#but i still have to learn how to draw that

[supernova3space]

My parents loved me. They wanted the best for me. And for them, being the best meant magic.

They were so happy when they sent me for my first class.

They had gotten a private tutor who came home to teach me. They say in the room and watched every lesson, every mispronunciation of a spell, every disastrous accident, every tut of the aged teacher. And after every single class began their own teaching session. You're not supposed to roll the R's so much. You should have more finesse while doing levitation. You're not concentrating hard enough. You should put more of your heart into your magic. Why are we telling you this? Because we love you, we want you to fulfil your potential. We want to see you be a mage.

It's difficult to question it when you're a child. You look up to them and do everything and they're never satisfied. They told me they did it out of love. They wanted me to be what they couldn't. My parents who had never practiced a word of the arcane were pushing me on complex spellwork when I was still grasping basics with my stubby baby fingers. They loved me and wanted better for me. I wanted to be better for them.

When guests came, they would proudly display me like I was a painting in the hall to be shown off. Make that book read itself. Light every candle in the drawing room. Make fireworks. Party tricks. When I couldn't do it, couldn't do it as grandly as they wanted me to, couldn't do be a showstopper like the great mages they praised, their child who they were moulding into a prodigy couldn't do it...

Their disappointment showed themselves in many forms. Sometimes silence, sometimes violence. And me, the little child who wanted to make my parents happy so badly, thought I deserved it all. I took everything and never questioned their anger towards me. I never questioned it once. I feared it but I never doubted it. They told me they did it out of love. Love was the number of stripes they took off my back.

But over time, deep inside, I began hating magic. I despised it. Magic brought nothing but pain, frustration and disappointment. They would publicly parade me, their gorgeous golden child, and I hated it. I hated it all. I hated it whenever they watched me practice. They watched everything I did and has criticism for it all. I hated it when they forced me into competitions. They would watch everything, the selections, the semi finals, the finals. They would tell me what to say, how to say it, especially how to say it . My competitors were always adults in their long dusty robes and me, freshly eight and quaking with fear that I would fail, asked them why. Why wasn't I against the other kids. "They're your competition, your true competition. Other children cannot match you. You must learn to take on bigger competition than yourself. That is how all the greats did. That is how you'll be great." I hated every second. I hated it all. And yet what choice did I have? Everyone around me praised their efforts. "Your parents are doing so much for you, they do so much for your well-being. They love you so much. They care so much about your future." I loved my parents and hated the magic they gave me. I hated it all. I hated it all.

When I was 10, the tutor fell sick and couldn't teach me anymore. My joy that I kept secret was boundless. My parents were disappointed and tried searching for more tutors but couldn't find any of her calibre.

For the first time, I was free. I could smell freedom wafting from outside the door. No more bending over old tomes of complicated spells I couldn't understand. No more cowering in fear as fire burst out of my fingertips. No more bursting into tears as lightning crackled my skin.

My parents still loved me. They tried to teach me on their own but an empty kettle cannot pour anything. Without classes, I couldn't go for competitions. Instead they made me read about all the great wizards of old, of everything they did. When my eyelids dropped, they woke me back up again with the ruler and the reading continued.

It was not until I was 10 when they began asking me for my opinion. And after years of my life being controlled for me, when I saw the puppets strings being cut, I panicked. Did they not live me anymore? Had they given up on me? My freedom clashed with my desire for parental love.

So I tried to still do magic for them. I outperformed people twice my age. And yet, every stumble caused my blood to chill, my legs to freeze, my skin to sweat. I feared the mistakes. I starved for their approval. I pushed myself until...until...

One day I broke down before the judges, tearing my hair out, screaming because of the industrial level cauldron I was levitating had wobbled. I was 12.

My parents were horrified. What on earth was wrong with me? Am I a lunatic? What was this drama I was doing? Were they not giving me enough attention? Why did I have to be so difficult? Their questions battered me ruthlessly in search of an answer and all I could do was cry and beg for forgiveness.

The pain was too much. My freedom or my love. I chose my freedom.

Initially I felt like a betrayer. A fucking traitor. I hated myself. I hated the person I was. A child undeserving of their parents love. I despised every choice I made, the person I was choosing to be but then

Slowly

The smell of freedom wafting around the door

I started to learn how to breathe.

My parents ignored me. They had given up. The golden goose could give no more eggs. Instead they began their jibes at me. Ungrateful thing, all the money we spent on you, all the classes we sent you for, did we not love you enough? You greedy bitch, you attention seeking worm, you're wasting your potential. You are giving up your greatness.

They hurt but they were words and I was glad that this time my skin was intact.

It was a very slow process to grow out of the desire for their approval. I wanted a substitute for it. In my years of magic learning, I never quite interacted with people properly. I never had proper friends and people my age avoided me like the plague. I was always the weird one. It took time. It took a lot of time. I tried focusing on other things. Problem was, there wasn't much to focus on. The only thing I was good at was magic. But now my parents had given up on that after my little meltdown. They didn't bother me with it anymore.

The funniest thing that happened however was also magic. Without my parents breathing down my back about every single misstep, I began exploring my limits. I learnt freedom came in the form of lightning at my fingertips. Joy was a shower of light before I went to sleep. The spells that didn't make sense as a child now flowed from my lips like a river. It was a secret, my secret. It was something that was my own. I felt its essence bursting from every pore of my body, I understood the soaring joy that I used to see in my opponents faces when they executed their spellwork successfully. It wasn't the victory that made them glad. It was the pure soul of the magic itself.

My parents, of course, didn't know this. I kept this all a secret. I never told them I was practicing magic again. When I was 18, I left home for university and they couldn't care less.

My professors were astounded by my prowess. And I was confused as to why no one else could match me. Initially drunk on my successes, I pranced like a peacock. I didn't need to attend classes, I knew everything. Teachers warned me against my overconfidence. I didn't listen.

And then when the other students began catching up, doing concepts in weeks what I had taken years for, the shock I experienced was unmeasurable. That shock twisted into something ugly.

I couldn't shut up. I asked them who was their tutor as a child. Which classes did they go to, which branch of magic did they learn.

"What do you mean? You learn magic in only in university. Kids can't do this."

My world crumbled around me.

When I could have been experiencing a normal life with friends and a proper school and teachers who cared about more than the amount of energy put in a teleportation spell, when I could have had a joy filled childhood with the love of my friends and family and a community who cared about me, when I could have found satisfaction in something other than a wand or a tome—

I left the university. I just left. I couldn't be around those people anymore. I wandered around aimlessly. My magic was the only thing that tethered me to this mortal coil, the magic I had CHOSEN, not the one I had learned to swallow and vomit as a child. It kept from jumping off the white cliffs at the border. Very beautiful place by the way, excellent tourist spot, lots of potential.

I didn't want to see my parents again. I didn't want to see anyone again. But my parents wanted to see me. They found me and when they did, they weren't happy. I had left college without anyone knowing. I was practicing magic again. They wanted me to perform for them again. They wanted me to go for all the prestigious competitions again. They wanted to watch. They were wild and manic in their demands. They threatened me. They begged.

They said they loved me. And if I loved them, I would do this for them. For their sake.

But I knew now who they were. Where they came from. They were products of their upbringing, they didn't have access to anything that I did. They were living their dreams out through me. And I felt sorry for them. I felt bad for them really. They kept begging me. I left the house. And I stood outside for a very long time on the doorstep as they yelled in anger behind me. And it was then I realised I had made a choice of my own. My freedom or their love. I miss their love. I chose my freedom.

I miss their love. I miss it. I grieve for it. I am angry that I grieve for it. I am angry that I am a product of their obsession. I grieved for the child that died before it could live.

I miss them a lot. I'm a horrible child. I don't deserve their love. They gave me a second chance, they don't usually do that and I—... I left. I left.

Officer, will I get a death sentence for what I've done? I will? Good. I don't deserve to live. Personally, I'm pretty proud. That was the largest, most greatest act of magic I've ever done. There's only ash left there. I'm not afraid of my magic, I'm not a child now. I'm not scared of the fire that burst from my fingertips, of the lightning that crackled my skin. Would they have been happy to see it, for it to be the last thing they saw? They always wanted to watch me be a wizard.

Learning magic is an arduous journey, requiring sacrifice and dedication. Your parents made you give up your childhood to study magic—only after completing your studies do you learn that most other mages actually choose to start in adulthood.

[ihateswansmorethananything]

Wild horses from The Rolling Stones blasting on full volume in the distance ‼️💥

A cowboy jack drawing for the soul

[grenadehearts]

get undressed, and bare yourself, for my eyes only.

warnings: wlw, gender swapped katsuki, smut, overstimulation, oral reader!receiving, top!katsuki, praise, thigh r!ding, finger svcking, fvcking infront of a mirror. masterlist link. not proofread.

authors note: this is not my best work been going through a slump rn, but had to get smth out for fem!katsuki since shes been taking up my mind baddd. reblogs + likes are much appreciated! word count 2k.

Thinking about fem!Katsuki, who absolutely hates the outfits you wear—not because they’re ugly, but because they’re inconvenient as hell. And she knows what’s coming, like clockwork: your sweet little voice drawing out a syrupy “babyyyy,” bottom lip jutted out in that way that makes her pussy ache, drives her wild, makes her wanna fuck you till you forget what your pretty mouth was even complaining about.

Maybe then you'll finally learn not to dress like that when you know it’s gonna be a whole thing.

Like earlier today when you insisted on doing a full beat before a hike. She watched, arms crossed, grumbling from the bathroom counter while you overlined your cupid’s bow and flicked your eyeliner just right. Your face already so damn pretty—and you’re still adding more.

She’d never admit it out loud, but she loves watching you do your makeup. Thinks you look so damn pretty, loves how focused you get, the steady hand when you do eyeliner, the cute face scrunch you do—it all makes her weak. But that doesn’t stop her from being a brat about it. She leans forward, grabs your chin, and plants a messy, tongue-filled kiss right onto your freshly glossed lips—then pulls back laughing as you gasp and swat at her.

“I did tell ya. Ain’t no point doin’ your makeup,”

“You don't need all that. Hot as fuck out, ya just gonna complain.”

Then when you walked out in a pretty light pink baby tee and mini shorts—

She had narrowed her eyes, scanning your bustful figure, then she scoffed, “Ya gonna regret that choice, baby.”

And what happened five minutes into the hike?

Exactly what she predicted.

You stumbled into a branch, fell into a patch of dirt, and let out that familiar whiny little whimper, “Sukiiiii…”

She sighed hard, boots crunching on the forest floor as she turned around, crouching beside you with a cocked brow. Her spiky blonde hair shifted with the movement.

“What’s the magic word?” she asked, voice full of smug amusement.

You glared.

She grinned. “C’mon. Use that pretty mouth—I know that tongue of yours works.”

You grumbled under your breath, cheeks flaming red. “You were right.”

“Atta girl,” she smirked before effortlessly scooping you up over her shoulder, hand patting your ass and dusting the leaves off all while doing so.

“Hmph. You don’t have to carry me like this!” you grumble in annoyance.

“And you don’t gotta be a pain in my ass, but you are,” she grumbled.

Annoyed, you bit her shoulder.

“Ow—brat.” She adjusted you with a huff, now carrying you bridal-style. “There. Better, you idiot?”

“So damn annoying…” she muttered, but yet her hold never faltered.

Back at the car, she set you in the passenger seat and knelt down between your legs, hands caging you in on either side as she reached into the backseat for the spare bag. She pulled out one of your comfier shirts and a pair of her basketball shorts—ones that hung low on your hips, just the way she hated everyone else seeing.

She held them up with a cocky grin. “Alright, princess. Lift up.”

You raised your arms, rambling on about how you “didn’t think you’d actually fall” and “it wasn’t that deep,” while she dressed you with gentle ease, no roughness apparent.

“S’fine. I gotcha.”

When you were done, you started pouting again, facial features crumbling like a kicked dog, as you whined, “I look ugly now.”

Her expression softened—eyebrows furrowed as she leaned in close, lips ghosting over yours. You could feel the warmth of her breath.

So close that if you were to exhale, your lips would touch.

“Dummy,” she muttered, flicking your forehead, then tugged you up by the waist. “C’mon. Let’s finish the hike.”

Yeah, she hated the inconvenience of your outfits. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love taking them off your pretty body.

Especially tonight.

Fresh from your shower, skin still dewy, you came out wearing a black dress, delicate lace adorning your chest, those thigh highs riding down just enough to tease the skin she loved biting. Sitting there, all done up and perfect.

She didn’t even let you leave the bathroom.

Before you could blink, she had you cornered against the bathroom counter, hands gripping your thighs.

“Ya look so fuckin’ pretty, y’know that?” she growled, nipping at the skin of your neck as her tongue swirled soothing circles over them. You giggled, soft and warm, the sound echoing inside her chest, turning her insides into goopy mush.

Your fingers ghosted up to brush the scar that bloomed over her cheek, admiring her flushed face and heavy eyes.

“You’re so pretty, Suki. My pretty baby.”

She groaned, burying her face in your neck, hands creeping up under your dress. “Stop sayin’ dumb shit like that.”

Normally, you’d argue. Lecture her about how it wasn’t dumb. But instead, you kissed her—letting her know with soft kisses, that you meant every word you said.

And that kiss turned into you sprawled out on the plush bed you both shared, dress hitched up, lace panties askew, while she hovered above—her baggy jeans and worn-out skull tee blocking your view from bare skin.

“Mph—off,” you mumbled, wriggling beneath her as you tugged at her shirt.

She caught your hands, and lifted the shirt off with a roll of her eyes—exposing her soft, milky breasts with hardened pink buds, Calvin Klein waistband peeking above her jeans before those, too, hit the floor. She climbed back over you, lips crashing to yours, one hand gripping your thigh and slowly inching up.

“Told you,” she murmured against your skin. “Told you not to wear that.”

“Suki,” you whined. “Not right now…”

“Nah.” She bunched your dress up to your breasts, kissing along your belly. “Lemme finish.”

Her lips pressed lower, mouth hot and wet against your skin. You squirmed and gasped, full of need—she looked up through her lashes, pupils blown wide, lips pouty and red, face flushed.

She looked cruel in the amber glow of your bedroom, sun slipping behind the clouds.

“Don’t ever stop wearin’ that stupid shit,” she muttered between kisses. “Fuckin’ love it on ya. Love takin’ it off ya.”

Then she nipped at your thigh and you let out a breathy yelp, fingers tangling in the sheets as your hips bucked.

“Don’t stop,” she rasped out again, against the skin of your thighs.

She trailed lower, one hand sprawling your thighs apart, leaving your glistening pussy pink and pretty for her eyes. She hiked your legs over her shoulders, her lips curling into a cruel smirk only adding to the pool of wetness between your legs, as she cursed low and raspy under her breath, her hands grabbing your dress and pulling it off your body with need.

“Wanna see those pretty tits bounce when I get you screaming,” she growled, crawling back down and positioning herself between your legs. “You’re fucking soaked for me, huh?” Her voice was rough with desire. “Such a needy girl.”

She moved back down, settling between your legs, breath ghosting over your soaked core.

“So wet for me already,” she murmured, lips brushing slightly against your folds.

She lowered her head fully, her tongue swiping through your slick folds, muffling more curses and praise as she devoured you like she could never get enough. Her hands gripped your thighs, keeping you still as your hips bucked into her face, desperate for more.

“Fuck, you taste so fucking good,” she muttered against your core, her tongue diving deeper as her eyes locked on yours, filled with hunger. “Can’t get enough of this sweet pussy.”

Your hands tangled in her hair, tugging her closer, and you gasped, “Suki—more, please, fuck, please, more…”

She sucked your clit hard, making your thighs tremble. You were unraveling, breaths choked out between whimpers and gasps. But she didn’t let you release—not yet.

“Beg,” she growled, lips brushing your soaked cunt. “Come on, baby. Wanna hear you really beg for it.”

You whimpered, grinding against her mouth, voice fractured and incoherent. Your body squirmed, overwhelmed. And then—she stopped.

Abruptly.

She crawled up your body in a haze of heat, her chain dragging cool metal over your fevered skin. You shivered. Her hand caught your jaw and guided your mouth open, slipping her thumb past your lips.

“Missed you,” she whispered, before kissing you hard, biting your bottom lip until you tasted iron and her spit and yourself.

Her mouth dragged lower, teeth scraping your collarbone, tongue swirling over your nipple until it puckered. Then she latched on, sucking until your back arched off the bed.

“Suki—f-feels so good—fuck—”

You moaned, clutching her hair tighter, grinding your cunt into her stomach. Her mouth wet on your breast.

Quickly She moved back down, to your needy, sopping pussy, and you spread your folds eagerly. “Look at you, so fucking perfect,” she growled. “Gonna ruin you again, don’t worry.”

You moaned in response, your body already trembling as she dove back in, her tongue flicking and thrusting into you with wild abandon. “Fuck, Suki…” you gasped, gripping her hair tighter, feeling the tension build inside you.

“Fuck—can’t take this,” she moaned into your cunt as you came, crying out, your slick coating her mouth. She didn’t stop. She licked you clean like it was worship, like she was starving for you.

“So fuckin’ ruined for me. Just how I like you.”

She lifted you easily, fingers digging into the fat of your ass, and set you onto her thigh. Her eyes burned with want.

“Ride me, princess. Wanna see you make a mess all over me.”

You whined, exhaustion creeping in your bones. overstimulated with tears welling in your eyes.

“Suki, please—wanna feel you inside me.”

You reached for her hand, guiding it down, but she pulled away with a slight turn of her lips, slipping those fingers into your mouth instead.

“Suck.” she demanded, and you obeyed eagerly. Which shut you up. As you You begin grinding against her thigh, your wetness smearing on her skin with every rub. Her fingers dug into your hips as she groaned, head tipping back.

“Fuck, baby… just like that.”

She brushed your hair from your face, her palm warm and soft against your cheek.

“My pretty girl,” she rasped, eyes locked on your flushed, needy face. “So fuckin’ pretty. Don’t ever say otherwise, you hear me?”

She smacked your ass, making you yelp and ride her harder, breasts bouncing with every desperate roll of your hips.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous—can’t take it—gonna show you just how pretty you are.”

You whimpered, clinging to her, exhausted and full of need for her fingers in your pussy.

Then she hoisted you again, muscles rippling as she carried you in front of the mirror.

settling behind you, your back to her chest, her slick pussy pressed against your ass. Her arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you open and on display.

Her fingers trailed slowly down your front.

“Look at you. Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are.”

She kissed your neck, teeth nipping your skin with feverish bites, and whispered,

“Say it. Say you’re pretty. I wanna hear you.”

You turned your head shyly, voice muffled in her neck, cheeks burning.

“I’m so pretty…”

“Again.” Her voice was rough, her fingers hovering just at your soaked entrance, teasing.

“Pretty. Pretty. Pretty,” you repeated, breathless.

Then she plunged two fingers inside you, curling them just right.

“Good girl." Her praise sent a rush of heat straight through you, your mouth falling open as you tried to ride her hand.

She added another finger, fucking you hard and fast, your wetness slicking her knuckles. Your head fell back against her shoulder as you came, pussy spasming around her fingers.

She pulled them out with a wet pop, sucking them clean.

“Taste so fuckin’ good.” She rasped out around her fingers, licking your sweetness clean off them.

She turned you around to face her, sitting you in her lap, fingers still glistening with your cum.

“Taste yourself, princess,” she cooed, sliding them into your mouth. Watching the saliva drip from the corners of your lips, as you sucked on her cum coated fingers.

taglist: @twoplayergaymers @socialobligation @van9lla @dienamiight @sk1ppy-art @ni-aaaaaaa @kelisewrites @chosostonguepiercing @izzymff @swuzzin @aryuunachigiri @badslittlemuffin @yuhkai @candiiee @ugh-ellie69 @khloefrlsss @camydoesstuff @11thlife02 @alixezae @diamondocean001 @izycarrot7 @vivitg @cupkiki @wonubby @lotusstarr @tatumsscream96 @babriye @cphlo @mwahs-stuff @r0m4nth33rizzl3rr @makaroni-and-chez @mightydynamight @soundtrqck @gethexxed

[oopsallturtles]

Awww, thank you so much @bagels-and-cream-cheese333 and @soaptastesfunny!!

Okay, so one of the things I'm trying to be better about is leaving comments on things because it means so much when it happens to me, so I'm going to treat this like a big collection of ao3 comments towards the users I've found to be supremely amazing in my time exploring tumblr:

@somerandomdudelmao - your cass apocalypse series is half the reason I got a tumblr account in the first place. Your art and story have made me feel just about EVERY emotion, and inspired me to want to work on my own art and stories about this best little turtle family <3

@wickcipher - you have NO idea how excited I get when I see an update to your portaljacked comic!! The art is so cute and the way you write the brothers is spot on.

@grey-viridian - your rottmnt art is brain-tingling perfect, I LOVE IT SO MUCH

@remedyturtles - your rottmnt fics MAKE ME FEEL THINGS. You have an amazing talent for making these characters so real. I don't make fanart, but the little kid with a death wish pushed me over the edge to finally decide I wanted to learn to draw so that I can make a worthy attempt - KEEP WRITING FOREVER PLEASE

@dandylovesturtles - your rottmnt fics are SO GOOD -- AND I HAVEN’T EVEN READ THE BIG BOY i may be invisible fic YET. But I KNOW it’s going to be amazing if your other ones are any indication (not to mention the fanart and snippets I've read). It’s next on my reading list and I don’t know if my heart can take it IM SO EXCITED

@bobtheacorn - you’re the first ao3 author I subbed to because I have read all your rottmnt fics and LOVED THEM. Which says a lot since I normally don’t read anything with pairings in the rottmnt fandom, but I took a chance and, congrats, you’ve won me over with leosagi with your sky that i sleep under series <3

@bagels-and-cream-cheese333 - I absolutely love how involved and encouraging you are in this fandom. You helped make me (and i know SO many others) feel so welcomed! I now also think of you every time I pass by the bagels in the grocery store XD

@tonystarkwasrobbed, @the-city-kitty , @carrots-bear, @asheronangel - you guys were some of the very first people to interact with my posts and soon became names that I recognized and got excited to see! You’re all so fun, kind, and welcoming and helped me feel like I could do more than just lurk silently in the background in this fandom space lol

@trilobitepunch - your art is what I aspire towards. It is SO gorgeous and instantly recognizable as yours, I ADORE it so much

@heretherebeturtles-comic - my first thoughts at seeing this comic art: THERE'S NO WAY THIS IS FAN MADE, IT’S TOO SHOW ACCURATELY PERFECT. The amount of work and care you must have put into this is AMAZING! I will never get over it and I’m looking forward to the next update!

@thursdaysyme - your art. YOUR ART! It’s SO cool. One of the rare few whose style I can identify as yours with just a glance. I love your comic panels and your sense of humor with those brothers is so great lol

@soaptastesfunny - FRIEND!! I’ve been having so much fun chatting and exchanging story ideas with you! I love seeing your art and I’m so excited to see what you’ll be drawing, writing, and creating next!!

@banana-jar-studio - your art is mindblowing. It’s SO GOOD and has such a super fun energy to it, I want to plaster my walls with your art

@intotheelliwoods - i’m so happy the tmnt au competition introduced me to your 2 arms left comic! Your art is so freaking adorable and expressive, i love it so much!!

@novastar-creations - thank you so much for making that rise art challenge! Even if I only managed to complete a few of the prompts, that was the most fun i’d had making art in quite a while! I love seeing your comments as well as your drawings, and I legit still laugh when I think of that one you drew of Leo eating pancakes for pancake day.

@howl-182 - This is very specific, and I don’t know how you do it, but your art made me actively enjoy the human versions of rise turtles. I’m typically just neutral about human redraws, but every time I see yours, it makes me stop and be like THAT’S THEM! You capture their essence perfectly and I am impressed every time.

@resha04 - You commented on my fic and you were SO incredibly kind and thoughtful and just the most epic hype-man that your name is forever burned in my mind (hope that’s not weird haha). I feel like every time I see a post from you, you’re lifting up people’s works with a love of creativity that’s just so lovely and you remind me all the time that my words do matter and that I need to share with people the good things I see in them and their works (hence this post, actually!)

@snowbriar - I love this mission you’re heading on Project Rise Revised!! In sifting through all those lost pieces and stringing things together on that red stringed plot board, I can see the passion and excitement you have for this and i’m so glad that you invited me to be a part of it, even in just a small way! Everyone working on this is super cool and it’s these types of what-if passions that got me into writing in fandoms in the first place.

I know there’s dozens of others whose creative/genius/hilarious posts I’ve seen floating around that I LOVE, and I’d tag you all if I could, but it takes me forever to learn usernames to specific works lol. But I look forward to growing my hoard of likes thanks to you all! Keep writing/drawing/posting! You are amazing!

hey, did you know that the world is a better place because of your creations and art and writing, no matter how niche or how many people see it

[afloat-at-sea]

I’ve had ‘sorry, we’re closed’ swimming in my head for a while now so honestly these were initially inspired by that game – at least like loosely. In any case, it was perfect timing for me to insert crk right back into everything I do!!

(more art under cut btw)

right SO I didn’t mean to make this a full fledged AU but they’ve been so fun to draw and that plan went immediately straight out the window. I don’t have a name for it yet but I do have a lot of disjointed ideas I’ve been throwing together 🤷 🤷

in any case I’m placing angels and demons as like a fun aesthetic foundantion for the whole AU but I don’t super want to rely or base it on too many preexisting religious contexts. feels more fun this way. I’ll come back and make a tag for this when I’ve named it

+ more AU brainstorming :)

I’d imagine the beasts and ancients would still be each other’s counterparts in this but it’d be much less about the souljams and more about balancing each other out. let’s say we’re talking about shmilk and pv; they’d have a back and forth spreading deceit and truth. the closer they get to each other, the more they settle somewhere in the middle. knowledge after all is not that cut and dry. I also think they would probably be in charge of widespread knowledge as a whole. the way it’s kept, distributed or skewed. pretty big responsibility but they have their whole existence to learn to get it right

it’s a process. they’re not close immediately or even on speaking terms for a long while. I’m sure shadow milk doesn’t make it easy to be. without the souljam being a plot point, things are a lot more about resenting being replaced. being discarded and tossed aside with no second thought and then a shinier, prettier thing taking his place. they’re meant to guard each other, make sure the other doesn’t go too out of line.

shadow milk is typical shadow milk so I’d expect beast-yeast eps 7-8 would most likely still happen in some form or another. it’s only after that that they even begin to try and mend whatever grievances they have with each other. for pure vanilla it’s pretty much the motivations he has after he’s awakened in canon, for shadow milk it’s about being stuck together. hold your friends close and your enemies closer type deal. plus he’s debilitatingly lonely. I don’t think some grand romance would happen anytime soon. give these little freaks another century or so to work on it. eventually I do believe they become pretty inseparable though.

+ ALSO I still think beasts would have been made with their powers and purpose there to begin with and ancients would have to prove themselves worthy kind of closely to the way they would in crk.

plus I’d like the ancients to be a little less benevolent in this. they’re flawed people regardless but I think inherently being placed in a role that was created to hold someone else in line would do things to people. esp if said people want you super dead

that’s as far as I’ve thought up. I’d love to sit down and properly brainstorm about how the rest of the cookie world would function under the beasts and ancients

[znthra]

WIP Wednesday

I've been @'ed by a few people in the past 3 weeks lately, so I thought I'd drop the project I'm currently working on, even if it's a sketch. I'll also append the scene from my WIP that it's from, even if I wrote it while on Vicodin. I'll probably revisit it later and cringe out of my skin. But isn't that just how it is?

So, a delayed thank you @jouskaroo @biowaredisasterbisexual @thedissonantverses and @becausedragonage for tagging me!

As the last prisoner retreats into the darkness of the catacombs, the carnage ceases with the final, agonized breath of a dying man. Neve turns slowly, scepter in one hand, an ice spike coalescing in the other. The elf—or what remains of her—crouches atop the corpse of a cultist. Its massive, clawed hand digs into the steaming gash that used to be the man’s stomach. Blood soaks every inch of it, slicking the shaggy fur down against its skin. The steady drip drip drip of the blood and drool leaking from its muzzle the only noise left in the cavern—save for her own shallow breaths. She takes an unconscious step back; her prosthetic scrapes against the stone. Its massive head snaps towards her at the sound, sending a spray of gore with the movement. Their eyes lock. Deimatic displays burst forth from both—magic flaring and hackles raising. Posturing, bluff, and—for Neve—a way to hide the tremble in her hands. A growl, low and grating, slices through the silence. The weight of wrongness settles in Neve’s gut; this creature shouldn’t exist. Shouldn’t be here. Free in Dock Town. Her grip on her scepter tightens and she prepares to loose the lance of ice “That’s enough, girl,” a gravelly voice says from behind her, sounding all the world like a mabari’s master chiding it for messing in the house. Great, another thing to worry about. As if being kidnapped by Venatori and stumbling upon a blood ritual weren’t enough already.

Aaaaaaaaand, like I said, here's the sketch for that scene. I need to add all the extras and I'm going to try out paint brushes to see what kind of wacky shit I can do. 👉👈 (sorry not sorry there are 4 variants.

I'm gonna figure out which to commit to eventually. I'm partial to the 1st one (which was suggested by @ofcrowsanddragons 👀)

Gentle tags to @nevesserialwriter @basedonconjecture @dancing--lights @hedwigoprah @operative-arrow @bloodydifficult and anyone else reading this who wants to participate :3

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 4

Danny took to the Spanish Language like a fish to water, learning it's most basic form in three days, and every little nuance about it in another four.

Alejandro had been kind enough to let him stay with them and their family for the week. They were very accommodating and understanding as he learned their language and culture. He enjoyed trading knowledge with them, and he hoped they did, too.

He messaged Jazz every morning and every night. Long messages about what he did during the day. Just before lights out, he spent an hour or so going into more depth in his journal, going so far as to draw pictures from memory so that he wouldn't forget.

Alejandro's little sister, Maria, helped him with his art. She was amazing at it and he was honored to be taught by her.

Their father, Antonio, taught him about their food culture, teach him how to cook simple meals. He'd even been allowed to help with making lunch on days four and five!

Their grandmother, Abuela Maya, taught him their myths and stories, about how to stay safe and what to look out for. He didn't tell any of them, but he was pretty sure she clocked his ghostlyness the second she laid eyes on him.

Danny was getting anxious, staying in one place for so long, and he knew Alejandro and their family were picking up on it. He wanted to stay, but the feeling of being watched was starting to creep up on him.

Outside and down the street a little at the playground is where Alejandro found him.

"It's been fun having you here, Danny," they said.

"I've had fun staying here."

"But you're anxious to leave."

He paused. He didn't want to offend, but, "Yeah."

"Lo entiendo. A guy like you has a hard time staying still." They leaned back, laying on the grass with their hands behind their head like a pillow. A sigh. "I wish I could go with you."

Danny laid down, too. "Me, too."

"But I can't."

"I know." He had a feeling this was going to be a recurring theme.

Alejandro continued as though he hadn't spoken. Almost seeming to talk themself out of leaving with him, reasoning against leaving. "I have to stay to help take care of Abuela Maya and Maria. Papá es getting sick; he refuses to stay down, ¿sabes? Won't listen to his body, to his kids." A beat. Two. "Mamá died the same way, when Maria was four. She doesn't remember her, but I do. I miss her."

Danny didn't have words of comfort to share with his friend. What was there to say that hadn't already been said.

Alejandro chuckled humorlessly. "Sorry for dumping that on you."

"It's okay." And it was. Danny understood the need to say something. "My sister's been studying psychology since before I can remember. She says that talking is healthy."

"You have a ¿hermana?"

"Yeah. Su nombre es Jazz. She's the smartest person I know."

"Smarter than me?"

The humor was back. "Smarter than Abuela Maya."

Alejandro gasped in fake indignation. "You don't mean that!"

Danny shook his head. "I do."

They clicked their tongue. "Now I have to meet her. She gonna meet you somewhere so you can travel together?"

Danny shook his head with a small smile. "Can't. Circumstances won't let me go back, nor will they let her join me."

"Lo siento, man, that must be rough."

He shrugged. "Nothing either of us can do about it."

"Do you mind if I ask what's what?"

Danny paused. There couldn't be a lot of harm in telling Alejandro at least a little bit, right? But then, he hadn't even contacted Tucker or Sam yet, having muted their conversations for the time being until he worked up the courage to call them.

He sighed. "There's a secret I've been hiding from my parents for a bout a year now. And because of what's been happening state-side, it's not safe for me there anymore."

Alejandro was quiet for a long minute. "At least you have your sister."

"Yeah. At least I have her."

The two lapsed back into a comfortable quiet, watching the clouds until the sun hovered right over them and they had to look away.

"What's your plan now?"

Danny thought for a minute. What was his plan? He could probably meet with Dani somewhere for a bit before they ultimately parted ways again. She was still in Guatemala, according to her last message, and would be staying the week before moving on. They'd have to plan soon if they wanted to meet up.

"A cousin of mine," he said, "is in Guatemala right now, so I'll probably head her way."

"Maldita sea, your family must be rollin' in it to b able to travel so much!"

He looked away, bashful. "Not really. Jazz gave me what she had so I could leave the country, but that won't last, and my cousin won't accept any money she doesn't earn on her own. Not even the child support!"

"Your cousin has a child? And she's traveling with it?"

"No, I'm- she is the child."

"Then why is she getting child support if she's the child?"

"It's being sent to me, legally, but I put it all in an account for her to access when she wants or needs it."

The air turned heavy for a moment. Between one breath and the next, it was light again. "It's good that you guys have a good relationship. How old is she?"

"Yeah. She's a few years younger than me."

"Oh," was the stilted response.

Danny didn't like the heaviness the silence had taken again. "You ever seen a superhero?"

"Like the ones on T.V?"

"Yeah,"

"Not in person, no. But I've always wondered what it'd be like to meet one. Or, hell, even be one."

Danny had to scoff. "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

"You ever meet any?"

"No."

"Hm." A beat. Two. Three. "You should head down to Linares next. It's where Abuela Maya's from."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You might find some of the answers you're looking for there."

Danny thought about it for a moment. "Okay. Sounds like a plan."

"Good. No give me your phone number so that we can keep in touch."

"What?"

"I can't leave, but I'm not gonna miss out on the world because of that. I want pictures and messages and-" They cut off and pulled Danny into a hug. "You're the closest friend I've had in a while, 'nny. Don't forget about me, okay?"

The hug was awkward, laying down as they were, but he wrapped his arms around them all the same. "I wouldn't dream of it, 'dro."

Part 6

Translation 1 - Spanish: Granny Maya Translation 2 - Spanish: I get it. Translation 3 - Spanish: Dad is Translation 4 - Spanish: y'know? Translation 5 - Spanish: Mom Translation 6 - Spanish: sister? Translation 7 - Spanish: Her name's Jazz. Translation 8 - Spanish: I'm sorry, Translation 7 - Spanish: Damn,

[misterhelluva]

hope this isnt a bother but i wanted to express my sincere gratitude to your artwork and the posts you make.

i recently have been struggling alot with art as well, but i saw your artwork of fat characters and it just seemed to spark this inspiration in me. i opened my art program up and started drawing and for the first time in a long while i actually liked what i made.

i mean this so genuinely i love how you draw fat people so much. the wrinkles, the flabs, the stretch marks, the saggyness in certain areas- all of it appeals to me so much, i love how real it is, and the way you draw in general is so fricking beautiful.

due to my new medications i have been gaining alot of weight, and even though i dont personally suffer from any eating disorder- i found myself getting thoughts of self doubt and disappointment towards myself. but it has been getting so much easier to cope with it after seeing artists like you represent fat bodies in a realistic and loving manner... it makes me think, im still a person. i still deserve to be respected, i still deserve to be loved, even if i am not a model body.

i wanted to say aside from your art i also really enjoy the posts you make expressing your thoughts on many different things. i find myself reminded of important things, or learning new things i never thought of before. i dont know how to express it properly, but i feel like reading the insights you have make life so much more tolerable and meaningful? i hope that makes sense, but i really do mean it.

sometimes i forget that fat bodies are absolutely normal and common place and still deserve to be appreciated for their beauty, and it feels so refreshing just to be reminded of it. it makes me look back on older artwork from hundreds of years ago with fatter bodies, or statues people have made long ago- fat people have always always been here, and even if culture shifts there have always been people who see the beauty in fat people.

ANYWAY sorry for the long ramble, its just been on my mind and i sincerely wanted to give my compliments to the chef. i know how stressful it can be to have a large internet presence and be faced with internet discourse from time to time but i wanted to let you know that the positivity you put out is not in vain. it genuinely makes my day better, and im sure it makes thousands of other peoples day better. your time on this earth is precious and worthwhile and i am so glad you are here drawing and sharing your wonderful artwork.

much love to you salem, i hope your days are filled with joy and wonder. <3

sorry for no art recently I'm cooking a new Salem ref sheet cuz it's been so long so I will give updates on that!!!

I'm getting past mental health stuff and my art groove back.

thank you for being patient along with your support, genuinely means the world 2 me

[baphometsss]

I really think that the draw to Solas for me was in his loneliness and the eccentricity solitude fosters. He says himself that he has basically no friends who are not spirits. In Veilguard this is only reinforced when he says it took him centuries to build a rapport with members of the rebellion. Sometimes it just hits me how lonely he was.

I also think it's interesting that, if the Inquisitor romances Blackwall, Solas tells him that he's glad he's found some happiness despite everything. And when Blackwall asks him if he has found someone, Solas says 'no, I find my peace elsewhere'... he's really not all that romantically inclined. One of the reasons I hate most solavellan fic is that people tend to write him as this super experienced fuckboy when the text tells us over and over again that he doesn't form bonds with living people very easily. I get that some people find the idea of being with someone who has thousands of years of experience sexy, but the text tells us repeatedly that he isn't especially invested in relationships with non-spirits, who are non-sexual, so he probably isn't as experienced as people think. I won't get into it too much bc I've already spoken about it, but he never properly learned to bond as a person and not as a spirit. So prior to DAI, he simply doesn't, and we can infer--especially given that he's described as never having been in love before--that he hasn't pursued romance a great deal in his life.

This is probably fed by my own bullshit (it's definitely fed by my own bullshit), but I think I had a hard time figuring out how to romance him bc they would only allow you to romance him with a female elf due to time constraints. This is despite him saying repeatedly that he loves Lavellan's spirit. When you're trans or nonbinary, it's hard to explain how exciting that is; to have characters who say explicitly that they do not define others by their bodies. It's very cool on its own, but for nb players in particular it's especially important. If you struggle with how you're perceived physically, it's nice to be able to make a character who is loved for who they actually are and not for what they look like. To have someone who sees them for who they are and not for what others want them to be. It's something people like me crave and I think this is why I'm so pro-queer Solas, pro-Solas doesn't give a shit about how on fleek your Lavellan's eyebrows are, etc. The physical doesn't factor in to why he loves. He simply loves others for their character, and although he often lets his first impressions colour his views of entire people, he is still willing to listen and learn if you give him a chance to be Wisdom and not Pride. We literally see him begin to question his own convictions re: the Dalish during the balcony scene. Contrary to popular fandom belief, he actually admits to being wrong all the time.

Idk man I just really like having a Lavellan that is an outsider all their life and isn't understood even by their own Clan, only to find her kindred spirit in Fen'harel, the adversary of her people. I'm obsessed with the fact that Solas fell in love for the first time with a mortal, who exists because of his mistake, who he loves enough to throw away his plans and only doesn't follow through because of his guilt. I need to write more fic jsdkdfhkjsg

[house-of-hamartia]

Edit: I updated the artwork because I saw a mistake and so Itouched up Shay's face and hair a bit lololol.

So, I received a lovely ask earlier today, regarding the Starrick-Cormac children, and I have to be honest, I just couldn't resist and draw a small artwork with Shay and Dora and ALL the children :)

So, allow me to present Lorcán, Saoirse, Mebh, Órlaith and little Muirgen :)

They all have their peculiarities, of course:

Lorcán is the bold, daring one, with a silver tongue and a very sharp mind, and the one that will sure as heck follow in her father and mother's footsteps; He and Grandmaster Haytham intend each other even too well lol;

Saoirse is the sweetest of the house, the one that doesn't give a dry fig about the Templars but instead adores the sea and spending her time on the Morrigan with her dad to learn all about how ships work; also, she a future cartographer and a small bookworm in the making;

Mebh is basically her father's copy in small, unable to sit still for a moment, always joking around and just pestering Gist and climbing around the Morrigan, bringing along baby Órlaith wherever she goes;

Órlaith is Shay and Dottie's little angel, but do not get fooled by her sweet demeanor, for she is a spitfire, pretty much like her older sister Mebh (and I love how Mebh and Órlaith's dynamic truly mirror Dottie and Theda's one);

And finally Muirgen, the Child of the Sea, for she is only ever happy whenever she is close to the sea. She is the artist of the house, and the XVIII Century Wednesday Addams. Her big brother is the only one that actually manage to make her laugh (even though she still would bite his hand, if he pats her head ONE MORE TIME), and she will join him in the Templar Order.

I have to be honest, I *totally* headcanon that Shay is just a girls' dad: he has that kind of vibe to him that just tells him that he would be the sweetest among his princesses.

Thanks, Nonnie for the ask.

It gave me the right push to try to draw all of them together, and it was actually fun to finish their designs :)

[riversidecryptid]

I have drawn him yet again

Thinking about starting an ask blog for him, especially with pokemon super mystery dungeon feeling like it would work out so well with him and shadow milk it just *feels* right. They gotta be partner pokemon yknow? But on the *other* hand Gates to Infinity literally makes kyerum one of the antagonists if I remember correctly. Hnnggg. But zoroark shadow milk partner pokemon. Hnnggggggggg.

I’ll figure it out later but I might do a playthrough of the games to refresh my memory later. In the meantime here are the doodles

I imagine he’s too big to fit in any of the houses so the drillbur from the mines dig him a cave :) he’s got a den now with his nest there where he can watch over his village that he now protects. Big sweetheart, heart of gold, gentle giant. He takes good care of the sleepy little town.

Still learning how to draw his wings

[malacandrax]

sorry if this has been asked but how did you learn anatomy down to a T like you have??? I’m trying to teach myself and I’m feeling very stuck, but your art is a huge inspiration for me

Honestly I still struggle sometimes! But thank you for saying so! I think I am quite privileged that when I do studies they stick quite fast, I tend to remember things well when they’re visual. I think this is true more so now than in the beginning, because now it feels more like filling in a missing jigsaw piece, than…the whole jigsaw. Like oh that's how the wrist bone looks at that angle, I could add a little line to suggest that vs. oh my god what are arms how do they work.

I also just enjoy doing studies, which I think is maybe unusual! My sketchbooks are maybe a third studies from life or photos. I have done thousands! I see a pose I like and I want to draw it. Again, there’s a hump even with studies at the beginning that’s really hard to get over! It’s hard to stick with it when it’s not coming out how it’s supposed to, but the only way to get over it is to keep going tbh. 

I learn most from doing smaller gesture drawings from movies/other in motion things, but I have done my fair share of nudes especially at the beginning. I used to vary between kind of boring nudes and like, dance videos, copying animations, movies etc. Drawing a few frames of a motion is fun and you learn how the body moves.

I also think it's helpful to identify areas that need the most work, and that’s something I still do. For example I keep drawing arms and I know that I’m just making up the muscle at the top, so I will at some point either sit and study, or find photos while I am drawing said arm in picture and do it Right this time. I think using refs is a very good way to improve, like you don’t need to use them every time, but sometimes it’s good to try and make something look correct instead of making it up, and next time hopefully some of that knowledge is retained.

I answered a kind of similar ask here

Here's a kind of old study dump!

And some newer stuff- some of these are from films etc, and some are from life! I do kind of just study stuff a lot for fun.

obligatory promo to my patreon sfw tier where it all goes and it usually doesnt see the light of day

[miraculousagentsofkrypton]

Semblances are almost certainly affected by the mental/emotional state of the user during the moment or period of life in which it unlocks. While it connects to them as a person, it's not based solely on innate nature. Hang tight, Im about to explore many of the characters we know enough about to extrapolate for.

Ruby unlocked hers while pushing herself beyond her limits in training, striving so hard to be like her mother and to be enough. She's already learned to repress and be the happy one in her family in an effort to hold things together.

Yang unlocked hers likely while protecting Ruby, while angry, or during training. It was absolutely after her mother died and her dad shut down, and Qrow got drunk, and she ended up being the one having to be strong and take care of the household. She was just as devestated by grief as everyone else, but she had to hold it all up for them. She also had a lot of anger and desire to lash out buried inside.

Blake, I would assume, unlocked hers in the White Fang after splitting off from her parents. Adam was abusive, at the very least emotionally and verbally. Blake's desire to run away didn't come on in an instant. Leaving a copy of yourself behind to take a blow and give you a chance to escape without pain, in connection to Adam's abuse? Totally connects to disassociation and such when he's tearing her down. To a deep desire to escape.

Weiss has a hereditary semblance, which is a unique circumstance. But even that connects to her deep desire to follow after her grandfather's footsteps and live up to the family name. To conform to expectations.

Ren's came in a moment of grief when he was overwhelmed by emotions. He didn't just need to turn them off for safety, but because he didn't want to feel them as strongly.

Nora was hit by lightning. She's always had a very tragic life, and yet she holds on to her energy and strength to get her through. Its similar to Yang's, but accounts for how different they also are as people, and their circumstances.

Jaune's came in a moment of desperate need, drawing from his deep desire to be able to save people this time. He struggles with the idea that he himself is good enough or strong enough to save others, but if he can just help his friends become who they need to be to save the day, then he'll succeed. He'll give of all of himself to help another.

Qrow's came before he made it into beacon. He very clearly doesn't look back on his time with the Tribe fondly. His name being connected to misfortune is not coincidence, and might have a story behind it beyond his semblance. Qrow felt unlucky. He felt like a mistake, and like he messed stuff up *before* he unlocked his semblance. It might even have unlocked during such an incident.

Raven has an overwhelming fear prevalent throughout her life. She is terrified of losing people that she's allowed herself to care for. She's been taught by the tribe that emotional distance and strength are pillars of successful life, but the reality of her care is still there, burrowed deep within her soul. She's clingy, but she's been taught that is wrong. And her semblance, for much of her life, has been the only outlet of such care that she has allowed herself. Yet it also encompasses the need for distance and to escape when things are overwhelming.

[palmtreesx3]

Burning Through the Pages: EPILOGUE

The Quiet Burn

Summary: After everything—after the hallway standoffs, the near-misses, the late mornings and the ruined bedsheets—they’ve finally stopped running. This final chapter gives them what they’ve earned: quiet. Touch. Clarity. It's the softness that follows the storm, the kind that still makes you gasp.

Warnings: Explicit smut (f/m); oral (f receiving); aftercare; soft dominance; mutual obsession; emotional honesty; cuddling with intent. Minor flashbacks to early tension. Tooth-rotting filth. No notes, just ruin.

Read This First Here! || Read Bonus Content Here

You don’t know what time it is.

You don’t care.

The only thing anchoring you to reality is Steve's arm looped around your waist and the soft, rhythmic sound of rain against the windows. His body is warm behind you—bare skin pressed to bare skin. The kind of closeness that’s not about lust or convenience. Just… want.

There’s a quiet to mornings like this.

Not silence. Just peace.

The sheets are tangled at your knees. His thumb rubs absent circles against your stomach while you lie there, half-asleep, half-overwhelmed by how safe you feel. His mouth is tucked into the curve of your neck. When he exhales, it tickles, and you smile before you can help it.

You shift to face him. His eyes blink open—slow, soft, sleep-warmed.

You study him in the hush. Messy hair, long lashes, lips swollen from sleep and memory. His face is relaxed in a way you rarely get to see. Like he’s settled.

Like maybe—so are you.

“Mm,” he hums. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m good.”

And you are. More than okay. You roll toward him, and his eyes open—soft and sleepy and full of the kind of affection you never let yourself believe you'd get from someone like him.

And when you lean in and kiss him, it’s slow. Intimate. Like you’re answering a question neither of you had the courage to ask out loud.

He kisses you back just as gently.

And it starts like that.

No rush. No heat behind your teeth. Just hands. And breath. And the slow, grounding press of bodies that already know each other—but want to learn again. He peels your shirt up inch by inch, like a gift he’s unwrapping slowly. His hand slides across your hip, deliberate and unhurried, until his palm cups your thigh. Your fingers trail across his jaw, down his chest, over the familiar curve of muscle and skin and the warmth of him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice gravel-thick. He sighs into your mouth, deep and content.

“Let me love you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

You nod. And when he pushes inside you, slow and deep and achingly careful, your breath catches.

Your fingers curl around his bicep. His mouth finds your throat. Your body opens. And for the first time in a long time—you don’t resist it. You let him have you.

All of you.

Your hands tangle in his hair. Your knees draw up around his waist. He moves in slow, reverent strokes, like your body is sacred. Like he’s memorizing it again, even though he already knows it like his own.

You whisper his name like a secret. He answers with your name like a prayer.

“You’re everything,” he murmurs. “Everything I didn’t know I needed.”

His words land like fire in your chest, and suddenly, the dam breaks.

“I love you,” you breathe. “God, I love you.”

His rhythm falters—just a second. He presses his lips to your jaw, your cheekbone, your mouth.

“Say it again,” he whispers, like he can’t believe it.

“I love you,” you say again, this time not afraid. “I love you. And I need you. I hate that I do. I hate that I spent so long pretending I didn’t. But I do. I choose you.”

He groans—low, guttural, like the words hit him where he lives. “I love you too,” he gasps. “So fucking much. You have no idea.”

You wrap yourself around him. His hand slips between you. His mouth finds your chest. You come first—soft, slow, shaking—body trembling as you whisper his name over and over and over, foreheads pressed together. He follows, buried deep, whispering, “I love you, I love you, I fucking love you” like it’s the only language he knows.

After some time, your fingers start to trace lazy circles on his shoulder. His hand rests against your ribs like he’s grounding himself there.

“You started it,” he murmurs.

“Started what?”

“The feelings.”

You laugh. Sleepy. Satisfied.

“You’re the one who left coffee on my desk and read my bookshelf.”

“You’re the one who said I need you.”

You go quiet, then whisper “Yeah. And I meant it.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “You’re never going to have to ask for anything alone again.”

You believe him. And for the first time—you let yourself lean in.

Steve’s sitting backward in a chair like a cool youth pastor. You’re perched on the desk edge, sipping your coffee, half-listening as your students present their end-of-semester project.

You glance at Steve.

“This group really pulled it together at the last second. Sound familiar?”

He quirks an eyebrow.

“If that’s a dig, Professor, you’re about one thesis short of a clapback.”

“No clapping back in my classroom.”

“No clapping in mine unless it’s supportive or sarcastic.”

The students laugh—too hard. Because they love you. Because watching you two bicker-flirt with that now-confirmed we’ve-definitely-seen-each-other-naked glow is entirely too much.

You lock eyes with a girl in the front row. She’s beaming. The second Steve brushes your arm, she straight-up gasps.

You whisper to him without turning your head “They’re obsessed with us.”

He whispers back “Obviously. We’re iconic.”

You snort. He grins. “God help them when we co-teach next fall,” you murmur.

“They’ll never recover.”

💬 I just want what they have. 💬 same. A partner in academia AND filth. 💬 I’m applying to grad school just to be near their energy again. 💬 do you think they roleplay staff meetings 💬 I know they do 💬 I swear if they don’t write a book about love and trauma bonding I’m dropping out

[STUDENT EVALUATION CARD, LEFT ON YOUR DESK]

Best course I’ve ever taken. Learned a lot about child development, critical pedagogy, and emotional repression. Also—I want what you two have. In love. In life. In everything.P.S. Please invite us to the wedding.

[abstractdogwolfthing]

If not an impossible task, might we get a tutorial on how to draw her ladyship nightmare the goddesses boobs? Her body has become an inspiration for a character of my own design and I must know the secret to big heavy tits... I'm sorry for being cringe...

Not cringe at all! I love drawing breasts, so thank you for asking :))

Also, I am not at all a professional!! I’m self taught, and this is just how I draw boobs!! I myself have my things to learn. So how I draw it might be completely different later in life.

First thing to note is fat distribution when it comes to breasts. While it is possible to be skinny and have big boobs, as well as fat with small boobs, many fat people tend to have larger breasts in general. This is more so a FunFact, but it helps when designing characters :3

(More below)

Now let’s go step by step

Draw the head and upper part of the body. Keep in mind the character’s posture, emotion, body-type and such. Also when drawing the neck, try to center it as best as possible, while also keeping in mind the perspective (where the character is facing, and where the viewer is looking from).

Draw the breasts as sacks falling from the neck, in a cross shape.

But also be mindful of where and how the belly and fat rolls are (also how many rolls they have). The rolls help lift up the breasts, depending on their size. Also keep in mind the character’s posing, since if they’re lying down, how the breasts ‘behave’ will change. I suggest looking up references for that on your own.

Also also, many people have rolls above and below their bellies too, so be mindful of that.

This depends on the character, but for Nightmare specifically, I usually draw her breasts bigger than the fat roll, but smaller than the belly—at least in the silhouette.

Arms matter too!! Is the arm close enough to the breast that it pushes it, emphasizing it more? Or is the arm reaching outward, making the breast go downward—or is it still being pushed up?

Again, I recommend reference photos for this one too.

I recommend the book: “Morpho: Fat and Skin Folds,” if you wanna go really in depth, and not listen to a gay teen ramble about boobs lol

[tocara]

A reader, who doesn't believe in love and then they met Satoru.

Part 6 + Satoru's POV

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5.

It’s late. The laughter and music have faded, and the venue lights have dimmed to a soft glow. Cars are slowly pulling out of the lot, the last few guests exchanging tired goodbyes under the night sky.

You’ve been thinking about it all day. Through the ceremony, through the conversations, through that silent moment alone in the kitchen. It’s sitting heavy in your chest like a stone, unmoving. But now… now, you’re sure.

You spot him near the parking lot—Satoru. Alone. Dressed down slightly, coat folded over one arm as he unlocks his car. His movements are unhurried, calm.

You don’t think. You just call out.

“Satoru.”

He turns at the sound of your voice. Surprised, but not startled. He smiles—again, that same smile that started all this. “Hey. You okay?”

You walk toward him, slow but steady. And when you stop just a few feet away, you look up—not with hesitation, not with hope—but with clarity.

“I won’t take long,” you say. “I just… wanted to say something.”

He nods, giving you his full attention, showing no signs of rushing.

“I like you.”

The words hang there between you. You don’t flinch.

“Not in a way that expects anything from you,” you add quickly. “You don’t have to respond. I’m not hoping for something. I just—needed to say it.”

Your gaze drops briefly before you meet his eyes again.

“You were kind to me. Genuinely kind. And you probably didn’t even realize it, but you made me feel like I existed. Like I mattered in a room full of people I usually can’t stand being around. That’s… rare. And it stayed with me.”

You breathe out slowly.

“I don’t need you to say anything. I don’t need an answer. I just didn’t want to keep pretending it didn’t happen—how I felt. I just wanted you to know.”

Satoru stands there, his smile softening, his eyes gentler now. He doesn’t say much—just a quiet:

“…Thank you.”

And that’s enough.

You nod, your shoulders feeling a little lighter. “Drive safe.”

Then you turn and walk away. No glance back. No aching regret. Just the calm that comes from finally setting something free.

Satoru’s POV

It’s always the quiet ones.

That’s what he’d always noticed in rooms full of laughter and surface-level talk—the ones who didn’t try to take up space but still did, quietly. He’d seen it in strangers on flights, in crew members who worked in silence, in passengers who stared out windows with stories behind their eyes.

That night, it was you.

You didn’t say much. Didn’t even look particularly thrilled to be there. But you watched everything. Everyone. Not in a judgmental way, but like you were measuring how much of yourself you should give to this room.

It was that kind of energy that always piqued his interest. Curiosity, not attraction.

He noticed you glancing at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

And yeah—he noticed you too.

But not like that.

You thought you were being subtle. You weren’t.

Satoru had spent years learning as a pilot to read the unspoken—weather patterns, turbulence shifts, passengers, crew, strangers in terminals. Your glances weren’t hard to interpret. They held curiosity. Intrigue. A little restraint.

And that’s when he knew he had to draw a line.

He loved his girlfriend. Truly. At that time, she was everything he thought he wanted—gorgeous, ambitious, magnetic. He was proud to be hers. So when the topic of relationships came up that night, he made sure to mention her. Not to show off, but to clarify. For you, specifically.

He didn’t want you to think he was available. He wasn’t the kind of man who entertained someone on the side. He had boundaries, and he knew how easy it was to blur lines if you let things go unsaid. So, he dropped the facts about his girlfriend, their future plans, even kids—deliberately, and gently.

—--

But life, he would learn, didn’t always unfold the way you plan it.

His girlfriend—ex, now—wanted everything her way. The timeline, the cities, the sacrifices. Her vision of their life didn’t leave space for his passions—his job, his friendships, the freedom he loved so much about being in the air, in new places.

He tried. God, he tried. He adjusted. He wanted to be enough for her.

But she needed someone who would orbit around her gravity—and when he didn’t, she found someone who would.

The cheating gutted him. It wasn’t just betrayal—it was the death of a version of his life he thought he was building. The woman he imagined raising kids with, growing old with, had walked away with someone else. And still, he didn’t hate her. He just… had to move forward. One painful step at a time.

He moved back home after months of trying to rebuild in silence. Flying helped. Being above the clouds helped. Optimism was in his bones, even when things hurt.

—---

Then came the wedding.

Rina’s.

He hadn’t seen many of their friends in over a year, and it felt good to be around familiar laughter again. It reminded him of simpler times.

And then—he saw you.

Still quiet. Still observant. But… different. There was something steadier in you now. Not more cheerful—no, you still looked like you’d rather vanish into the wallpaper—but more grounded.

He approached you. Said hello. You gave him a small smile.

He thought that was the end of it.

Until you called him at the parking lot.

He turned, expecting a forgotten goodbye or maybe a polite thanks. But then you said it.

“I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I don’t expect anything—I just wanted to say it.”

He stood there, heart still, the world strangely quiet for a moment.

It had been a year and a half since you first met. You still carried that feeling, and yet… you weren’t placing it in his hands like something he owed you an answer for. You weren't asking. You were just giving.

He didn’t know what to say. But he felt something.

Not love. Not yet.

But something shifted. A small, undeniable warmth that reminded him he was still a person someone saw—not for who he could be, or what he could offer—but simply for who he already was.

You made him aware that the small things he thought no one noticed—his attentiveness, his honesty, his care—meant something.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly seen.