#but it was good practice... and it was kinda fun... :)

[spicymancer]

Somethin I've noticed about your designs is that you've got a fair number of big boys (large, muscular, chunky etc.) but most of your female characters tend to stay pretty thin and lithe, with the biggest they get being kinda muscular.

Do you have any intention of adding some big girls to your cast?

I have a few! Though you're right, the percentage disparity is pretty telling.

To be honest, it's absolutely a weakness of my character design sensibilities, and I'm doing my best to improve. I really should draw more varied body types.

To look inward for a moment, I suspect that I'm experiencing a bit of a brain poison feedback loop. Drawing is, on one level, a leisure activity I do to have fun, and on another level a Job that do for Money. Both having fun and making money are important for surviving in the Capitalist Hellscape we all occupy.

When it comes to leisure, I obviously tend to draw inside of my comfort zone. I learned to draw by mimicking artists that I admired growing up and comic/manga art has historically not been great about body diversity. This then reinforces the feedback loop of mostly drawing one kind of face or body type. (in this case: cute anime girls) A common artistic bad-habit exemplified here in this Nozaki Kun comic.

(Monthly Girls Nozaki Kun is incredibly good and a little too real)

Combined with the fact that being less practiced at drawing outside of my comfort zone, makes these designs end up taking more work to match the quality bar I have set for my work, this in turn means that it's more of a struggle to build up those muscles and bring those characters to the point where I'm happy with their design, which then makes that sort of drawing feel discouragingly like Work. Even if it's work that's worth doing (which it absolutely is)!

On the "monetary" side, I've built my audience on the characters I find easy to draw and so many of them expect/want me to draw more of that sort of thing. And having built an audience that desires that thing, they are often less engaged by things outside of that. Not to mention the economic strain of posts that do poorly will affect how much money I make in a given month.

This isn't limited to "bigger women" but a lot of MxM stuff I draw tends to do poorly in my algorithm, discouraging me from drawing more of it even when I want to! This phenomena is probably worst for folks on Youtube who are DEEPLY punished by the algorithm for daring to make videos outside of their established niche. ("You're a videogame content creator, how DARE you have an opinion on BOOKS")

This is all to say that I am grateful for you reaching out and expressing interest in seeing more variety and it's a good reminder to expand my artistic horizons a little more. Nothing is for everybody and there's definitely sections of my lovely audience who are underserved by these absences.

For more thoughts on this sort of discussion: there's some excellent TBskyen posts on this subject.

In addition I'd like to shout out artists like @jam-etc and @lillhappycloud who draw incredibly fantastic and appealing bodies of all kinds!

I hope you'll bear with me as I work to improve while probably still drawing a lot of my Usual Stuff. I'll now leave you with a relevant Princess Bride Quote.

Best Wishes.

[b1asho]

Wof ocs: land-dwelling seawing and grounded skywing (aka Kelp and Osprey). It’s not like they Can’t swim or fly, but it’s a lot harder for them than the average joe.

I don’t have a whole lot of plot for them; they mostly just travel together avoiding the active battlegrounds and maybe help escort an ailing Mudwing kid to her family at some point. Par for the course with my ocs, they’re both losers. They initially only really hang out together for the mutual benefits: Osprey is intimidating enough to ward off most bandits by looks alone and has a more realistic approach to setting goals and general direction (filling in a leadership role and balancing out Kelp’s lack of a backbone or stranger danger sense and curbing her absurd fantasies ) while Kelp knows a little more about *how* to actually get things done and has a better approximation of people skills (filling in Osprey’s considerable gaps in knowledge about anything that’s not farm animals or military tactics and balancing out his aggressively distrustful demeanor that prevents him from asking for help. She’s also the one who can talk their way into and out of situations) they eventually figure out they’re a good team and more or less hang around each other

Right now I think the two are somewhere on the coast near the Diamond spray delta????(google map of Pyrrhia idk)

Some general info related to what’s on the page:

Every tribe has a lot of regional variety in terms of physical appearance. For skywings, the northern ones are the most populous and have united the other major aeries under the goal of pushing for imperial expansion on the side of burn. Northern skywings have the most dimorphism between males and females as well as the brightest colors out of the skywing region types (females have a very distinct reddish orange coloring while males have duller browns and yellows, as opposed to ospreys group where it’s switched to darker brown f vs lighter brown m) This is because they have the most unbalanced parental care system, where the male raises the chicks alone while the female leaves. No matter the type of physical difference, the social separation is ever present and more or less as extreme (completely matriarchal). An aerie is a nesting area for a group of related individuals, where there is one dominant female, a pool of married-in males (one is chosen every season to be the matriarchs pair), some other female subordinates, and the matriarchs kids (including some adult males). Females are leaders, hunters, and providers while the males do menial labor or domestic, and craft tasks. Among all skywing ethnicities, there are cases of males being born with female coloring or vice versa. Males with female coloring do not have a place in society according to their rules, since they look like a female but can’t lay eggs (meaning they are ‘broken’ in the eyes of their peers. They can’t even participate in making eggs because that would look gay and I’m deciding that theyre homophobic for fun/because of the sanctity they put on the hetero-ness of their everything). They’d normally just be driven out in bigger northern aeries, but Osprey is an exception because of his slightly different culture and because his group needed every worker they could get to survive on their land (he was kinda just treated like a defective female that has to work with the males. Not fun). A female with male coloring is more tolerated ONLY if they stay celibate and out of the way of the “real” females (often, they are just put in all-female homes as an attendant). Ospreys aerie was a small and rural one that practiced subsistence herding/hunting, so it wasn’t hard for a northern recruiter to strong-arm them with a little military coercion and cash into giving up their eligible youths for the draft. He didn’t really feel a particularly strong bond with any of his family group due to their previously described sentiments towards his condition, but it’s still a blow to the ego to know that they sold him off to die for not even one iron ingot. He got lucky with the force he was taken into (they got bronze swords and leather armor, which is more than some other skywing soldiers) but not so lucky with the area he was sent to (Sandwing ambush). After being badly wounded and finding out he was the only survivor, he fled rather than going back to a northern base and has been evading capture (and execution) since. The lack of depth perception/decreased vision in general means he can seriously mess up landing and taking off in crowded areas like a forest, and can’t do a lot of complicated maneuvers anymore. Despite already being jaded and cynical at his big teen age, he’s not really equipped to be on his own at all and has been thrown off the deep end in terms of experiencing the world for the first time.

Seawings live in pods of family members and some outsiders. Unlike other dragons, they are actually led by a pair-bonded male and female rather than it being a female-led harem type thing. This pair are the bulls, and they’re bigger than everyone else because of hormones (they’re the only reproductive members. This is enforced to varying degrees between pods, some larger more organized ones even have legislation about it. Homosexual activity is encouraged to prevent threats to the bulls (aka new kids or a new mating pair). Through interacting with other tribes, some of the more powerful “superpods” made up of multiple family lines have adopted a more female-dominant system where there are still physically distinct bulls but only the female does any governing. For trade and other stuff, too, pods will normally only send their female members since no one else would respect a male. Kelps pod was a mid-sized one that was technically a part of another super pod’s domain, but they only really interacted through some resource taxes and occasional new laws being delivered. Kelp was on the bottom rung of the social ladder and chafed a lot with her pod because of her general weirdness and lack of strong allegiance to her bull (her mother). She still feels sentiment towards them because they raised her, but was never able to fit in. The superpod they were under was allied with blister, making their territory a target for mudwings and skywings. Eventually, Kelp’s pod was affected by this when an ongoing battle between the superpod’s troops and some mudwings spilled into their land. The superpod forces lost and Kelps home was looted, in the process she was burned and separated from the others. For about a week she hung around tending to her own wounds to see if her pod would regroup somewhere, but eventually left to find a real doctor (trying not to think about the implications of them not coming back) it’s been about a month since then, and she has somehow been stumbling by using her craft skills. Shes been robbed several times and has only gotten away with her life thanks to the good ol tail slap+ massive seal teeth jaw strength combo (other than that all her health problems are 100x worse because she’s on land most of the time to avoid Mudwing-patrolled rivers and the hostility of other pods.) She’s never been outside her pods range before and the world is not so great, but she has a positive outlook (some might even say a foolishly optimistic one).

[deejayrockz]

Drunk Chris being whipped for reader who’s just trying to take care of him

WILDEST DREAMS •

C. DIXON

SUMMARY ౨ৎ chris has had a crush on reader, and with the confidence from his pints, he decides to shoot his shot.

WARNINGS ʚ fluff, alcohol mentioned and drunk chris, i don't think anything else?? this is really short and kinda rubbish, sorry, will rewrite when i feel like it :/

౨ৎ

it was 1130pm, when you received a message from george, almost unreadable.

clarkster

pls comr pixk us uo.

we're all souooo drunj

you

when i said message me if you need anything

this isn't quite what i meant

i'm omw 🙄

and so here you were, pulling up outside the pub, seeing chris, arthur hill, george, and isaac sat on a bench. george, despite his fucked up spelling, didn't seem too drunk, which was a relief. isaac was also somewhat sober, it was mainly arthur and chris that were trouble.

"come on then, boys, get in," you rolled the window down, watching their heads perk up at the sound of your car beeping. george giggled as he wrapped a very drunk chris around his shoulder, guiding him to the car.

"fun night?" you asked, looking at chris' flushed cheeks from the rearview. he gave you a cheeky grin, nodding, then giggling to himself, causing you to smile. george laughed at him, as arthur also stumbled into the front seat, looking out into the oblivion.

"do you know what planet you're on?" you asked, nudging arthur slightly, to which he nodded, then rubbed his eyes.

"why aren't i in the front seat? this is so unfair," chris mumbled, slouching in the back middle.

"because we'd get pulled over," george said, "you don't meet the height requirement for the front seat." george giggled to himself, as you joined in, pulling off the road and heading to isaac's house first.

"brilliant," chris mumbled, rolling his eyes, before sitting forward, arms rested on the centre console.

it seemed to be a quiet ride home, chris' head now rested on the console, his curls tickling your elbow each time you switched gears.

"right, talk to you later, thank you for the ride," isaac smiled, as the boys all said their goodbyes.

"right, let's get you three to bed," you mumbled, scratching chris head jokingly, before pulling off isaac's driveway. chris hummed softly, before picking his head up, and slouching back.

the car ride back was full of george telling you stories of the night, while chris giggled at your reactions. arthur was completely non verbal.

when you got back to your shared apartment with the boys, chris wrapped his arm around your shoulder, mainly to help himself up, and you placed your hand on his wrist, the other behind his back.

"you're so pretty, thank you for driving us home," chris whispered, as george was giggling at something arthur said, struggling to get the key in the door. your face flushed, a small smile creeping onto your face

arthur grunted, as he practically threw the key to george, to which george giggled then opened the door easily.

"thanks, chris, you're pretty too," you whispered, giggling at the fact you were whispering like some 13 year old gossips.

he smiled at you, before attempting to head to the couch. he tripped, and landed on the settee with his face first in the pillows. george laughed, then headed straight to his room after grabbing a cup of water. arthur sat on the settee, hands rubbing down his face.

"cmon, get to your room," you muttered, kneeling next to chris, a hand running through his hair. he mumbled softly, turning his head to face you, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face.

"help me?" he asked, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it.

"sure," you smiled, dragging him up by his arm, and getting a cup of water. you led him to the bedroom, after bidding arthur a good night.

"i'm okay," he muttered, as you handed him the water once he sat on his bed.

"i'm not offering, im ordering," you deadpanned, "drink."

he rolled his eyes childishly, before taking small sips of the water. he set the now half full glass on the bedside table, before looking up at you from his seated position.

"you're so pretty,"

"i know, you've already said,"

"no, like, you're really pretty," he said, reaching up to grab one of your hands.

your cheeks flushed again, a small smile on your face, as you knew it was mainly drunk words talking.

"thank you-"

"can you stay with me?" he cut you off, falling back to lay down on his bed, eyes shut, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. his cheeks were flushed, and his eyebrows were slightly creased.

"what?" you whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed now.

"stay with me? please?"

"chris, you're drunk," you stated, a hand now resting on his jeans, as his head lolled to face you.

"need you here," he whispered, his blue eyes looking into yours, causing you to bite your lip in thought.

unbeknownst to you, chris had been waiting for an opportunity like this to arise. he had been crushing on you since you moved in, however was always too shy to actually do anything. he'd give you longer glances, and laugh a little harder at your jokes, as well as dance with you in the kitchen, to try and give hints, however you never really caught on.

"i really like you, y/n," he sighed, a hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, "want you to stay."

"you really like me, huh?" you teased, a small smirk on your face, as his cheeks turned a slight pink.

he nodded, eyes blinking slowly, making him look like a tired cat.

"let me take you to dinner,"

"if you remember this conversation in the morning, i'll think about it," you smirked, poking his cheek.

he giggled softly, before pulling you into him, his head resting on your chest, as your nails scratched his scalp.

"thank you, pretty girl," he whispered into your chest, causing you to smile and softly kiss his curly head.

[lost-st4rs]

I wanted to practice writing characters interacting with each other since that’s somewhere I struggle when writing, and I ended up writing Cups and Ben slow dancing HSIKjfwjJd

Debt Collector AU

~677 words

“Wanna dance?”

“You said I have two left feet.” Bendy cackles, but Cuphead isn’t so amused.

“Well, you can always learn! And it’s a good thing I’m such a great teacher,” Bendy approaches Cuphead, grabbing the other’s hands gently into his own, bringing him to stand up from the fallen tree log. Cuphead doesn’t stop the other but his movements are unsure and clumsy. Bendy lets out an endeared smile at that.

“Bendy, I- we shouldn’t-“

Bendy quickly shushes him before Cuphead can pull away, “hey, none of that. No one’s around to see us. Just relax and follow what I do, ‘kay?” Hesitantly, Cuphead nods, muttering out an ‘okay’ as he follows the demons moves the best he can. Bendy places his right hand on the other’s waist and directs Cuphead’s hand to hold onto the demon’s shoulder, Cup’s right hand intertwined with Bendy’s left.

“What my steps,” Bendy starts off slowly, swaying at a leisure pace from side to side. It’s easy enough that Cuphead is able to copy the other’s movements rather quickly. “You’re doing great!” Bendy grins and Cuphead looks away bashfully, an ever small smile adorning his face, the type of smile that makes Bendy’s heart do whirlwinds and makes his chest tighten.

Then, Bendy starts to add more little moves to their slow dance, moving backwards then forward, forward and backwards. It takes Cuphead a moment to adjust, but he catches on quickly, and Bendy praises him again, telling them that he’s doing great, which in turn earns him another sweet smile from the otherwise closed off cup. Bendy grins wider, his chest feeling light and fluttery.

Cuphead suddenly trips after (somehow) stepping on his own foot and Bendy has to force himself to not get into a fit of giggles as he helps Cuphead stand upright after landing on his chest. Bendy could tell the other was embarrassed by how his cup was starting to simmer ever slightly.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s basically your first time dancing, you’ll get the hang of it.”

“I doubt it,” Cuphead mutters angrily, his frustration mostly aimed at himself. Bendy gets them both back into position and smiles warmly.

“You will,” The ink demon insists. Cuphead then looks him in the eyes with an almost unreadable expression, before averting his gaze. Bendy begins at a slow pace once more, taking baby steps for left-feet until he gets the hang of it. Once again swaying left and right, moving front and back, doing a little spin slowly around, Bendy then surprises Cuphead and he lifts their hands that are raveled together and pulls the red cup away, twirling him around then pulls him into his chest.

“W-Whoa! What-“ Bendy just giggles at the other’s shocked and brightly flushed face.

“Sorry, toots. Got a bit carried away,” Cuphead glares at Bendy, but he can easily tell that there’s no real malice behind it. And Cuphead can’t quite find it in himself to be mad at the other. This whole dancing thing was actually… kinda fun, now that he’s kind of got the hang of it now.

“I-it’s fine. I don’t mind…” He admits, a small grin growing on his face. And again for the second time tonight, Bendy can feel his cheeks heat up and his heart race quickly as if it’s trying to escape out of his chest.

“You don’t mind, ya say? Well then, it’d be okay if I just…” Cuphead yelps as the demon suddenly lowers him, Bendy making sure to keep a good hold on him so he doesn’t fall to the ground.

“Don’t drop me!” Cuphead shrieks, glaring at the demon for real this time and Bendy just laughs, assuring him that he’s got him and won’t let ‘em fall. “Let me up let me up-“ Bendy does so when he sees that Cuphead isn’t enjoying it. He apologizes and holds him close then goes back to their slow pace from before. Swaying side to side. Cuphead, being more used to this, eases up and they fall into a nice rhythm.

———

(they’re so fun to write RAAHH)

[penguin-stars]

⚠️Spoilers for chapters 195+

On a scale of one to ten, how good was your intervention to improve KSE's mental health?

"Good" Friend Brown: *Did his job as an emotional support bunny* 9/10 - Who would've thought that Soleum would rely on a ghost story entity to get him through other ghost stories? They had great chemistry, just talking to him was a huge help for Soleum. And the good friend did his best to be there for him. Not 10/10 because he never told him about his corruption or BSH's antics.

Lee Jaheon: *Threw him into therapy* 10/10 - Very nice of him actually, KSE was practically kicking and screaming during the process, but in the end, he really needed that intervention. Thanks, chief.

Brown: *Kidnapped Invited him to his Talk Show* 5/10 - He thought he was doing Soleum a favor, can you really blame him? They were having fun at the Talk Show! Soleum got contaminated pretty badly and lost all of his points at Daydream, tho. Kinda of an asshole move in the grand scheme of things, but he went in with the best intentions for his friend, so he gets a semi-pass.

D- Squad: *Helped him out of the Talk Show* 8/10 - There wasn't much that they could do, but they still got together and helped him notice his contamination. Wholesome much, D-Squad always got each other's backs despite being disbanded already. Also, the alien body possession was funny.

Brown: *Helped him out during the Taxi anomaly* 7/10 - Soleum freaked out a little when he heard him. But it was nice of him to arrange his meeting with J3. Well done, friend.

Lee Jaheon: *Broke into his room to warn him about his contamination* 6/10 - Don't you love it when you get home after a long day at work and a lizard man is waiting for you in the living room? I know I would A bit of a weird move, and he gets deductions for getting KSE into a huge debt with the Space Shopping Mall, but capitalism works the same way here and in the rest of the Galaxy, apparently. He also nudged KSE to burn the "good" friend after he re-summoned him, and honestly, I wish he had taken that advice. Thanks again, chief(s).

Brown: *Offered to help him at the festival, and once again at prison* 1/10 - A bit late for that, ain't it? You're losing the race, 친구.

Hyeonmu Team + Eun Haje: *Rescued him from the festival* 10/10 - When Soleum needed them the most, Hyeonmu Team stepped up with an exorcism sequence worthy of a shonen manga. Eun Haje really said "Fuck this mission, Soleum is more important" KSE was at his lowest, and this really helped him look forward to his future once again. Great work, team!

Agent Choi: *Threw him into prison* 0/10 - WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU

Agent Bronze: *Took the role of an interrogator* 15/10 - He did his best. He really did. He helped to make Soleum more comfortable in a process that was heading into torture territory. Had a nice dinner and a heart-to-heart with him. Lowkey became the person who got closest to understanding him. Also, mediated between Soleum and Choi, truly middle child behaviour. Too bad his best wasn't enough to deter Soleum from leaving the Bureau. He still gets the highest score for the effort. Everyone, give it up for Ryu Jaekwan.

Special Mentions J3: 🐺/10 - He still hasn't had his big moment yet, but you can tell that he would do whatever he could to help Soleum. Who's a good boy? Go Youngeun: 🐐/10. - She's a good, level-headed companion that Soleum can talk to. No matter the occasion, he can count on her as the sanest, most composed person in the room. Unless Baek Saheon is involved, and now Soleum has to stop them from throwing hands. Blue Dragon: 💙/10 - Not sure if his affection is good for KSE's mental health, but we know that he cares for him. Give him a chance, Soleum. Baek Saheon: 3/10 - Honestly, I think Soleum enjoys messing with him. Like the equivalent of squeezing a stress ball. That's gotta count for something, right? Director Ho: -100/10 - Lmao

Overall Winner: Lee Jaheon. When life's rough, remember that a lizard is looking out for you.

Winner in my heart: Ryu Jaekwan. Dear Ireum-nim, take all his suffering and give it to Agent Choi.

[pearl-is-cool]

Soo uhm hiiii!!

my first writing post!!! I'm excited!! I've been in the community a while now but I've never written before so I hope you like it!!! I just got this thought one day so here yah are!

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Baker!Reader (who is kinda just like him)

2000+ words and vague mentions of self harm + a hard past.

xx pearl xx

You're a Baker by trade.

Well, you have a bakery, but you serve coffee and things as well. Nothing fancy, and your speciality is still baking, but it can't hurt.

It's nice work. Tucked away in a little English village, where everyone knows everyone and everything. Community had been something you'd craved for a while, and even if it means practically everyone knows your business, it's worth it. Sweet and peaceful.

When you told your parents about the small shop + flat you'd bought near the coast, they'd almost kicked you out right then. You zoned out a little while they went on, but you caught 'a waste of potential!' And 'that's all you're doing with your life!'

So yes. All in all, it had been a very good investment.

You bake, and you heal, and you go down to the beach. It's always cloudy around here, your nearer Scotland, after all. Even the scars on your arms fade from pink to something tanner.

It's calming. You make friends with the woman who runs the local pub (there's another a bit down left sides road but you wrote off that man when he told you about his podcast.) Her name is Ester and she's in the middle of her 2nd trimester her stomach slightly round. She lets you feel the baby kick one time, and you almost burst into tears right there.

You never thought you'd have this. Peace and quiet and community and friends. Esters husband teaches you how to fix the sink in your flat and gives you a belly laugh when you ring him up to tell them both about how you fixed it on your own.

You keep your flat cleaner (though dishes still occasionally pile up in the sink. You always get to them before it becomes too much though.) You make small talk with the villagers (some of them are still learning to trust you but things are going well!) And make people who drive through on their way to somewhere else coffee and tell them fake stories you make up for fun.

It's quiet and repetitive, and you've never been happier.

...

You have regulars a lot. Most people in the village like a pastry or a quick coffee or tea in the morning before they start work. There's an engine company a few miles back, and sometimes the employees come in for something to eat on a lunch break.

Then you get a new regular.

You've never seen him before, but the other villagers setting down don't turn to look or even glance up. Which is strange because he's wearing goddamn combat boots in the middle of spring for Christ's sake.

You give him a strange look out the corner of your eye, but go on with this random man's coffee he is impatiently tapping his foot on the ground for. You're taking extra long because he said, "Do it quick. I need to be somewhere more important soon." When you asked what he wanted to order.

Ester asks how you stay in business at least twice a month.

Finally you give the man his coffee (it's almost cold) and accept his money. Then next is the man.

You glance up and frown again at the mask covering his face. At the hoodie covering his hair. For a second, you almost wamt to ask why, but then you decide it's none of your business.

"What do you want to order?" You ask politely.

"Coffee. Black." He replies gruffly and slightly muffed from behind the mask.

"Alright. That will be £3:50." Oh, thank God you don't have to chat to this man. You don't hate chatting to the villagers because you know that in the end, it will have a payout (them trusting you), but the people who work at the engine place are... inconvenient.

He hands over 3 pound coins and a 50 pence they clatter onto the counter, and you pour them into the cash register.

He moves away to go sit down at one of the arm chairs in the corner. It's one of Esters spares its brown fake leather, slightly worn but comfy.

You get to making the man's coffee. It's a simple procedure that you've done thousands of times, and you let your mind drift away as you push onto the counter.

He comes up to collect his coffee cup and leaves the shop, and that's the last thiught you give to him for the rest of the day.

...

He comes in the next day and orders the same thing and sits in the same chair as he waits for it.

Exact same interaction

You forget all about him again.

...

He comes in the next day.

...

And the next.

...

And the next.

...

For a full week, he comes in orders, coffee waits, then leaves.

Then he's gone.

You don't think much of it.

...

He comes back again now. For two weeks, he comes in to get a black coffee and then leaves.

By the second week, you see him walking in (unless you're talking to someone, but most of the time, he comes in at what? Like 8? No one can be bothered to get a pastry or something at 8 unless they work at the engine place.) You've already got the coffee going. You think his eyes crinkle slightly when he sees you do it.

Maybe you're imagining it.

...

He doesn't come in on the Monday after.

It's weird you didn't really pay much attention to the hulk of black in the corner, but when he's gone, you feel it like someone left a window open that you can't find to close. A cold wind making you shiver.

Again, you ignore it. Your life here is good right now. You don't need another man to come in, make everything confusing, and mess all of it up again!

...

He's back two months later.

You raise an eyebrow as he walks through the door, limping slightly.

"Should get a crutch for that." You say automatically, turning to start the coffee machine. He visibly starts at you talking to him but relaxes into it.

"Hm." He grunts. "Make me look a bit dumb I think. Too small."

You hum in assent peering up at him. How actually did you not notice how absolutely fucking massive he was? Christ you have been in your own head. You should go for a long walk, try to focus on everything bit your thoughts. That's what got you here in the first place.

You slide the coffee onto the counter and he takes it hesitating for a second before he sits down in the armchair and stays to finish it.

...

This goes on for another week before he dissappears again.

...

You wake up panting at 3 in the morning. Bad dreams are the worst these days. You were probably dumb for thinking they would go away if you'd moved but a girls gotta hope right!?

You rise, shower shove some porridge down your throat state at the dishes and sigh. You have the time and we don't want a repeat of what happened back in the city.

After you've gotten most things sorted around the apartment you decend the stairs and start probably the best time of your day.

You knead bread and zone out lost in the simplicity of it all. The desserts are harder but you've done most of these things so much that it's just muscle memory at this point. It's calming and you feel almost out of your body whilst you do it. But in a good way. In a better way.

It's seven by the time your finished and since you always open at 8 you try out something you've been thinking about for far too long.

Black coffee cake.

Pure coincidence of course.

You don't even think about him once while you do it.

...

He starts coming in 5 months later and now since it's a pattern you've gotten used to it. You see him rounding the corner onto he other side of the street and you make his coffee.

He comes in and you slide it into his palm. He freezes for a second and your lips twitch up.

"Made you one of them every day you were gone." You say as a joke. "Have to pay me back loads."

He blinks and you think he smiles for a second before he ask if he can have a to go box for the cake.

...

He asks your name one day a faint twitch behind the mask as you say it.

He tells you his. Simon. You hadn't considered it for his name before (when did you get this curious about a strangers life? Christ you need to go for a walk) but when you repeate it back to him it slides off your tounge like honey. Like you should have been saying it the whole time before.

Later you bake honey cupcakes with lemon buttercream.

Not a coincidence.

None at all.

...

He comes in again and you hand him his cake to go and the coffee you think you could make in your sleep by now.

"M goin' away for a while now."

"Huh are you? Don't forget me." You say deadpan. Talking with Simon has become less of a chore and more of something you look forward to everyday.

"As if I could." He snorts slightly and your lips twitch.

"Well," you conclude handing him some change. For once he doesn't have the exact amount of money. "Have fun while your gone I suppose."

"Eh. I'll try."

He walks out there the bell ringing clearly and your chest squeezes painfully-

Ah. Well. That's not convenient.

...

While he's gone (you really should have asked him how long he was going away for.) You hire Alices girl from down the road, Sammy. She sweet and serves people with a smile and a swish of her shiny blonde hair. Ester tuts when she comes in and tell hers to eat more.

"Christ's sake girl I can see your collarbones!" She laughs and smiles

"Its all good Ester I'll be fine pinkie promise!"

Ester rolls her eyes and gives you a tub fulled with mashed potatoes and sausages to sneak into her locker.

You melt into it smiling at Ester faintly until she snaps her fingers in front of your face and tell you to get on with it.

...

Esters stomach is rounder now. She says she thinks the baby will come early.

"Just a turn in the wind I think. Little bugger really wants out don't he?" She says one day while you help her shift the furniture in the pub. (She's insistent on the baby being a boy and she is rarley wrong so you accept it. It's a fact of life. The sky is blue the grass is green Ester Green is always right.)

She had refused to go on break while she was pregnant even at her husbands insistence. He was practically crying when she told him she could push some chairs around. She got you in to help though so fairs fair.

She grins at you one day tilting her head slightly.

"How would you feel about bein' Godmother?" She asks out of the blue when your finished.

"Huh?" She shrugs

"Your the closest person here so he wouldn't be brought out his home town and my mams in a nursing home. I know I haven't known you long and you don't have to say yes I know your cramped for space but," She looks at you sharp and attentive. "You've gotten through shit. I don't know what shit and I hope you'll tell me when your ready but I feel you'd teach him things. Good things. How to bake bread and how to get through life even if its a pain in the bloody neck. I trust you."

"Your gonna have to stop sweating so much when you baby arrives." You manage to wheeze out your eyes glazed over choked up.

...

He comes back in February. The eyebrow you raise when he comes back in, you be engraved in stone for its majesty.

"Look what the cat dragged in, eh? Old Simon Riley."

He huffs out a laugh. "Leaves hard to get." Ah, military. That makes more sense.

You used to be good at flirting, you think. Well, at least the boys you tried it on used to fall for it. But you're scared that if you try it again, it might come too easy, and if that's comes too easy, how easy will the rest of it be to pick up again? And you have responsibility now. Don't pick the wrong guys they always tend to stick around longer.

Your a godmother now.

"Hmh. We've got toffees now."

"Alright. Hand it over then." You give him the coffee and drop the toffee into his outstretched palm.

"How much?"

"Free." He narrows his eyes, and you shrug. Sammy brings her little sister here sometimes when they fight too much at home, and you've gradually gathered a collection of sweets to grab and go for free.

Ester stared you dead in the eye for a good minute before sighing and muttering under breath. "Better person than me. Better person than me."

...

"I'm a godmother now." You say one day as an opening

"Huh." He pauses for a few seconds. "You'll make a good one."

You don't talk again, afraid he'll hear the crack in your voice.

...

He comes in every day as normal to make conversation. Whenever he steps through the door and the bell jingles, your heart starts skipping into your chest. You know what it means, of course, and it's really rather annoying. You didn't come here to get a crush you came there to recover for Christ's sake.

You chat at the counter for longer and longer every day until sometimes a customer comes in, and you have to shoo him away or before his coffee gets cold.

On Wednesday, he comes in, and while you're talking about something meaningless, he passes and says.

"Uhm. Thanks. For not yknow. Commenting on the mask and all." You blink at him as he shifts clearly uncomfortable.

You shrug. "Eh. I just don't care." He huffs, and his eyes definitely crinkle this time.

"Glad for it."

"Sure you are. Now go away and drink your coffee before it gets cold. Christ sake." You mutter warmth prickling in your cheeks.

He chuckles (an actual laugh now you're getting somewhere) and slopes off out the door.

...

He comes in on Friday.

"I gotta go away again."

"Do you know? Huh."

"Yep. 3 months this time. Back on May 7th."

"Hmh. I'm glad I won't be wasting my time making your coffee every morning now."

"Cause you've got people linin' at the door for this coffee." Your lips twitch slightly.

"Course. Can't you see them all?"

He rolls his eyes slightly. When he's turning to leave, you manage to choke out a soft "Goodbye."

He falters slightly the only indication he heard you before he leaves not looking back as he does so.

...

May 7th creeps up on you, and before you know it, it's April 30th, and you're arguing with Lottie (Sammys sister). "We can't turn this into a sweet shop." You say for the millionth time. "I don't know how to make sweets."

"You can learn!" She retorts pouting. You run a tongue over your cheek. God, you're soft.

"Tell you what. Since it's your birthday tomorrow, I'll set up a sweet corner. It stays for the day, then it's gone, okay?"

She grins now sweet and gap-toothed and skips away smugly.

...

It does not stay for the day.

In your defence, Lottie has really good puppy eyes!

Ester stares daggers at you.

"You are..." she cuts herself off.

...

May 7th is here, and here comes Simon. Whatever his last name is (you should really ask him that) followed by several too-tall military men. A man with a beard one with a mohawk (God Betty is going to bug him about that) and a pretty one with a moustache.

The pretty one with the moustache comes up to order. Flashing you a smile and asking for 4 black coffees (all of them?! Christ on a stick. Do they forbid having taste in the military or what?!), a slice of carrot cake, coffee cake, caramel shortbread, and a croissant. (Maybe they don't.)

You look for Sammy, but she's balancing plates on her arms, trying to gather all of them up from the group that ate here later.

You huff. God, you need more staff. You hate talking to people, and Simons friends look exactly like they like a chat. You breathe in a sigh and gather the coffee cups, cakes, and the pastry onto a large tray.

You feel nervous all of a sudden. It's just Simon. You try to remind yourself. Just Simon. He tells you dad jokes and complains about people leaving litter on the walking paths.

You pick the tray up and carry it over, settling it down on the table as the men glance up at you with far too much interest.

"So," the one with the mohawk says. "You're the future, Miss Riley, huh?"

[artdonalldson]

On and Off Court

Art Donaldson x Reader

CONTENT: Stanford!Art, No use of pronouns, no detailed physical descriptions except reader has hair, a bit of angst with a happy ending, mild language, possibly inaccurate college stuff, a little Patrick/Tashi name drops for fun, vague references to feelings of being left out, lots of banter and soft moments on and off the court, slow-burn friends to lovers.

SUMMARY: Art Donaldson needs help with English. You need help not totally sucking at tennis. What starts as a simple exchange slowly turns into late practices, quiet moments, and the kind of connection neither of you planned for.

WORD COUNT: ~2600

A/N: Sooooo, in honor of Challengers anniversary, I'm posting my very first Challengers fic! Kinda based on this post I made a while ago. Sorry if this sucks, English is not my first language and idk a lot about college stuff in America and I'm not totally sure my research was good so yeah lol. Anyway, I'm so excited to finally share this with you all, I hope you like it as much as I do 🥺

Art Donaldson is fifteen minutes late.

Again.

You're not surprised, honestly. He'll come in and say he was stuck with practice or some silly excuse, but anyway, it was you who offered to give him the tutoring.

You’ve already arranged the chairs in your favorite study room at the library, highlighted key points from the essay rubric, and opened the annotated Frankenstein you forced him to borrow last week. The empty chair beside you, however, remains insultingly empty.

You don’t even hear him walk in as you scroll on your phone to kill time — just feel the gust of air when the door swings open and the telltale thunk of a duffle bag hitting the floor.

"Before you say anything," he says, holding up a peace offering in the form of an iced drink, "I got stuck in the traffic trying to get these” he gestures to the drinks. “I was behind a marching band. Like a literal one. Who has a parade on a Tuesday?"

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, how convenient. And so tragic.” you say as you roll your eyes playfully for dramatic effect.

You can hear him let out a soft chuckle as he sets the drink down in front of you with a grin, then slouches into the chair beside yours, sipping on his own drink. "You know, some people would appreciate a little sympathy.”

“Some people would appreciate a fine essay ,” you say, flipping to the page where he last gave up. “Let’s start with that.”

Tutoring with Art started as a joke. A few sarcastic comments during a group study session, one muttered “you write like shit”, and suddenly he was texting you for “just a quick look” at his paper.

Now, it's a standing trade: English help in exchange for weekly tennis lessons. You’re still terrible, but you like how he laughs when you mess up. You like that he never makes you feel dumb — not when you forget which way to hold the racket, not even when you suggest Victor Frankenstein just needed better boundaries.

You also like the way he listens. Really listens. Like your analysis actually matters. Like you matter.

Dangerous territory.

---

Two days later, you’re on the campus courts, winded and mildly sweaty, pointing your racket at him like a sword.

“You’re literally sabotaging me.”

Art wipes his forehead with the edge of his sleeve. “You keep hitting the ball into the net”

“It was a metaphor.”

“It was a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

You narrow your eyes. “I’ve decided you’re a bad coach.”

He smirks. “I’ve decided you’re a menace.”

You’re still smiling when you both collapse on the bench, passing a water bottle back and forth like a peace treaty.

Art leans back, eyes squinting up at the dusk sky. “Pat showed up today.”

You glance over at him. “Zweig?”

“Yeah.” His jaw tightens a little. “Didn’t even text. Just waltzed in like he owns the fuckin’ court. Said he was here to ‘check on the vibes.’”

You hide a smile. “Oh, so Tashi then”

Art groans. “Obviously. He always says he’s here to say hi, but he’s just looking for her. I swear, the guy only remembers I exist when I’ve got an extra churro.”

Of course he told you about Patrick, he told you all about him, about the MRTA and the Junior's US Open, and of course he told you about Tashi Duncan and the whole hotel room thing.

He also mentioned the way their friendship changed after Patrick won her number. For some reason he felt comfortable venting with you.

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Must be hard. Being the most dramatic tennis player on campus.”

He laughs — a full, head-thrown-back kind of laugh — and for a moment, the silence between you feels different. Charged.

You look away first.

He doesn't.

Eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should.

You pretend you didn't notice.

Then, he finally looks away.

---

Later, he walks you back to your dorm. Your hands brush once, and neither of you pull away. Just a few meters from your door, you stop, your voice low.

“Hey,” you say, “you actually wrote a good paragraph today.”

Art rubs the back of his neck. “You make it easier. I don’t know. The way you explain things — it’s like I can finally see what it’s supposed to be.”

You swallow. “Yeah. That’s how it feels when you talk about tennis.”

He’s quiet. Just looking at you in that way he does sometimes — like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out slowly.

And then: “Another round next week, right?”

You smile. “On the court or on the page?”

“Both,” he says. Then adds, a little softer, “If you’ll still have me.”

You nod.

And when he walks away, you find yourself already counting the days until you see his charming smile again.

---

You’re terrible at tennis.

You know this. Art knows this. The entire Stanford tennis team probably knows this too.

But somehow, every Thursday afternoon, you still show up for the lessons.

And somehow, every Thursday afternoon, Art still smiles when he sees you.

Today, he’s already at the court when you arrive, bouncing a ball off his racket with absent precision. His baseball cap backwards and his red Stanford t-shirt on, a white turtleneck underneath, a sighs you're already used to.

There's a duffle bag tossed unceremoniously on the nearest bench, a textbook sticking out the side like it’s fighting for its life.

You drop your own bag next to his, contemplating the scene for a moment. “Did the literature monster get you again?”

He shakes his head, tossing the ball high and catching it without looking. “Nah. Passed my midterm, thanks to you.” He pauses, almost sheepish. “Actually did pretty decent.”

You give a dramatic gasp. “Was that a compliment? To me?”

Art chuckles. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

You step onto the court, adjusting your grip the way he showed you. He's watching you — not your racket, not your stance. You.

"Alright, coach," you tease. "Lay it on me."

He tosses you a ball. “Today we’re working on not sending projectiles into outer space”

You swat it immediately into the net.

“Solid start,” he deadpans.

---

About an hour later, you’re both collapsed on the bench, sweaty and laughing and sipping from the same battered water bottle, it feels almost like a ritual at this point.

His baseball cap is somewhere on the floor, golden curls sticking to his forehead with sweat, cheeks flushed, and you know he looks gorgeous like that — not that you'd admit it to him, though.

The sun’s starting to sink and painting the court in gold as Art leans back, wrist draped over his eyes. "God. I needed this."

You nudge him with your knee. "Tough week?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales, slow and heavy.

"Patrick and Tashi," he says finally. “It’s like... they're living on their own planet now. I really feel left out everytime I try to get close to them.”

You wait, giving him space to unravel it at his own pace.

"Zweig was supposed to hit the court with me this morning. Blew me off. Guess where he was?"

You hum. "Stuck at Tashi's dorm again?"

Art snorts. “Exactly. And Tash... well, she’s the star of the tennis team, the freaking Duncanator as they call her” he pauses, “I don't know how they are still together… I don't think she’s ever needed anyone, you know? Not the way I..."

He cuts himself off, frowning at the pavement.

You tilt your head. "Not the way you need people?"

He shrugs, a small, defeated motion. "Maybe."

For a second, you see it: past the big smiles and easy charm, the part of Art that wants to be chosen. That maybe he's tired of competing for scraps of their attention. That maybe, deep down, just wants someone to love him like he loves, to need him like he needs.

You set your racket down, careful, deliberate.

Then softly, the words come out of your lips "You have me." You're not even sure you said it out loud, but it felt like the right thing to say at the moment.

It feels too small, too simple. But when he turns his head to look at you, there’s something raw in his eyes. Something that says it matters anyway.

Art bumps your knee with his. "Yeah," he says. "And I'm lucky to have you"

---

Later that night, you're in your dorm, half-asleep studying for some upcoming exam, and maybe a little distracted thinking of that conversation with Art earlier.

I'm lucky to have you.

These little words are on repeat in your head till the train of thoughts is interrupted by the notification sound of your phone.

> Art Donaldson:

u free tmw? gym’s boring without u embarrassing urself

> You:

shocking u’d miss my tennis disasters

what’s in it for me?

> Art:

loser buys smoothies

deal?

> You:

deal.

You set your phone down, heart stupidly loud in your ears, louder than the thwack of the tennis ball against your racket.

Maybe he’s not gravitating to their planet anymore.

Maybe — just maybe — he’s starting to orbit yours.

---

You’re getting better at tennis.

Not good — no one would dare to say that — but definitely better.

You've managed to serve without launching the ball into the next county, you can rally for at least three strokes, and once — once — you even won a point against Art.

He teased you for a week straight.

But now, under the heavy, humid press of early May, the courts are quieter. Finals loom, summer plans scatter your friends to internships and hometowns. And still, you and Art keep meeting here, as if you made a promise neither of you ever said out loud.

Tonight, the campus feels half-asleep.

The lamps around the court buzz.

The sky is deep blue velvet.

You're hitting lazy shots back and forth when Art suddenly jogs toward the net, balancing the ball on his racket.

"Alright, literary genius," he says, smirking. "End of semester final challenge."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

This sounds interesting, typical of Art.

He spins the racket around like he'd holding a lightsaber in his hand. "If you get three volleys past me — three — I'll buy you dinner."

You squint. "And if I don't?"

He leans forward, resting his arms casually on the net.

"I still buy you dinner," he says, a little too easily.

You laugh, heart stuttering. “That’s rigged.”

"Maybe I want it to be," he says, almost under his breath.

You pretend not to feel the way your stomach flips. You take the challenge anyway. You lose — gloriously. By the end of it, you’re breathless, doubled over, laughing so hard you can’t stand straight.

Art catches the ball in one hand and tosses it aside.

"You," he says, grinning, "are the best worst tennis player I’ve ever seen."

You salute him with your racket. " Think I’ll put that on my resume."

---

Later on, dinner turns into ice cream. Ice cream turns into sitting on the edge of the bed of his dorm, passing a pint back and forth.

Art is quiet for a while, staring out over the quad where the old ceiling fan is on, an attempt to keep the room fresh.

"Remember when we started this?" he says suddenly.

You lick the edge of the spoon, thinking. "You mean when you almost failed English and decided it was my problem?"

He laughs, but there’s something softer under it.

"I was... kinda a mess," he admits. "Still am, sometimes."

You nudge his shoulder. "Nobody's perfect"

He’s silent again, fiddling with a crumpled napkin. You watch him, the way the light turns the ends of his messy curls shine like gold.

Then he says, very quietly:

"Sometimes it felt like... everybody else was already paired off, you know? Patrick and Tashi, the team guys, even random people in classes. Like everyone had their person. And I was just... floating around."

You swallow.

"You're not floating around anymore," you say.

He finally looks at you — really looks at you — and there it is. All of it. The thing you’ve been pretending not to see for weeks, months. The reason your heart feels like it’s racing even when you’re standing still.

You don't move. You hardly breathe.

"Yeah," he says, voice rough. "I’m not."

Slow, careful, he leans in.

You could stop him. You could joke. You could pretend you don't feel this like lightning burning under your skin.

But you don’t stop him.

You don't even try.

You tilt your chin up and meet him halfway.

The kiss is gentle at first, — shy, tentative, like a question.

When you don't pull away, Art sighs against your mouth like he's been holding his breath for a year.

He tastes like vanilla and salt, and something sweeter on his tongue that you can't name.

His hand finds your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw like he needs to memorize you.

And it feels like a thousand fireworks are going off inside you, like this moment was truly meant to be, and now that is happening, it feels surreal.

When you finally pull apart, you're forehead to forehead, both of you smiling like idiots, he whispers:

"You’re my person."

You squeeze his hand.

"You always were."

---

It’s been five days since the kiss.

Not that you’re counting.

(You are. You’re absolutely counting.)

Five days, two tennis practices, one english tutoring, a very intense smoothie debate, and exactly fourteen texts where Art somehow found excuses to send you memes at two in the morning.

Now you’re back on the court, empty and golden in the late afternoon, pretending to practice your serve.

You toss the ball. Miss.

You toss again. Miss worse.

"You’re overthinking," Art calls, lounging against the net while adjusting his baseball cap.

You glare at him. "Maybe I’m just allergic to serve"

He pushes off the net and hops over the net, not even bothering to walk around, that familiar easy grin tugging at his mouth.

"You're not allergic," he says. "You're just tense."

He steps close enough that you have to look him in the eye.

Close enough that you can smell the faint, sun-warmed scent of his hoodie.

"Let me show you," he says.

Before you can protest, he’s stepping behind you, hands light on your waist, guiding your stance. His voice is low, soft against your ear.

"Relax your shoulders," he murmurs.

"Don’t force it. Just... trust it."

You could argue. You could snark.

But instead, you just breathe.

You toss the ball up in the air — and this time, when you swing, it sails cleanly over the net.

A small, surprised laugh bursts out of you. You turn, grinning.

Art's face is pure pride — and something warmer, something softer.

"Told ya," he says.

You don't think about it. You just reach out, grabbing the front of his hoodie and pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s clumsy and fast and perfect.

When you break apart, he leans his forehead against yours, chuckling.

"You’re dangerous when you win," he says.

You grin. "Guess you’ll have to keep coaching me. Forever."

He brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, serious now. "Deal."

And for the first time — maybe ever — you believe him.

Not just for this semester.

Not just for Stanford.

For everything that comes next.

THE END

[abiding-by-the-laws-of-color]

Archie and Maxie related headcanons I’ve had for a while

I have more than these that are closer to game info but unfortunately they are spoilers for my emerald comic. I want to ramble about them regardless so have like loose thoughts and stuff that’ll never get explored properly in said story lol. Some are hardenshipping and (very little tbh) team related stuff as well :)

Archie grew up somewhere near slateport, and spent a lot of time at sea with his adoptive father, Mr. Briney

Archie, Shelly, and Matt are basically siblings, they met as children and lived alongside/near each other up until they did their respective studies.

Maxie grew up and lived in Fallarbor town, his mother is a businesswoman that visits every month, while his father is a local street chef. He learnt how to cook some really good recipes but his cooking skills are limited to those dishes.

He was at one point Courtney's brother figure, he kind of still is but both are a little too caught up on work to properly hang out like they did.

Tabitha is the most emotionally intelligent of the magmas, he’s the HR guy with a psychology degree.

as much as he doesnt want to show or admit to it, Maxie has a mischievous streak. He's capable of making logically and morally questionable decisions (as seen in games). Most of the time he's prepared with an elaborate excuse, though.

Archie's cheerfulness is genuine, but he's got a lot of spite and real cold bitterness in that heart and if he feels like its necessary, he will let you know.

Archie has little spice tolerance, Maxie found out about this when he cooked for him at some point in the past

Archie and Maxie share an interest and taste in jazz, especially instrumental ones. Archie learned to piano at some point in his school life, and Maxie is decent at the violin

They met pre-college. That three-four month break before attending college was absolutely bonkers for them and you can say they had a pokemon adventure of their own

that point is when they grew their teams, became pretty damn good trainers, and became good friends.

They got together a few years into college

due to some unprecedented events a good 4-5 years into work (like age range wise about 27-28ish) and differing opinions on how to move forward from said events, they broke up. For the better, allegedly.

Maxie's love for ground types, similarly to Archie stems from loving his hometown and the place he grew up in. Yeah its dry and hot and somewhat unfriendly but it's familiar. Also Numels are just cute.

Archie can drive a boat, he's got a good intuition and can basically predict weather, mostly based on observations of how the wild pokemon are acting. He also has a pretty good grasp on memorizing places and usually can tell where they are in the ocean.

Archie has little to no memory of his biological family, but he eventually understands tgat he's most likely from pacifidlog, and that it doesn't really matter because he's got a perfectly good dad right there.

Archie and Maxie had to deal with long distance at some point, back when they didn't have advanced Pokenavs with good signal tech. Because they think it's kinda fun and sweet, Archie and Maxie communicated through letters. Peeko delivered them.

Maxie dresses masc in a way that he kind of only has two modes: Asian father and Business work man. He can have a sense of fashion but he barely explored that front and at present time prefers to be more practical.

Archie on the other hand is more creative and explores several styles. He sticks to blue most of the time, though.

[waynes-multiverse]

Holy shit, I LOVE this idea!!! 😍

I'm so giddy to destroy everyone's hearts after I've built them up. 😈

Oh, I totally get that 😂🫶 Kinda the best part about writing (and being an evil genius).

I've actually been talking to Alex about it but there's a slight fun time element to this series (part of it is set back in the 50's, part modern day).

Omfg yes, hop into the 50s!!!! Because I remember it all too well! It's gonna be perfect 😭😭❤️‍🩹 Get in there, girl, before Kripke destroys all our visions with canon when Vought Rising comes out. Literally why I decided to finally do TAT 😂

Who doesn't love a good little killing spree thrown in with their romance? I want to bend that boy's moral compass until it practically snaps and this is such a devious way to do it!

You're describing me and my dark, twisted heart 🥹🖤

Can you give any more insight on Fresh Out the Slammer if you're up for it?

Hell yes! I basically had this idea in my head since 2020 when Evermore came out and I wanted to write something with ivy & tolerate it in mind, but never got around to it till Fresh Out the Slammer kind of finalized it?? Anyways, Dean and reader run in the same friend circle but don't have much contact and only have these little chance meetings over years (she was in Sam's class in HS, they meet at parties and gatherings of friends, she is a reporter and sometimes interviews Dean when there was a fire etc.). Throughout all of it, she's in a (toxic/abusive) relationship, but as time passes, Dean notices these changes in her – how she becomes more withdrawn, quieter etc while everyone else around her doesn't. Since you know the songs, I think you can see where I'm going with this 🤓

Wip Tag Game.

Oh why thank you @justwhisperingfantasies and @chevroletdean for tagging me on this! Always a fun tag game to tease these WIPs lol. Since the last time I did this in March, quite a few of those stories have been posted. Some are still to be released, and there are a couple of new ones too! 💜

Dean Winchester x Reader

✦ If I Stay (Epilogue dropping this Sunday!)

✦ Serendipity (drabble set in the Smoke Eater-verse)

✦ In Veritas

✦ Doppelganger

Soldier Boy x Reader

✦ I've Got You (another story for the Break Me Down-verse)

✦ Unravel Me (series coming in May!~)

Beau Arlen x Reader

✦ Over the Bridge (Part 2)

✦ Sleeper Deluxe

Russell Shaw x Reader

✦ Breaking Point (Parts 3-5[?]) - in the Every Second Counts-verse

Eomer x Reader

I keep pushing these back to make room for other fics. Sorry about that. 😅 Again, both of these are set in the same world of As Tradition Dictates:

✦ A Subtle Invitation

✦ Not Only For Duty

No pressure tags: @luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato @waynes-multiverse @supernotnatural2005 @rizlowwritessortof

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

[degenerateshinji]

li tianxi in my more painterly style + lu guang inplick colour study !!

[dxoxlinq]

ends off 2023 drawings w/ strawberry and her bestie who is (used to be) a war criminal ^_^

(close ups !!!!!!!!!)

[tianhai03]

damn. new interest who this (it's arthur morgan)

[psilliguykai]

“Under any definition of the word!”

Happy Valentine’s Day to those who celebrate, and happy regular Friday [or I guess Saturday now?] to those who don’t! Admittedly a little late - I was hoping to get this out on the 14th but was busy doing special Vday stuff [eating a horrendous number of cupcakes and planning what a magical girl anime starring our friend group would look like with one of my friends :]].

A bit of background/extra yapping under the cut:

This was mostly an excuse to draw Pink Whole-

Consider this the start of a new series uhh . thing ! I put out a poll a while ago asking what color people thought of Whole as [just out of curiosity, wasn’t planning anything at the time] and it was wayy more eye opening for me than I expected. I always just kinda assumed he was orange or yellow or brown, but getting a bunch of people saying pink/green/rainbow/etc. and hearing the reasons was super cool and interesting.

So !! I’m going to be doing my best to do a drawing featuring a Whole/Harmonia of each color people put in the notes on said poll. Admittedly also doing this partially because Whole has recently overtaken Mind as my favorite out of HMSW [I still love him and will be drawing all the Mind designs from that one post as well !! Just. Alongside this ^^] and I want more excuses to draw him lol. So uhh expect more Whole art soon[-ish] :3

[clottedscream]

“it’s just a warmup sketch,” i say to myself. “i’m just gonna warm up on shading and coloring. i’m just warming up on anatomy.” my spine crackles from sitting in shrimp stance for 2 hours. “just to warm up.”

[themissingnumbers]

[missing numbers is a project that is very dear to me which i take VERY seriously. anyways apparently caramelldansen came out on november 2nd]

[cauls-antique-pepperbox-pistol]

As promised, here is me dressed as Caul. Yes, in my bathroom.

I have a few more things, but I am hiding them under the cut because 👉👈

First is me with my 7 feet cardboard Caul. Second is, believe it or not, also part of the final result (it’s the blue stuff. I put it in there with some multiple effect). Third is the backside of the bow (very proud of that) and last is just something silly I made cause tbh Caul was probably my trans awakening (I do not use tiktok btw)