up, trying to not let our alarmed expressions show.

"You're leaving?" asked the clerk. 

"Yeah, if the rain isn't letting up anyway, we better get home and dry up there," I said, going for my shoes. Ew, still soaked. Cold, too, and I hoped my toes would recover quickly once at home. Not that it mattered now, since it was still coming down in buckets and we'd be soaked through even if our clothes were dry.

"Gross," said Abel, his lip curling with the feeling of it as he pulled the still wet shoe over his socks. Before we could get our coats on, a small group of men came down the stairs. They walked quickly, with purposeful strides, The one who came down first wore an impeccable suit, was he the museum director? Whether he was or wasn't, Abel and me backed away to the door. I grabbed my coat over my arm and held my hat, same as Abel.

"There was only one thing I asked of you, Johan. It was to keep people out," said the one in the suit. With the way he strode towards the clerk, it looked like he wanted to hurt the man. We should've listened to our gut sooner.

I pushed against the door, and instead of it giving way, it made a beeping noise and stayed shut. The eyes of the men from upstairs fell on us. Suddenly it was like I was a kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar, and I stared back at them with unease. The one in the suit, the scariest one, turned around, and our eyes locked. His expression changed.

"See, the alarm was on, I swear-"

"Johan," he drawled, "you didn't say we had such a lovely guest."

He made a jovial gesture, and came closer. "How rude of me not to introduce myself." 

His sudden pleasantness threw me off. He extended his hand, and the way he did it made me take it, despite the strangeness of the situation. "Hans Gruber. And you? Hiding from the rain?"

"Ursula," I said, trying to apply equal pressure to the handshake. "Yes, we're very sorry for intruding. We just came by here from work, and..."

His touch lingered, warm. His smile was the most charming one I've ever seen. "And this is your..?" He gestured to Abel.

"Abel," he said, reaching out to shake his hand. "We're siblings."

Hans nodded, still smiling, as something calculating crept in his gaze. "Good, good. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Actually, why don't you stay a little while longer? We are just wrapping up here. How about, after that, I'll take you home?"

It didn't feel much like a question. His eyes lingered like his touch did. When Hans turned around, his demeanour changed again. A business man.

"Johan, I'll deal with you later. Karl; get the car. Fritz, Tony; get the bags from upstairs."

They did as he said, dispersing quick and without fuss. One thing is certain; Hans is not the museum director.

Abel and I exchanged a confused glance. I tried the door again, muttering a mild curse when it didn't still didn't open. Before I could ask if this was a good idea, Hans turned back, coming closer now. 

"It's really no trouble for us to walk, we wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"You're not from here, are you?" Hans ignored my statements to weasel our way out the door. His hand rested on my shoulder, as he directed us away from the exit and towards the elevators. "When I first came here, it was those times when strangers showed great kindness that made me feel welcome. Let me extend that same kindness to you, today."

"Sir, it's New Year's Eve, surely you have something better to do."

"Oh, Liebling, just call me Hans." His hand slipped to my back now, pressing on insistently enough to make it awkward to linger. "Isn't that even better? A festive mood during a festive time. How are you celebrating?"

Even though Abel followed by my side, it felt like Hans addressed only me. We reached the elevators and Hans stepped forward, pressed buttons, no matter that we didn't agree to come with at all. Abel glanced back at the door. I shrugged at him.

"Abel is going to see some friends later," I said, shifting the focus to him. "They're going into the city, find a good spot to watch the fireworks."

"How nice," he said. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Hans went in first. He expected us to follow, but more so than that, it felt like he didn't even consider it a possibility that we wouldn't. We stepped in and the doors closed. "And you, Liebling?" 

Me, Liebling... "Hmm, watch fireworks from my window and go to bed on time. I'm not such a fan of the loud and the-" I gestured with my arms, "the boisterous."

Hans looked at me for a long moment, no judgement in his eyes, only curiosity and an unexpected fondness. "Then join me in doing the same. My hotel room has an incredible view." Where someone else saying the same thing, would have been a gaud-ish boast, it wasn't with him. His voice was soft, the quietness in which he said it made my heart stir. Would he not be celebrating with those men from before? Or with friends of his own? Not even a wife? If he’s staying at a hotel room, he could be far from home… Just like me.

I kept silence, not breaking eye contact. The moment lasted like that, us staring at each other, Hans' request hanging in the air between us. If we kept it up like this, I wouldn’t need to say anything at all. He could see it all, written on my face, just for him to read – that’s what it felt like. The elevator dinged. Despite having, once again, heard no ‘yes’, Hans led us to the car. 

"Bring Abel home first," I said. "Then we can talk."

Hans’ smile was brighter than even the most colourful fireworks.

[forthedancingandthethriving]

A gentle knock on the front door has Sparks blinking, confused. It was well past the closing time, so who would even be at his establishment this late?

As he leans to peer over the drinks station he is clearing, he sees a sheepish Abyssal leaning to peer through the window. She smiles small when she spots him, and Sparks expression turns to one of concern. He sets down the rag he was holding and makes his way over to the doors, unlocking them.

"Abyssal?" He questions, looking up at her. "What are you doing here so late? Shouldn't you be at the Adminspace?"

".. didn't feel like it." She shrugs, rubbing her arm, and Sparks sighs. He floats back over to the bar area, gesturing for Abyssal to follow.

"C'mon. Shut the doors and lock 'em, kid."

Abyssal does as the older Program says, walking in and shutting the doors behind her before locking them. She makes her way over to the bar area before seating herself on a stool and slumping against the counter.

"What do you mean by you "didn't feel like it"? Abyssal, that's your workplace." Sparks remarks as he picks the rag from before back up.

"It's not like I've been doing much." Abyssal admits, looking down. "I've just been.. I've been locking myself up in my office lately. I can't handle anything right now."

The green and red Program snorts softly. "Look at you, sounding like Database."

"Sounding like who?" The pink Admin tilts her head.

"Database, the fusion of the first Moderator, Administrator, Virus, and Program." Sparks explains, not missing the way Abyssal's eyes seem to shine a bit. "They're a bit of a shut-in, honestly. Stay in their dimension and just do things from there."

"Du- ClearAll didn't really speak of them." Abyssal frowns. "And when he did, it wasn't really highly of them. It seemed like they had bad blood."

"Ah, you met ClearAll?" Sparks tilts his head. "Never thought he'd make a return, hm.. Well, with the whole Worm situation, it makes sense."

"You knew?"

"Kid, I can bet you every coin I have in this cash register that I am one of, if not then, oldest Program in this world. There's not a thing I don't know or hear about." He jokes.

"Right.. well, did you know ClearAll?" She asks.

"Mm.. not as well as I knew the other Four. Everyone feared ClearAll, as he was Death, Destruction, something everyone feared. I didn't fear him, though." Sparks chuckles. "First time I saw him, I had no clue what I was looking at, though. So I just started chatting him with him. He was a good fellow despite all the hate he got."

"Then.. why did he leave?" Abyssal glances down. "He never really mentioned it in detail."

"Mm.. I'm sure it was a combination of things. People fearing and hating him, not understanding his role. But if you want my opinion? I think the straw that broke the camel's back was that.." Sparks sighs. "He probably realized that his siblings would always fear and hate him. I think that's what made him leave."

"Siblings?" She parrots.

"They came from the same place." He explains, shrugging his hands. "I think I'm entitled to at least believe that they're siblings in that sense."

"Do you miss ClearAll?" Abyssal asks, voice soft. She makes a point not to ask about where they came from.

"Of course I do." Sparks nods. "I like to think that, at the very least, he enjoyed my company whenever we met. He made for a good conversationalist, and he seemed to have an eye for arts as well."

"Hm.." Abyssal hums, crossing her arms under her head and resting her head on it. "And Database?"

The Program pats her head. "Oh, I pissed at them for days! I swear that the whole world heard my lecture." His laugh and her laugh, while different, while joined was a perfect combination of soft yet amused.

"I didn't talk to them until they would admit they were in the wrong." Sparks hums softly. At not hearing a response, he glances to see Abyssal sleeping away on the counter, soft snores coming from her mouth.

He chuckles softly and shakes his head. He'd just shoot a message towards Buffer or someone else. She needed her sleep.

[areseebee]

I binge read smoke break and omg it’s so good and I just wanted to say thank you for contributing your writing to this fandom❤️. Idk if you’re still doing those Derry Girl prompts, but if so #25: Wanted?

thank you so much!! this is such an incredibly nice thing to hear. i have had this sitting in my inbox for far too long, but i’m glad to finally have finished especially because you drew such beautiful erin art that i am still so in awe over.

my 2k word answer to the prompt wanted is below the cut! this one is set around christmas pre-smoke break.

the prompt comes from this ask game i posted a while ago. heads up that this will probably be the last one i write (at least for the time being).

“Shhh! Jesus, you’re going to wake them all up,” Erin hissed over her shoulder at the sound of a particularly loud and especially grumpy creak of the Mallons’ stairs.

“How was I supposed to know the step was going to make that horrible sound?” James whispered angrily back at her, 

“You live here. You’re supposed to know these things.”

“Yeah, well usually I’m not going to bed in my aunt and uncle’s house trying to hide the fact that I’m fucking sloshed.”

Erin opened her mouth to snap back, only to realise a moment too late that she didn’t have any words to say, only a laugh which snorted out somewhere from the back of her throat incredibly ungracefully.

“Was that the stairs again or you?” he asked as Erin devolved into a fit of giggles, her knees seeming to autonomously decide they no longer wanted to support her drunken legs as she sank onto the top step in the dark.

“I’m sorry, James. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll make it. I’m too blocked to go to bed. I’ll sleep here. Just leave me,” she said, letting her head fall back against the wood railing behind her. Maybe a drink or two ago, it would have been feigned helplessness, but not now. Now it just felt like exactly the right thing to stay here, just to rest her eyes. Just for a moment. And if that moment stretched all night, well that was just how it was going to be. The top stair could be her pillow.

She expected to feel James brush by her, to leave her behind and make his own way to Michelle’s room where Michelle, Orla, and Clare were bundled up across Michelle’s floor and bed for the night. Maybe if James went, she’d eventually find the strength to stand and follow. There were comfy blankets in Michelle’s room.

The sound of gentle creaking on the stair just below her signalled that James had no intention of brushing by. She cracked an eyelid open to see him sit down on his own step and settle in next to her.

“I was serious – you can just leave me,” she half whispered into the dark, her voice sounding croaky and a bit too loud in the quiet house.

“And let you wake us all up again in 20 minutes when you decide you’re too cold out here? No.”

“I’m so tired,” she complained.

“There’s like…only three metres maybe to Michelle’s room.”

“I can’t do it. My legs are too drunk,” she said, wiggling her foot at him to show. He reached out defensively to grab her ankle.

“Watch where you throw that thing. You almost kicked me in the face,” he said.

“Sorry,” she muttered, setting it back down again. His grip loosened immediately, but his hand lingered, right at the top edge of her sock with the too-worn elastic where it had slumped and bunched at the top of her foot. 

She didn’t like wearing them for that reason – they always got twisted somehow around her foot, but they were the warmest she had and good for a cold December night like this one. They’d served her well the past few hours especially, when she’d been sitting in the Mallons’ small back garden with James, drinking what had probably been litres of Michelle’s spiked “eggnog” – more rum than anything else – as they talked, their friends flitting intermittently outside to join them and back in again to get warm in front of the tv or finally go to sleep. Erin had tucked her legs under her and a blanket around her sometime around 10pm, asked James about how his first term at uni in London had gone, and hadn’t left since.

Until a few minutes ago, when they’d finally gotten a little too cold, and yawned a few too many times, and James had finally looked at his watch to remark, “Oh Jesus, it’s half past three,” and they had finally decided to creep quietly upstairs to join the others. Only they hadn’t been so quiet after all.

And now his hand was on her ankle.

Maybe a drink or two ago she would have ignored it. Maybe a drink or two ago, she wouldn’t have even registered it. But now – 

“Nope, I can’t do it,” she announced as quietly and as firmly as she could manage.

He gave her a sudden serious, searching look and she felt his hand slip lightly away. Her ankle felt cold where his hand had been. “Do what?”

“Go to bed. I thought about it. Three metres is too far. Just leave me here. Good night,” she said, letting her eyelids close and her head roll back against the wood railing behind her again.

“All right. Fine,” he said, as she heard him stand up brusquely. “Good night. I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

“No, wait! I’m coming, too,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “If you’re just going to leave me…”

“You told me to leave you!” he hissed behind her as he followed her to the bathroom.

“I didn’t actually mean –”

“I knew it –”

“Whatever,” she said, fumbling around in the dark of the bathroom to find the light switch. She handed him his toothbrush before grabbing her own and applying toothpaste.

It was almost untenable, having to brush her teeth at this late hour, but if he was going to, she couldn’t just beg off. What would he think? He’d think about what gross breath she probably had, and she didn’t want James thinking anything about her breath that wasn’t nice. Not that she should probably even be thinking about what he thought about her breath. But if he were, just hypothetically, well…she only wanted him to think about nice things.

She glanced up at herself in the mirror before letting her eyes dart to his reflection, standing right next to hers, only to meet his eyes in the mirror doing the exact same thing. 

He didn’t do what she thought he’d do – look away – and instead held her gaze. She felt something funny turn in her stomach. Hopefully it wasn’t the eggnog starting to sit wrong. But if it wasn’t the eggnog…

He raised his eyebrows at her exaggeratedly. She blinked at him, uncomprehending, until he raised them by another centimetre. She raised hers in return, mimicking him.

He waggled his eyebrows at her. She mimicked him again, starting to enjoy the game.

He rolled his eyes at her. She did the same, trying to keep a dumb smile from spreading across her face. 

And then, just as he waited a beat longer than she expected and she almost turned to look at him directly, he winked – winked – before bending down to spit his toothpaste out into the sink.

It was good he was busy rinsing his mouth with water, because she felt an immediate blush creep up her neck and she couldn’t help the way her mouth stretched wide into a smile – an incredible inconvenience with a toothbrush in her mouth of all things.

She quickly followed suit behind him, trying to spit as gracefully as she could into the sink, which felt especially challenging when she knew he was watching her. She could feel it.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he said, arms crossed and leaning back against the bathroom counter behind him as she wiped stray toothpaste off her mouth on a hand towel.

“Speak for yourself,” she answered. “I could have been asleep by now.” She reached up to unclasp her necklace, and fumbled. Her fingers felt too clumsy at this early morning hour, and after all of the drinks, and the cold, and what was becoming an overwhelming desire to be tucked under a pile of blankets drifting off to sleep, she didn’t have nor cared to have the dexterity she needed to remove her necklace. “Ugh. I just wanted – never mind,” she huffed, giving up.

“Need help?” James asked, pushing himself off the counter and taking a step toward her.

“Can you?” she asked, turning her back to him to give him easier access to the clasp. She felt him step close behind her, and tried to keep still. It was more than a little disconcerting to have him so near, even though it was only James and he was always near.

But he wasn’t near like this. At least, not very often. And especially not lately.

“Is it ok if I –” he started, but he was already clumsily sweeping her hair over one shoulder, his fingers brushing along the back of her neck.

“Aye,” she answered too late because the word had caught in her throat. Her mouth suddenly felt dry, too dry. Probably the alcohol – that was a thing, right? She felt him shift behind her, move in closer.

“It’s a little hard to see,” he muttered in explanation from somewhere directly behind her ear. Maybe from his voice, or the delicate movements of the necklace as he fiddled with it, or the way his fingers were brushing just there at the nape of her neck – she tried her hardest, but couldn’t bite back the shiver that came over her. “Sorry, my hands are cold,” he said. She felt another flush sweep up her cheeks at the fact that he had noticed. How totally embarrassing.

“Mmm,” was her only tense response as she continued to feel him fumble at the clasp.

“It’s so tiny. I’m too drunk for this,” he muttered so low she suspected he was speaking more to himself than her. She’d have laughed – she wanted to laugh – but she could only concentrate on the feeling of his breath against her ear when he’d said it.

Her whole body felt tense. Her feet had grown roots into the floor. The whole house could have collapsed around her and she’d still be standing, just like this. Because maybe, if she moved too much, if she didn’t stand this still, then James wouldn’t be standing behind her, wouldn’t be moving his hands across the span of her neck as delicately as he could probably muster.

Oh God.

“Just –” she started, and she felt his hands still. “Just don’t worry about it. I can do it. Or just sleep in it. It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal at all,” came tumbling out of her mouth in a rush.

“Are you sure? Let me have one more go,” he said, already busying his hands again. “Wait! Wait, got it,” he said triumphantly. “Do you have it?” he asked, letting the necklace slip down her neck.

“No, hold on, let me –” Erin answered, feeling the necklace start to drop just as he said, “Oh here –” his hands whispering around to her collar bone to grab the piece of jewellery as it slipped away. She could feel the trail of heat from his hand bloom out across her chest as the light chain of the necklace dragged out from under her hair. She turned to face him, feeling more hesitant than she was comfortable with. 

He was tall. Not like tall. But taller. She could tell. Especially at this proximity. He must be taller. Because usually her eyes were accustomed to meeting his right at the level where it seemed his mouth now was. She dragged her eyes up his face and met his shyly. 

“Here,” he said quietly, holding the necklace out to her and letting it fall into her outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” she answered, and he gave her a small smile in return.

He was taller, but not that tall, not so tall that she couldn’t, if she wanted –

“Jesus, why the fuck are you two still awake?” Michelle asked, stepping blearily into the bathroom, her hand attempting to shield herself from the light of the bathroom.

“We’re going to bed now,” James said hurriedly as he took a step backwards.

“Ok well I need to boke so if you could leave that would be great,” Michelle answered, pushing past the two of them to make her way to the toilet.

They shuffled out as quickly as they could, pausing at the open door to Michelle’s room.

“Well…good night,” Erin whispered to him. She heard him take an intake of breath, like he was about to say something, so she lingered, waiting for him.

“Yeah. Good night,” he said after a beat.

She slipped past him soundlessly into the room to her usual spot on Michelle’s floor, just under the window, and fell asleep trying not to think about how many steps she’d have to take to cross Michelle’s room to find him at the other end of it.