#but the draws have still been getting a lot of support thank u

[pillowenvelopchair]

That’s what she holds onto. A life—an eternal one—with someone else as Lord. Someone true of heart. Quick of mind. That’s the dream, right there. And all she has to do is clear the way.  - Chapter 26

Another swrd art… what a surprise lol. go check it out guys! (i will never stop preaching about it)

hi @un-local how r u on this fine afternoon

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne

[bbluefllame]

I love your UA Touya so muchhhh!!! If you don’t mind, can you write down UA Touya HC’s!!!🤍🤍

U.A touya hcs !!

note: I was gonna save this till I finish all my other reqs but I decided why the fuck not 😭 also thank u for loving my ua touya!! he's officially my everything‼️ also also!!! this is a sugar spice and everything nice universe<3 everyone's okay here ‼️

- nepo baby I have nothing else to say, you've def went on multiple trips w him and his family (ur basically the 5th child for them). His bday gifts go so hard and he's like "yeah yeah whateverrrr" while blushing if u hug him!!

- he's a super heavy sleeper. Like normal touya is a menace while sleeping, ua touya is double that and it's scary I fear him. Sleepovers always end up with you going to sleep in the guest room cs the mf won't stop moving, kicking, snoring, and talking (and occasionally shouting)😭 instead of js "no I don't do that." he'd go "huh don't remember doing it so it didn't happen. 🤷‍♂️" obviously you don't remember you were sleeping mf.

- he gives his all in training (esp cs he has support gear), training w him is like a full-on battle it's a fucking struggle to hold him down, but also he'd be the best training partner you'd ever have. He would NEVER and I say NEVER take it easy unless you ask him to, if he gives it his all he wants you to give it your all.

- loves SWS and PTV, has been forced into piano by Rei as a child and kind of liked it, he probably likes classical music bcs Enji played it alot as well and it helps him focus while studying. OVERALL incredibly into music and could talk abt it for hours (you probably have listened to him rant abt music for 2 hrs straight before)

- is a failure in the kitchen no questions asked, he asked Fuyumi to teach him how to make soba once, 10 minutes in he starts scratching his head going "uh huhhh got it" (HE DOES NOT GET IT!!!!!)

- loves chemistry and math, don't ask why he just does also he gives off good at drawing without trying?? like he's a natural, all the art teachers adored him!!!!

- Shoto and Touya are so silly tg. Touya rolls his eyes and pouts, shoto copies his big brother even if he doesn't know what he's doing😭😭 Touya does something remotely cool and Shoto's looking up at Touya with sparkles in his eyes like "THATS MY BIG BROTHERRR!!!" while clapping (this is when shoto is a lot younger ofc not when he's 15‼️ he still adores his big brother at 15 tho)

- touya pretends he hates how close you and shoto are but the mf adores it and thinks it's adorable and sweet!!

- natsuo and touya are gossipers. Except Touya has all the dirt and Natsuo gasps while nodding his head, after all of that they RUN to Fuyumi who tells them "At the end of the day, we shouldn't talk about people." while sighing as if she isn't noting it down in her head to run and tell it to her bsf ‼️

- you can't tell me he's not putting his hand on his head whenever he's flirted with and going "WTF DO I DO!!" and if it's you (even if it's joking and through text) he's sitting on his bed giggling at 3 am and then panicking internally before acting nonchalant and texting "ew"

- he does get girls and guys tho, he's too pretty to not have bitches 😭 he just doesn't know what to do with the bitches ‼️‼️

- loves abandoned spots, he forces you to go with him even if ur scared while you're going "bro there's a ghost I'm telling you" he's like "what is it gonna do?? eat you??" While rolling his eyes or sumn😭

- you best believe if he feels sumn though he's running for his life, like he could be on par with Iida bcs of how fucking scared he'd get he's shooting his fire behind him and RUNNING!! in the end it's probably a spider or sumn and he's like "pfff I knew that!!!"

- has some sort of rivalry with Keigo even if he didn't do anything ALSO you showing interest in keigo just makes the hate 10× more intense he tweaks the second he sees you looking at keigo.

- he swears up and down left and right that he hates roblox but he LIESSSS!! you could find him 3 am on dress to impress arguing w kids about emo vs goth cs mfs don't know the difference

- on the topic of roblox, you, shoto, and him probably play it once a week tg (shoto chooses the game 99% of the time)

- whenever he's anxious or sumn he just goes "cool yeah coolcoolcool" cool is the most overused word in his dictionary trust (he just kinda reminds me of jake Peralta in the vocabulary department..)

- makes sure shoto memorizes the lyrics to hot and cold by Katy perry just bcs it's funny to him (it's so stupid), there's a dance number and everything TRUST!!!

- 4 am in the morning, rei has walked in on touya on his knees doing the emo hand move thing while singing with a comb.

- HE TURNS THT SHIT OFF SOOOO FAST WHILE COUGHING AND COVERING HIS FACE

- rant to him all you want, he might not understand but he'd listen ‼️‼️ (the second he hears of any mistreatment he tweaks)

- during the sports festival he's burned keigo's feathers multiple times (cough cough reference)

- sorry everyone but he IS one of those "Oh you like sws? name 5 songs." God forbid he sees a preppy nirvana t-shirt, he'd burn it in the store and run away

- he's actually pretty touchy when he's comfortable, like pinkies wrapped tg or hand around ur shoulder just has to have a hand on you at all times ‼️‼️

- overall awesome bsf, awesome brother, and would be an awesome bf!!

okay I'm done now it's 2 am and i gotta sleep hope u like this anon !!! 😔😔 (soz for making this so long)

[clowns0up-felix]

Hey! I just wanted to say that I absolutely love your drawings ! It has so much life in it, and I don’t know how you come up with those amazing designs for Link but they’re incredible! I never have enough imagination, lol 🥲😅. Seriously, what you do is so great that I’m at a loss for words… Anyway, I support you wholeheartedly, so keep up the amazing work!

Also, if you don’t mind, I’d love to know how you manage to create such dynamic poses and expressions in your drawings; I always struggle with that, haha.

Aaaaaa,I know I’m talking a lot, but are you still working on “Reversal of Fate”? If so, I’d love a little drawing of Link, if that’s not too much trouble 🥺☺️. But if you’re too busy, that’s totally okay too! 😊

WAAAAHHHHHH!!! Thank you sooo much this really means a lot like actually 🧡🧡🧡🧡 I love your art it’s so nice to look at and I get super excited when it pops up on my feed!!! (I especially LOVE ur sksw Zelda and Link designs ^^)

I also value the reversal of fate link fanart you did so much,,, 😢😢😢 Your support means sooo much

I feel as tho ur art already is so fluid and fun so idk if this is actually gonna help u much :( but if it does in any way then yipeeeee !!

Something I wanna add for improving posing (or anatomy, it really helped me with it) is doing figure drawing! There’s great online websites with models that u can sketch and just get better at doing good posing quick :D Or using reference in general,,,, my art is so messy tho, there’s so many better artists you should look for help to haha IM SO SO SORRY IF THIS DIDNT HELP AT ALLLL

About reversal of fate, yes I am still working on it!!!! I haven’t been posting about it because there are some lore asks I’ve gotten that have been kinda intimidating me so I’ve been quiet about it ehehe

Here’s some rof Link (right one is a sneak peek at a piece I’m working on which I’ll probably post in like so long from now bc there’s so much I have to work on urghhhhhh) ;)

Thanks for the lovely ask 🧡

[hyolks]

Hi! I'm loving the designs for your FMA cowboy AU, especially Al's! I was wondering, would he have any sort of speech impediment from his lower jaw being metal? It sounds like he still has his teeth, palettes, and tongue, but what about sounds that need both lips, like M, B, and P? Just curious if he'd struggle with those. Love your art!

thank you sm!! :") al's design has been both really fun to parse out and also a nightmare. thank u for this question this is getting me to tackle the things i hadn't particularly thought out

heads up! intense injury cw!

initially what i had for Al was that it was just his jaw was replaced with some scarring along the right side of his head and neck. my initial drawings actually didn't incorporate any neck connection but the most recent times ive drawn it it's extended to the neck bc tbh that makes more sense to me, idk what i was thinking originally. theres no additional support for the automail jaw. what was i THINKING.

so a little more than half of al's jaw is actually missing. he's got automail for the right side of his jaw, a replacement for the TMJ and some jaw muscles, as well as extending a bit further down his neck for muscles that impact movement. the jaw that we actually see (that's similar to the armor in fma) is a cover for wiring protection, and it extends over to the other side of his face both for balance and for aesthetic purposes

al retains his upper lip and at least a portion of his lower lip. he's missing up to his lateral incisor on the right side of his lower jaw, and he still has his tongue. his jaw's range of motion isn't super extensive, and is also constrained due to scarring on his face

i think al would have similar issues that come with TMJ irritation/TMD. some ppl with tmd mention sounding like they're slurring or mumbling, as well as speaking slower to articulate better.

since he's still got a portion of his lower lip, he'd be able to make p, b, m, v, f sounds, but they're a little more whistle-y. same with s and z

his normal speaking voice would be pretty soft, hoarse, and a little wheezy. people mistake him for mumbling a lot. he tries to move his jaw as infrequently as possible, so it often sounds like he's speaking with his teeth together

thats about all of my thoughts so far!! feel free to send in any thoughts/corrections!!! :")

[be-my-ally]

I wouldn't tell you no lie

innocent reader x elvis request.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis (’68-71 elvis described; as in the pics below)

warning: 18+, 18+, innocence kink, first times - reader gives elvis a handjob - with the promise of more in the future, and is kissed for the first time. 

summary: innocent reader has been very sheltered but is now on tour with Elvis, she’s never been allowed to even look at the body of a man but accidentally walks in on Elvis changing and has questions - questions that Elvis is only too happy to answer. 

wc: 4.2k

I watched girl happy three times while writing this for absolutely no reason; title is from ‘cross my heart and hope to die’ so that’s probably suggested listening. 

also while I have everyone's attention I just wanted to say thank u to everyone for being so lovely + supportive with my silly little fics + a thank u for 200 followers!!!

You nod at Sonny on the way in, who offers you a slightly mischievous grin in response as you walk past. You wonder what kind of set-up you’re walking into; the boys, well, men, but boys, were known for their practical jokes and you had been jumped out at more than a fair few times. So you’re tense when you walk into the hotel room — Elvis was expecting you, or so you thought, and you were surprised when you walk in and you’re the only one in there, not even Elvis to be seen. But as you look around, ducking to check under the bed just in case he was planning on trying to scare you, you suddenly hear his voice from the bathroom, singing in the shower. It’s gorgeous, and not at all rushed, you can hear him repeating verses and changing the scale and pitch as he goes. You consider if you should just leave at this point; you’d only wanted him for a quick question about the arrangements for tonight but who knows how long he’ll be now. But then you think how weird it would be for him to know you were here but had gone before you had the chance to talk to him. So instead of leaving you plop yourself down on one of the couches to wait. 

You glance around the room — it’s a lot nicer than yours, and although it’s probably one of the smaller rooms that he’d been put in recently it’s still pretty large. Just the one room rather than a suite; a large king bed and dressing area on one side of the room along with a tv facing the bed, and a full living area — complete with couches and a coffee table at the other end. You’re considering what to tell your mama when she rings this evening; since joining the tour you’ve had to …amend some of your tales of your days to her, knowing that some of the antics that go on would be enough for her to demand you come home immediately if she were to find out. But you’re not a good liar - you have to plan what to say to her. 

Elvis walks out of his bathroom, towel slung low around his hips. You gape at him from the couch, twisting to peer over the back at him; looking at his still damp and glistening chest and arms, his hair wet and slicked back, off of his face, pink from the heat of the shower — which you could feel in the steam that escaped through the open door when he emerged. There didn’t seem to be much point to the towel as barely a moment later he was throwing it aside, peering in the closet to find his clothes while completely nude. He doesn’t notice you sat on the couch waiting for him, and you hesitate to draw attention to yourself now - you’re blushing and mortified at what you’ve just seen; the behind of a man’s naked body. Wet and pink, the movement of his muscles as he bent over; his ass — the only reference point you had was in comparison with your own; his looked much firmer and solid, or with statues you’d seen in textbooks; his looked softer, but not too dissimilar. You’re trying not to stare, you know you shouldn’t even be looking, but you also can’t help that your curiosity is getting the better of you. 

You’re mentally debating what to do and what your options are when he turns around again, and before he spots you, you spot it, hanging gently between his legs and you can’t hold back your gasp. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen one in real life, even the anatomical sketches in textbooks often being taken out of your hands by your over-zealous mother, it wasn’t something girls like you needed to worry about until you were married; she wasn’t risking that you were going to become one of those outrageous free-love hippy types. You struggle to even name it in your head, euphemisms coming to the forefront and your brain has to scream — be an adult, it’s just a penis, at you as you struggle to think beyond childish words. Despite this thought running through your head a glance is all you’re allowed - your gasp having alerted him to your presence. Immediately his head swings up to look at who’s in his room. He goes through phases of extreme body shyness and body confidence  - often depending on his weight, but at the moment he’s fit and healthy and keen to show off. So he doesn’t immediately go to cover up, but you can see his brain whirring thinking of the insult he’s about to shout at whoever he thinks it was intruding; Jerry maybe, he’s never far away, or Sonny from outside.  However, upon seeing it’s you he swears, grabbing the towel off the floor and wrapping it around his hips again. You know you should have immediately looked away, but you couldn’t help but continue to stare as he moves, as it moves with him, until he’s all covered up again. 

“Goddamn, honey, give a man a heart attack sat all quiet like a mouse there like that.” His voice is quiet, but amused, and pulls you away from where you’re still staring at his now towel-covered crotch. You stutter through an apology; 

“Oh, uh, oh, I’m so sorry, oh gosh - sorry! So sorry!” He laughs, and you’re distracted enough now to look at his face. It doesn’t help a whole lot, you’ve always liked how he looks - you’ve always thought he had kind eyes and a smile that made your tummy tingle but with how he looks at the moment, his cheekbones so prominent and his sideburns starting to accentuate his face even more you find yourself thinking that you like this iteration of him an awful lot; perhaps the strange feelings from your look at him a moment ago have preoccupied your mind too much - you’re suddenly unable to think of much else but how handsome he looks. You blush even harder than you were before - you can feel the heat rising off of your cheeks. 

“Give me a second hon,” and he disappears into the bathroom with his clothes again, you’re shielding your eyes when he comes back, both out of embarrassment and concern that something similar may happen again, “S’ok baby, I’m decent enough now.” He smiles at you, and you lower your hands to see that he was, indeed, now fully dressed.  He’s put on one of the drawstring shirts he’s been so fond of recently, the top loose and open - the hard line of his chest peeking out of the large open collar. But you were at least used to the sight of that; it had shocked you at first, but now you’ve been around for a few weeks you had grown used to it. He’s buckling a pretty gaudy belt on top of his fitted, slightly flared, black trousers as he walks out. He’s acting as if nothing had happened - continuing to go about his business putting on cologne and his jewellery, necklaces now hanging down in the open collar. He looks back at you through the mirror on the dressing table that was at an angle, allowing him to see you still peering over the back of the sofa. 

“What did you need honey?” You’ve always found yourself a little giggly around him, a little desperate for his attention and you’ve always understood that was partly because he was so attractive, and partly the force of his personality. But now, knowing what he looks like underneath his clothes has, for some reason, made your mouth go dry as you look at him. You try to recall the reason you were there but it had completely escaped you, and rather than answer his question you had to ask a burning one of your own -

“I came to see if you, if you wanted - El, what - what was that … between your legs?” He pauses. Staring back at you in the mirror, 

“What do you mean? It was my dick baby,” You gasp, but you’re pleased to know that your earlier thoughts had been correct. 

“Is that - that’s what they look like?” He’s shocked and he turns around to face you, properly, but he’s also smiling like he’s just heard an amusing joke.

“Well, some of ‘em are quite a lot smaller, but yeah it’s pretty typical looking, for… for an unc-, no yeah it’s pretty typical.” He looks down, and you can see him thinking about something but he doesn’t expand any further, crossing his arms and leaning against the table. 

“So, do you not… you don’t have a kitty like I do down there?” He frowns at you, shaking his head, he’d thought you were playing with him a moment ago, but now he’s not too sure;  “Like at all?” He laughs, 

“No honey, no, uh that’s uh - that’s how boys and girls are different - you got a set of holes in your kitty, and we got… we got penises and uh, balls.” You nod, you already knew that, of course, but you hadn’t known it was just one or the other - you’d always assumed that men just had, extra equipment to yours.  You start to think of things to say to change the subject, satisfied to finally understand the difference between men and women, before a thought pops into your head that you have to ask while you have him in front of you and willing to tell you things others never did. You wrinkle your nose asking; 

“Well then … how d’ya pee?” He laughs, coming towards you and sits down on the couch next to you while he thinks of how to respond, 

“What do you me- do you think you pee out of the same place?” You nod, of course. He laughs at you, his eyes crinkling as he shakes his head,

“Um no sweetheart, You uh, you have a separate little hole; gonna have to get you a mirror and have you take a look baby - but I, well I pee out of a little slit at the head.” You don’t believe him — you know where you pee from, and it’s the same place that gets wet every now and again; otherwise what is that? But you’re too distracted by his own anatomy. 

“Like - like a mouth?” You’re aghast, dreaming up a horrifying looking image. But he laughs, 

“No, no - not, not quite like that.” 

“Well then I don’t know what you mean, I’m sorry, I just, I just can’t picture it.” His gears are turning in his head and he stays silent for a moment before saying, 

“Would it be easier to understand if I showed you?” On the one hand your mother had always told you not be alone, or naked with a boy unless you were going to get married, so you should say no. On the other though you were so curious. And really this seemed like information you should know as an adult! So you nod, 

“Oh would you!” You watch as he swallows, his adams apple bobbing - almost as if he was nervous, but he couldn’t possibly be. He starts to unbutton the trousers he’d just a moment put on. He pauses when they’re undone, as if he’s considering if he should take them all the way off. In the end you stare as he shoves them down to his knees, stops and then steps all the way out. You get to look over at him again, this time much closer.

When you reach out with one gentle, tentative hand and brush your fingers over it, he jumps as if he’d been hurt and you pull your hand back as if you’d been burnt. “No, no, baby it’s fine - go on, you can touch it.” You don’t want to hurt him, just for the sake of satisfying your curiosity, but when you looked up at him he’d smiled encouragingly at you, reassuring you enough that you reach out again. You gently skim your fingertips over it again, you’re fascinated by how it seems a darker colour than the rest of his skin, the strange feel of the simultaneously silky but wrinkled and soft but taut skin. You gently wrap your hand around it, feeling the strange mix of hard and soft and its heated temperature. You squeeze, gently, and brush a finger over the head. Where you can see, just behind, a little wrinkle of skin has left it exposed and shiny where it was half-covered before. Elvis had been desperately trying to remain silent and still but with that move he can’t and he lets out a high-pitched moan. You snatch your hand back, he’d sounded wounded. Apologising profusely, 

“Sorry, sorry - Elvis, sorry, I didn’t know, didn’t know that would hurt you, sorry! I, uh, I’m so sorry you can, you can put your trousers back -” He interrupts you, bright red and blushing, but his pupils blown wide and lips red with where he’d bitten them, as he quickly attempts to reassure you; 

“No no, no I’m fine darling. It feels too good s’all. It’s just, you’re making me feel so good baby, so good.” You frown, uncertain - it doesn’t look like it’s feeling good, it looks hot and sore to you. “I promise, sweet thing, promise - you can put your hand back on, if you - do you want, want me to show you how to make me feel really good?” You’re still not sure, and he continues, pleading, “C’mon baby, my pretty little yittle baby - you, you know you are right? My baby, my little girl, you gonna make me so happy?” He looks down at you, earnest eyes meeting your wide ones. “Gonna show you how to do it? How ta, how ta please a man? Please me? Treat me nice; let me show you how to help me?” You couldn’t deny his desperate pleads anymore and you nod, steeling yourself to try again, reminding yourself you weren’t hurting him, you were helping him. 

“I, I - ok, but you hafta, you hafta tell me how El, I can’t - I don’t wanna hurt you or anything like that.” 

“You won’t, you won’t baby, just, just wrap your little hand around it, there,” He smiles encouragingly at you as you do as he requests; nervously wrapping your hand around and rubbing it up to the tip. You stroke a finger across the shiny pink end and stare, fascinated, as a bead of thin white liquid forms at the tip. You gasp, pulling your hand away when your finger accidentally touches it. 

“Gosh, it’s leaking! Oh ew Elvis! — don’t pee on me. That’s disgusting!” You shake your hand, holding it away from you. He’s quick to grab your wrist before you can wipe it on the couch, correcting you, 

“No, no, no, baby it’s not, it’s not pee. It’s uh, it’s… it’s what makes babies, darling, but this little bit of it is, it’s the same as why you get wet down there. Bet your little panties are clear through right now.” You blush, how could he know that you sometimes, unknowingly, seemed to wet your pants, 

“Elvis - don’t, it don’t happen often enough for you to accuse me of peeing my pants,” his laugh in response is strained.

“No, no, baby, it’s not pee, it’s slick baby - it’s saying … that your little kitty wants something in it … wants someone to touch it.” He pauses, suddenly realising that he’s your only point of reference for any of this — “but you mustn’t - not ’til you’re completely alone, or, or, with me - you understand?” You frantically nod and he continues talking, satisfied he’d impressed that upon you sufficiently; “and it's making that because it wants to make it easier for a uh, for uh a penis to go in there. That’s how babies are made sweetheart.” You frown, 

“My mama always told me you got given one from the church where you got married - you prayed hard enough and it got put in your tummy like Jesus and Mary,” he smiles, 

“I think your mama was very smart - tryin’ to keep you innocent but I swear… I promise I’m tellin’ the truth.” For some reason, you believe him. And he can tell, moving your hand back onto him, the thin sticky wetness cooling on your fingers; 

You stop, a hair’s breadth away from touching him - looking up at him, “So, uh, so - if we’re alone I can, you’ll let me touch myself too?” 

“Of course honey, of course, I’ll even touch you myself — but right now, I need you to move your hand a little, ok baby? Think you can do that? Just gotta listen to me, ok?” You nod, suddenly determined to show him that you can take instruction. Your hand trembles as you reach it out again, and he tucks it under his own fingers, firmly but gently placing it back onto his length. You’re again surprised at the heat, and how it somehow seems to have firmed up even further.

He directs your hand, his palm on the back of yours, both in pressure and movement. You feel him jerk underneath your palm and you can’t help but jump in slight surprise, 

“S’ok, s’ok baby, just feels good. Tha-tha- that’s just right darling.” It doesn’t take long before his hips are stuttering, and you’re starting to understand the motion and technique that makes him groan in pleasure. He grips the back of the sofa over the top of you, releasing your hands and caging you in between his arms; it puts you at an awkward angle, and you wriggle up to get onto your knees. It puts your head back near his chest height rather than directly facing his crotch and, though you were fascinated by what was going on, you were slightly relieved at the distance. Now that you’re in sole control you feel free to experiment to your heart’s content, twisting your hand and stroking a gentle finger down to his tip. You watch as a thin stream pulses out at the feel of that, and he lets out a little cry; 

“Don’t, don’t tease me baby, s’not nice, not when I’m bein’ so kind - lettin’ you learn like this. Showin’ you what ain’t seen ‘fore.” You nod, feeling slightly chastised even at his soft words, and return your grip. You giggle, suddenly thinking that in some ways it reminds you of milking a cow. All this tugging and twisting. He groans above you again, begging - 

“Can, I, sweetheart - can I kiss you?” He cups your cheek with one of his hands, distracting you and pulling your eyes up to meet his. You nod, whispering agreement, and you think frantically for a moment if you should warn him - tell him that you haven’t done this before either but before you have the chance he’s cupping your cheek and bending over capturing your mouth in his.

You press your lips to his, and he responds in kind, but a second later you’re shocked when he opens his slightly, suckling on your lower lip. He pulls it back a tiny bit with his teeth and you whine at the little sting, but also at the sudden butterflies springing in your belly. You don’t know what else to expect, and go to pull away, but his hand cups the back of your head, holding you in place so you’re forced to breathe through your nose and let him continue. Your hand squeezes involuntarily at the action and he falls even closer to you, pulling you so that your arm is sandwiched between you both. He pushes his tongue against yours, and you can feel his little smile when you catch the hint, letting him push it into your mouth. You feel awkward, uncertain what to do with your own tongue, and you don’t know where you should be looking - he’s got his eyes closed but you can’t help but watch his face - stare at the arch of his nose and his long lashes. You melt against him as his tongue continues to map your mouth, not even realising that you’re chasing his lips wherever they move or that you’re making tiny little gasping noises. It feels weird but certainly not something you’re opposed to, now you’ve felt it, and you certainly are getting pleasure from it, little zings going straight to your core as he brushes over your teeth and cheeks. He pulls back for a second, panting, 

“Was that - have you done that before?” You shake your head, and his hangs forward, chin resting on the top of your head, groaning. “Lord, baby, what I wanna do to you.” You twist your hand, where it was still holding him, although slightly forgotten in the heat of the moment that had just passed, and he moans again, his head lifting to fall back the other way. 

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He’s gabbling approval at you, and you somehow continue touching him. You narrate to him your actions as you do, feeling and hearing when something felt particularly good to him. 

“Is that right? You like this? Is it better if I do this?” And you swipe your thumb over his head — he thrusts forward, his hand that was still cupping your head coming down to clutch at your shoulder. 

“Just, almost there, I’m almost there. That’s it baby, doin’ so well for me. That’s it, oh god, that’s it.” He’s constantly talking, and you can feel his eyes watching you now, so you bring your other hand up, feeling around to the strangely soft and silky skin just behind his cock, you stroke that, while the other continues its ministrations. That seems to be enough to send him over the edge, as a moment later his hips stutter, and he yells out a curse as a milky stream spurts out of the end straight into your palm. You hold him through it, uncertain of what else to do, and you’re not sure if that’s all you need to do so your hand stays there until he whispers, 

“S’ok little one, that’s me done. For the moment, that’s - uh, that’s not, that's not what you think - that’s babies there in ya hand.” You look up at him shocked, before looking back at your palm, suddenly panicked that you might have to be a mother now. 

“Babies?!” He chuckles, 

“Yeah, hon, but they don’t - they don’t grow unless I put ‘em in you.” You breathe a sigh of relief, “They don’t… you don’t only do that for the babies to grow though, it’s uh, its also because like what we just did - it feels good.” You nod, it’s starting to make an awful lot of sense, but you’ve still got that feeling in your tummy and his earlier accusation was right - you could feel your wetness now; although you’re far less ashamed of it now that you know it wasn’t pee. You squirm, and he strokes your face, just a single finger down your jaw, looking down at you before turning to put his trousers back on. He’s buckling up his belt, and you’re still sat there with the pooling ejaculate on your hand, it looks kind of similar to that thin icing, like your mama used to put on her pound cakes. And you’re tempted to have a tiny taste when he turns to grab something off of the side, but when you run a finger through it you’re put off by the texture, and the reminder that it came from him. He turns back to you, talking again and distracting you from your study. 

“That’s all there is to it, baby - now you’ve seen me and you know. Know how to pleasure a man with your hands and the truth about babies - ain’t that a lot of learning for one day.” You’re about to ask if he could show you what he meant before, since your pussy was, with this heat and wetness, apparently begging to be touched. But you suddenly, as you wipe your hand on the handkerchief he pulled out from somewhere, feel quite overwhelmed. Maybe another day. Kissing and touching was more than enough for the one day. You stand up, as if to leave, and he rushes to you, 

“No, no - what’s all this;  I can see it on your face. Don’t you go worrying your pretty little head about any of it, ok baby? I’ll, I’ll show you what you need to know - don’t you go worrying ‘bout any of it.” You nod, you want to disagree but he looks so earnest and true, grown-up and handsome, that you can’t do anything but agree. “You’ll come to me if you have any other questions, right honey? ‘Fore you go anywhere else right?” He’s speaking authoritatively, like he’s giving you an order, and you can’t do anything but accept his words.  

“Ok - El, ok. I’ll come to you - promise.” 

[clownmoontoon]

HEYO LOVELIES!! \OUO/ <3<3<3!!! ive been itching to try a new art schedule i came up with so i dont end up drawing one character for two years straight again LMAO not that theres anything wrong w that ofc! its been fun! ;u; theres just SO MUCH on my "to draw" list im excited for and wanna get to work on and i think thisll not only make it easier for me, itll make it more fun for YOU! :D and to add a bit more consistency to my posting so its not 10 posts in a week and then months of nothing LMAO HELP from now on ill be posting on...

i may be working on a long form comic or animatic etc stuff that probably cant be finished to my liking in a week's time so the wednesday posts may be new photosets/edits etc of past art! either way ill be posting on wednesdays and following this schedule for my art from now on til i focus in on one of my specific stories! ((this doesnt impact how i reblog here or post to my patreon btw this is just for my art posting here specifically! ^^))

AND THE SCHEDULE WILL LOOK LIKE THIS! \OUO/

🤡MOON!! - anything off my draw list that stars my mascot, sona and fave oc MOON !! you've prob seen this rainbow, twintailed, fangy nonbinary clown monster around my blog at some point GET READY FOR MORE!! COMICS AND LORE AND ILLUSTRATIONS!! ITS CLOWN TIME BBY!! >:oD

🌈FANART - my fanart list is a MILE LONG LMAO and im so excited to dig into it!! lots of mini comics, long form comics, animatics and one off pieces scripted and planned!!! also if u followed me for a specific fandom chances are theres LOTS more of that coming!! theres so much on my list that, even after the hyperfixation passed, im like YEAH I STILL WANNA DRAW THAT

😈OC (not moon lol) - its about time i show off my other ocs who have been a bit neglected by me artwise ^^; I THINK ABOUT THEM ALL THE TIME THO!! HONEST!! AND IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY SHARE THEM AND THEIR STORIES W ALL OF YOU!! \QVQ/

🌈FANART (diff from prev!) - to keep myself from drawing for the same piece of media over n over in a row THIS fanart will be from a different piece of media than the last one i drew!! if i have multiple small ideas i wanna get out fast i may throw them all into one ⭐️Super Post⭐️ with illustrations and comics all contained! this isnt to say i will never do same media fanart again ofc, just not back to back!

AND THEN I !!!

I START BACK AT MOON! :o) im sO SUPER EXCITED TO GET INTO THIS LIST AND IM ALREADY TWO POSTS IN!! WOO!! LETS GOOO!!! RAAAHHH!!!! 🔥🔥🔥🔥

LOVE U GUYS!!! \QUQ/ THANK U ALL SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT THUS FAR!! I HOPE U LOOK FORWARD TO ALL THE NEW STUFFS!! <3<3<3!!!

[nothorses]

(anon u linked all those videos for) thank you so much! ill definitely check kut those videos but just reading ur posts and personal opinions/analysis on it has helped me feel a lot better. i just saw a dem politician on fox news (my dad watches it) saying basically the same thing, that hes happy he stepped down and they have a chance now. im glad to know that the stuff that ppl are sharing that has scared me are probably just blackpilled "trump is inevitable at this point" ppl ive been trying to get off my dash every time they pop up. again thank you so much for patiently explaining things so well and all the videos!!! hope u find a dollar in ur pocket today 🙂

That's awesome, I'm glad to hear I could be a little encouraging!

I would hesitate to say that everyone who's afraid about it is "blackpilled" mostly because I think a lot of folks just aren't very aware of why he chose to step down, and draw the pretty reasonable conclusion that stepping down this late in the game will mean a scramble to replace him and shift voter support to a new candidate- which could jeopardize the election for Democrats.

And I do think that's a reasonable conclusion to draw, because it's what I saw people saying about the possibility of Trump being disqualified over the criminal charges he's been facing, like, a year ago: that the best possible outcome of that would have been that he'd be disqualified too close to the election for Republicans to get any energy behind a new candidate.

The difference in context is that most of the support for Biden in this race was just support for the Democratic party; or in a lot of cases, support for anyone but Trump. The support for Trump, on the other hand, is support for Trump specifically. Trump brings a lot of voters in who wouldn't otherwise vote at all, which is, to my understanding, why so many Republicans who disagree with him still throw support behind him as a candidate.

If Trump dropped out (or was disqualified somehow), Republicans lose a lot of voters who were only showing up to elect Their Guy. Biden dropping out means that the voters who were only gonna vote for Biden because he was the Democratic nominee (which was where most of his support was coming from) will vote for whoever the next nominee is anyway, and Dems now have a chance to pick someone who will draw in more voters who weren't feeling motivated to vote for Biden, but who would be willing to vote for a Democrat that inspires a little more confidence (and there are several candidates to choose from that fit this bill!)

Which is just to say that I think it's understandable that folks just are not aware of this context, and are just using the information they do have to make what would otherwise be pretty reasonable guesses. I'm definitely surprised by how common that seems to be, just because I guess I don't notice the water I'm swimming in, but I really hope the narrative will shift as more folks get curious about what this means and start to learn/educate each other.

I hope you find five dollars!!

[dirtcup]

Hey guys. I just want to say I rly appreciate all the asks and stuff and I'm glad u like my book. i'd like to be more active and stuff and give more updates on FUGUE but in January this year I got covid and since then i have been struggling w CFS/ME issues and it's difficult for me to work and do things now, so I don't know what will happen in the future. I'm really glad people like my work I just want to explain why FUGUE may not be available in print again for a while.

I would like to continue to sell it myself and/or I have also talked to silver sprocket about what to do with it but rn I am just kind of struggling so idk what will come of it for now.

Thank u all for supporting me anyway. i am still writing/drawing FUGUE, I am just working a lot slower than before. I am getting close to having another chapter done. I will see what happens.

[chunklet]

heyyy hope you’re doing well, are u still into fnv?? really wanted to see more arcade from u but no pressure 😷 hope u don’t take it as a bad thing!!

Hi! yes i still like fallout very much ive just been really busy w the zine and commissions and school and i got a JOB. which was the worst decision of my life dont ever get a job. Especially not in fast food idk what i was thinkign. But now ive committed so i have to work here for at least another 11 months. Anyway hopefully I'll be able to draw and post a lot more art after the zine is out and especially over winter break... Thank you for your support regardless here's a benny from 2 months ago

[mushiewrites]

Got Your Back

Hiya! So I’ve had this fic since last September, I wrote it for @emmadoodlewrites when we both went insane for tickle machines and made up a few in a flustered frenzy. I recently rediscovered this fic and shared it with @wishitweresummer, who encouraged me over and over to upload it. So, I reworked it, somehow added 1K words, and here we are. Thank you @awkwardtickleetoo + summer for reading this through for me and for hyping it up and making me want to post it! (and thank u cal for the title ur a genius). I love how it turned out, and I hope you do too!

After George confessed his love for tickling to Dream, he decides to make him something special in support. Dream gets curious, and before he knows it, he’s stuck

(lee!Dream / tickle machine : 3.6K words)

Dream had always been curious. Everyone who knew him was aware of this fact, mostly due to the blonde getting himself into trouble because of it. Whether he was exploring new places without a map or tinkering with things he shouldn’t, he was used to things backfiring. But he didn’t really mind. He much preferred taking the risk in favor of trouble in order to learn everything he could about anything and everything he was interested in - including people.

Another thing Dream was known for was his generosity. Gift giving was absolutely one of his main love languages, and he constantly used it to show his friends and loved ones just how much he cared for them. Dream was thoughtful, always collecting things that reminded him of specific people and being so excited to give it to them, relishing in the way their faces would light up at the unexpected gift.

Recently, George had revealed some very personal information about himself with Dream. A few weeks ago, while sitting underneath an oak tree in the rain, George had told Dream his thoughts and feelings on tickling - about how much he loved it, and how much he adored the feeling of it. He told Dream how warm and safe the action made him feel, sputtering and whining through it all. It took some much needed coaxing and reassurance from the blonde, but in the end, George got it all out. Dream was there to support him through the whole thing, wrapping him into the biggest hug he could while showering him in praise.

Immediately after George had left that day, the cogs in Dream’s brain began to turn. He was set on creating things to show George that he didn’t have to be embarrassed about his secret adoration for tickling, wanting to make him something special and just for him. Dream spent many nights hunched over his crafting table drawing up blueprints, feeling like a madman whenever he came up with a new contraption to torture George with. After coming up with a few solid ideas, the building began.

It started with a small tickle machine.

It was around the same size and shape of a normal backpack, and designed to sit against the back the same way. There were eight retractable arms that sat over the shoulders, ribs and sides, much like how a koala would cling onto a person. The arms were designed to be able to perform the meanest of tickles that George could handle (or not, but that wasn’t Dream’s problem). The ends of the metal rods were covered in small rubber nubs, molded to glide expertly between ribs, to skitter up and down squishy sides, to poke and prod against sensitive stomachs - the possibilities were endless on someone as ticklish as George.

The machine was still in the prototype stages, but it was ready to be tested to make any final adjustments. He planned on waiting until the next time he was with George to test it, wanting to see how the machine worked on the smaller boy and hoping to find ways to make improvements. But the longer the device sat idly, waiting for its first victim, the more Dream’s curiosity grew.

So he decided to test it himself.

After a lot of pacing and contemplating, he walked over to the chest in the corner of the room where he kept the machine, opening the lid and chuckling nervously when he saw it. It looked like some kind of giant upside down bug, with the legs curled in on themselves while in the ‘off’ position. Dream lifted it from the chest, holding it in his hands and inspecting it while the butterflies in his stomach erupted into a whole new wave of panic. It took a bit of self convincing but he finally decided that yes, he was absolutely going to test this now. What George didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Dream let out a nervous giggle as he pressed the little green power button on the middle of the machine, reaching around and holding it against his back the best he could to try and secure it. He struggled with the positioning, taking a few steps back until he felt his heels hit the wall. Dreamed leaned against it, using the wall to help hold the machine in the correct spot and allowing the arms to finally extend out and over his body, clinging on and tightening to hold itself in place. The blonde watched in amusement as the arms reached over his shoulders and hugged around different parts of his ribs and sides, settling down after a few minutes and becoming still against him. He smirked to himself, happy with the way the machine was working so far.

Dream jumped forward with a yelp as the arms began to move, pulling him from his thoughts and bringing his attention to the new sensation that was spreading across his torso. It was only the first stage of the tickling, Dream having set different settings and stages for different tickling speeds and techniques. But even at the lowest stage, it had Dream doubled over, squirming against the wall as the ends of the metal arms pressed lightly against his ribs. The drew small, slow circles into the bones, pulling strained laughs out of Dream even as he tried his hardest to hold them in. He didn’t expect it to be this bad, but it was, and all he could think about was how much this would get to George. Through his panicked giggles he cheered at his success in making a functioning tickle machine.

The arms slowed to a halt, giving Dream time to catch his breath. He stood back up on his feet, turning around to face the wall and leaning his forehead against it with a groan. He closed his eyes as he continued to take in deep breaths, smiling at the thought of George screaming and squealing having to endure this himself. Suddenly the arms sprung back to life, digging in with a little more pressure at a quicker speed. Dream was thrown into loud cackles almost immediately, pushing off the wall and throwing his head back, his arms pressed as tightly as he could to his sides in an attempt to block out the tickly feeling.

“Ohoho my Gohohod, fuck! Thihis is bahahad!” Dream knew no one was around but couldn’t help but narrate the feeling. It was just so much more ticklish than he ever thought it would be, and it was only the second stage. He clenched his fists tightly, his eyes still squeezed shut as he let out a wheeze through his laugh, hiccups and high pitched squeals following closely behind.

The arms that rested over his shoulders were prodding into his top ribs, just below his armpits. They dug in slightly, vibrating over the bones every few seconds and making Dream feel weak in the knees. The other three sets of arms were poking into his ribs and sides, moving slightly every time they lifted up and touching down, always tickling a new patch of skin to keep him squirming. He leaned forward as he cackled, trying his best to stay standing as he laughed himself silly. He couldn’t remember the last time he was tickled this much - in his defense, he couldn’t really remember anything anyway with how fiercely the machine was tickling. Through it all, though, he did have one consistent thought; it tickled, and it tickled bad.

Dream gasped for air the minute the machine came to another pause, his giggles remaining as the metal arms stayed pressed against the bones of his ribs. He couldn’t shake the ghost tickles that had his stomach doing somersaults, even when he used his hands to rub the areas around where the arms were resting. The blonde found himself giggling helplessly, deciding he’d done enough testing for one day and reaching back in an attempt to power off the machine. George could try out the more intense settings the next time he stopped by.

But as Dream felt around blindly for the power button, he realized he couldn’t reach it from this position. He opened his eyes in a panic, quickly looking around on the table beside him for anything he could use to help reach it.

“Shit. Uhm….” Dream was mumbling under his breath as he searched through different tools, eventually giving up and turning around to gently press against the wall behind him to try and successfully hit the power button. But it was no use, and the familiar sound of the machine whirring to life echoed through the room once more.

Suddenly the arms were digging into his ribs and sides, only this time, the bottom set of arms made their way over to his very sensitive tummy. He let out a shriek as they vibrated into the pudge of his lower tummy, between his belly button and the waistband of his pants.

“No no nahahahaha! Fuhuhuck, plehehease! PLEHEHEASE!” Dream wailed, feeling the second lowest set of arms moving over either side of his belly button and pressing in, vibrating again, but at a much faster pace than before. He doubled over once again, his back arching off the wall before leaning over with his elbows to his knees, cackling towards the floor with his eyes squeezed shut.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the top two sets of arms began seeking out even more sensitive spots on his very ticklish torso. The lower of the top two sets found their way to the back of Dream’s ribs, a spot he had programmed purposely to fuck with George. He cried out at the feeling, never having been tickled there before and realizing how absolutely torturous it was. The top set framed themselves perfectly to wiggle their way under Dream’s arms, sending him flying back against the wall with his arms crossed over his stomach tightly.

“Nohoho, oh fuhuhuck, stohohop!” His knees began to wobble and he allowed himself to slowly slide down the wall, only stopping when he hit the ground with a thump. Dream pulled his knees up as much as he could, attempting to try and protect himself from the tickling but finding that it only further pressed the arms into his skin. He quickly straightened his legs out against the ground, kicking as he grabbed fistfuls of his pants, needing to hold onto something.

As the tickling continued, Dream fell to the ground on his side, turning onto his back and rolling back and forth a few times to try and hit the button against the floor. The third set of arms moved a little closer on either side to his belly button and he squealed, thrashing and squirming and kicking out as much as he could. No matter how much he pressed the machine into the ground, no matter what angle, it was no use - Dream was well and truly stuck.

The tickling finally stopped, but Dream couldn’t stop laughing. He was overwhelmed with the vibrations from the ghost tickles, still feeling the tingly circles and pokes over his torso as if they were still happening - even in the spots left untouched. He heard a noise from across the room and opened his eyes quickly, almost choking on his own breath as he saw George standing in the doorway, whose cheeks were bright red with his jaw dropped to the floor.

“G-George! I cahahan-”

“Dream?” George interrupted, his blushy cheeks somehow also appearing to be drained of all color as his eyes focused on the machine still wrapped around the blonde. “..What is that?”

The younger boy opened his mouth to try and explain, to try and make any excuse he could, but was cut off with a loud cackle when the machine clicked back on, the arms back in motion and making him scream.

“Noho not again! Nohoho plehehease! NOHOHO!” Dream let out a squeal that bounced off the walls of the room, startling George with the force of it. The older boy ran over and kneeled next to the blonde, trying to figure out what it was and what exactly was happening.

He watched with wide eyes as the metal arms poked and swirled and vibrated against Dream’s torso, focusing on his ribs and under his arms. The blonde let out a scream when the machine began to pick up speed and the bottom arms moved, making him arch up against the ground before falling back down against it, writhing and kicking as he did. Dream’s hands were wrapped around the bottom set of arms, pulling as much as he could to try and dislodge them, but finding it useless. George’s eyes trailed down to where they disappeared under the blonde’s shirt, moving a hand to grab the bottom of the fabric to slowly pull it up. George felt his face burning up as he saw the two bottom arms tickling at Dream’s belly button - one circling around the edge as the other pulled at it, occasionally dipping in and making Dream cry out in ticklish agony.

Dream swore he saw stars from how hard his eyes were squeezed shut. He knew he was screaming through his laughter, yet everything sounded muffled. His senses were on fire. The arms of the machine were sinking into every sensitive spot with precision, and with the two taunting the small indent in the center of his tummy, he thought he might seriously pass out at any second. His face was hot, and he could hear George talking to him and saying his name, but he couldn’t focus on anything else besides how horribly everything tickled. He attempted to open his eyes, but he was laughing so hard that his cheeks were keeping them squinted, blurring his vision and making it essentially impossible to see. Dream had no choice but surrender to the tickles, throwing his head back and letting himself laugh as much as he needed to.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him onto his side, and suddenly he could breathe again, taking in gulps of air and gasping through his cackles. George had managed to find the power button, finally freeing Dream from the ticklish hell he had been enduring. The brunette was carding his hand through the blonde waves, adjusting the two so that Dream’s head was resting against his thighs.

“Thank you, ohoho my God…” Dream managed through his left over giggles, turning to lay flat on his back as he draped a hand over his chest, letting out a deep sigh when he felt how fast his heart was beating. His eyes were still shut but he could hear the brunette laugh from above him, feeling his hand being moved from his chest and being replaced with one much smaller than his own. Dream moved his hand back, laying it over George’s and holding it for comfort.

“What even was that thing?” George asked hesitantly. Dream could sense the nervousness in the elder’s voice, opening his eyes slowly to adjust to the light and allowing them to focus on the brunette. George’s face was closer than he expected, making him giggle when George realized and pulled back quickly, clearing his throat and looking away from the blonde. Dream watched with a wide smile as George’s face grew an even deeper shade of red, clearly flustered at the situation he had walked in on.

“Well,” Dream spoke through his teeth, grunting as he moved to sit up slowly and cracking his back before turning around to face George. “You were nice enough to trust me with the whole tickling thing, so I wanted to do something special for you!”

Dream laughed as George physically cringed at the mention of the dreaded word, turning his attention from the blonde once again and looking down at his lap, picking at a loose thread in his pants to distract himself as he continued.

“O-Okay, and what? You decided you wanted to torture yourself to relate, or….?” He let out a squeaky giggle when Dream scoffed at the accusation, squirming to the side when a poke landed on his ribs.

“No, idiot. I actually made it…for you. For fun for us, but I was also thinking about it for the times where I can’t be there to help, you know?” Dream spoke gently, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing and reaching behind him to pick up the small machine to hand to George. He watched as George’s face continued to turn a bright red, biting his lip to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape to try and remain calm, knowing how embarrassing the subject was for the brunette.

“Dreeeeam,” George whined, holding the machine in one hand and bringing his free hand up to cover his face. “That’s…that’s just…”

He was struggling to find the words, torn between wanting to scream out in embarrassment, and wanting to cry because of how lucky he was to have someone like Dream supporting him. The younger boy giggled at the response, leaning forward and pulling the smaller boy into a hug. He smiled when he felt George lean into him, letting out a shaky breath as Dream used a hand to rub up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re welcome, Gogy.” Dream smirked, feeling George hide his face into the crook of his neck, whining about how much of an idiot he was. He let George pull away after a minute, using the floor to push himself up onto his feet and leaning down to offer George a hand. The brunette accepted it, grabbing the bigger hand and laughing when Dream yanked him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

“I have a feeling this thing is gonna absolutely destroy you, Georgie.” Dream teased, poking at the machine and giggling when George turned his hips to prevent him from touching it. He noticed the elder’s blush had spread to the tips of his ears, the light pink color slowly turning a lighter shade of red the more flustered he became. George rolled his eyes at the blonde, hugging the machine to his chest as he spoke.

“Well, it sure did destroy you, didn’t it, Dreamie?” Dream made a move to walk towards the door, George suddenly stepping in his path and making the two almost collide together. He felt his own stomach flip at the question, taking a small step back and bringing a hand up to run through his hair as a way to cope with the nervousness he suddenly felt.

“I don’t know about that, but-” he tried to excuse the accusation away, but George was having none of it. He got a sudden wave of confidence, and mixed with his normal cockiness, Dream was doomed.

“No no no, you’re not gonna act like that didn’t just wreck you to pieces, Dream.” The blonde felt himself swallow hard as George took a step forward back into his space. “Which is kind of questionable, actually, because why would someone subject themselves to such torture if they didn’t like it? Care to explain?”

“N-No! No, I-”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” George held up a hand, slapping it over Dream’s mouth when he opened it to protest. “You wouldn’t have tried it if you didn’t think you’d like it at least a little bit.”

George removed his hand to let Dream answer, bursting into bright giggles when the blonde pressed his lips together tightly, his cheeks burning up and turning a dusty pink.

“I don’t!” George laughed at the way Dream was immediately defensive, not having any real excuse to offer other than a denial.

“Don’t worry, Dream. Your secret’s safe with me.” The older boy poked a finger into Dream’s tummy, making him jump back with a squeal. When he looked up again, George was walking towards the door, laughing as he went. Dream groaned, looking down at his shirt and bringing a hand up to his stomach, rubbing out the lingering tingles that George had left behind. He heard the door opening, looking up and being met with a very menacing smirk.

“Just to let you know, I absolutely will be using this against you. Watch your back, Dream. Your very, very ticklish back.” Dream felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched George flash him one last smile before turning to step through the threshold of the door with a wave, closing it lightly behind him.

Dream walked over to the crafting table, leaning back against it and letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He sat down on the stool next to him, letting his head fall into his hands with a flustered whine, giggling to himself at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

When the flustered feeling finally passed, Dream was back on his feet, scribbling over blueprints of other ideas he had, making little improvements and upgrades as he worked. Dream decided he needed to up his game. If George thought that machine was mean, he decided to show him just how bad it could get. Dream was about to create George’s worst nightmare. Dream was determined to make George cry.

And he had just the idea on how to do it.

[crabbarts]

Rolls up my sleeves. Heres some blorbos for the bingo

LL: Anisa, Sage, Felix, Rime

Ojamajo: Doremi, the Queen, Ran 🤧

Might ask for a few more l8r but these are the ones I'm most interested in off the top of my head hehe

Rolls up my sleeves with u...thank you for the blorbos!! I had some energy to draw stickers for the bingo boards today so I hope you enjoy :3 sadly I only got bingo for one character, but it was a double for Ran!

Some additional thoughts:

Anisa: I love her smm but after learning about her original route pre-rewrite, I feel as though there was def some missed potential with her route, besides being half finished. So I would take her out of the source material only bc I want more of her :''

Sage: what it says on the box 🤧 no extra comments but I kinda miss him </3

Felix and Rime: I don't have a good recollection of Felix's route + he's not my favourite LI, but idk he's still a compelling character that I think had some missed potential, same with Rime.

Doremi: She's so darling, best magical girl protagonist ever <33 I would say she was treated fairly for the most part but near the end of the series, Sara and I did notice a growing number of instances where the other girls weren't as supportive of doremi as we might've hoped, or teased her when it wasn't exactly appropriate, so I think the writers could've laid off on some of that. It wasn't as bad as the way the inner sailors bullied Usagi, but it had a similar feeling, hence why I thought her character could've been treated better/gotta get her out of the source material/other ppl do not understand them (besides sara @evanox of course). I also get annoyed when reading about ship discourse re: her and Kotake because he's such a godawful kid and I just want doremi to live her best life eating steak 😭 10000/10 Doremi best girl

The Queen of the Witch World: Sadly only a few of these bingo options applied to the queen,, I almost didn't want to choose the *biting them* option because I thought it'd be impolite for such an elegant lady,,so yeah, not a lot to say about her in relation to these bingo spots, but I do enjoy thinking abt her story pre- and post- canon :3c

Majo Ran: OUGH my girl,, there's a reason why Ran is my discord pfp, she's so dang cool and handsome,, I don't have any issues with her character, I just have beef with the writers who decided Ran would be a one-off character, they only mentioned her ONCE after her appearance in Sharp, and that was a throwaway line at the very end of Dokkan 😭 Regardless, I loved that one ep we had of her and would've loved to hear more abt Ran's adventures on earth, both as a child and after she was banished from the witch world.

[adorawritesalot]

yo. hi. mh boys w a streamer s/o?:)

hello everyone, excuse my sudden disappearance:( i have really important exams coming up and i barely have time for myself between studying!! promise i'll get better at writing regularly afterwards🙏

anyway, thank you for the submission! sorry i didn't send you the preview, it's your ask anyway:) love u tomi!!!!!

Alex:

To be honest, he seems like a streamer guy. What do you think he was doing for almost a year before he called Jay again? Streamed Minecraft or something (imagine it was possible back then for me, please).

Anyway, he would be so supportive. He is your #1 fan (but wouldn't say it outloud).

"Hey Alex, I've been thinking about buying this Stream De-" "TAKE MY MONEY"

Would kill anyone who says it's not a real job, because he sees the work you put into it, the tears from receiving hate, and the inevitable happiness it brings you.

If you asked him to join you on stream one day, he would almost piss himself.

"ME??? On stream??? With my FAVOURITE streamer??? YES!" In a teasing voice, but he is secretly overly excited.

Jay:

He is very happy for you when you start becoming famous, because he sees how happy it makes YOU. He loves seeing your dreams come true in front of his eyes.

He would get you the best camera the world has to offer. Is there not a good enough one for your pretty face? Fuck it, he makes it.

A sweetheart when it comes to making you feel better after a hate raid. Draws you a bath, orders your favourite food (he cannot cook for the life of him), cuddles you in bed.

If you asked him to do a stream with you one day, he would gladly agree. He would be nervous at first, but then he would just goof around and you both would have a great time.

Brian:

He would like to just watch your streams while he works on his line delivery or something. Your voice soothes him, and that is exactly what he needs.

Would beg you to do one of those "I gave my viewers 500$ to spend on Amazon" streams. Then you reminded him that you would actually have to have those 500$. That shut him up pretty quickly.

Sometimes you think your chat likes him more than you. When he occasionally comes into your streaming room in the middle of a stream with food, your chat starts spamming his name and various versions of greetings.

One "Hey chat!" and a grin later, he is now playing with you next to him. Be ready for more streams with him! He really enjoyed it and chat did too.

Tim:

Tim wouldn't really get why you are willingly putting your face (or just yourself as a person) out on the internet. Still, he would be very supportive. He always is.

Would sit with you in your streaming room. He loves your voice.

Reminds you that you don't have to do this job if it mentally drains you after every hate raid. He is very protective of you, and he wouldn't want to lose you to a bunch of jerks on the internet.

You talk about him on stream a lot, so chat is, of course, clamouring for a boyfriend stream.

He eventually agrees, but he doesn't yet know what he's gotten himself into.

It's a cooking stream. And you basically just do what he is telling you to do while looking at eachother cutely. Beware of the edits!

[serenescribe]

ell, i hope ur request is still available??? lol but im submitting a fic idea for now-- its been laying on my art ideas for awhile but im just not sure how to draw it so im sharing it now-- (this ask is long T0T im sorry-)

so basically the story right now is Lilia's dream and I believe the point of this dream is having Lilia be on time to save Malenoa and Levan from the Silver Owls???

i read a lot of theories that Silver might overblot mostly from magical exhaustion from using UM but its also possible that he might overblot by just the mental stress of it all lol so i think the moment that he'll really snap is the moment he'll found out he's a Silver Owl.

u see, I'm kinda hesitant to support the theory that Silver is one of the Silver Owls (even tho its so likely TT)---

bcuz,,, guys,,, do you the impact of that twisted info??? it means that IF Silver is one the Silver Owls;;;; he's from the nation that destroyed the Land of Briar, the reason why Briar Valley is such a small secluded nation and hates humans a lot, the probably main reason why faes and humans are distrustful to each other, the people who murdered Malleus' parents, the reason why Malleus had to grow up in isolation, the people who killed Lilia's most important people: Malenoa and Levan (which we can assume the only people he can refer to as family), and the reason why his father is dying early and is falling out of magic because he had to exhaust all of it for Malleus to live because his ancestors killed his parents---- if Silver is from the Silver Owls actually, can he truly still have the audacity to refer to Lilia as "his father" knowing well now he's the root of all his misery?

He'll never meet Lilia if he's from Silver Owl/if Land of Briar won against them)-- unlike Sebek and Malleus who's family is tied with Malenoa and Baul

He's realizing that his existence to his father life was born from losing everything he had and he gets engulfed by the darkness

"because this is Father's true family…" Silver realizes as he looks at the expression of Lilia genuinely happy in relief that Malenoa and Levan was saved and the enemy is defeated and he'll never meet Silver anymore because his nation lost.

"We were never meant to dream together" (this is in contrast of Silver's UM's message; "let's share the same dream")

you. you are WICKED for this utter monster of a prompt. lian, i cannot believe you. i woke up, read it, and just couldn't stop grinning. i genuinely hope i did this justice. thank you for letting me write this!

The relief on his father’s face hurts Silver to the very core of his soul.

There is a celebration erupting around him, the chaotic, spontaneous festivities of a war long-won. Victory is theirs; the Valley has prevailed over her enemies, all human intruders either slain or driven out, the Silver Owls and their Knight of Dawn thoroughly suppressed.

And yet, as Silver lurks about at a corner of the room, back pressed against the dark stone wall as he observes from afar, all he can feel is a deep-rooted agony. There is a light happiness to his father’s face, so unlike the stern disposition of the general that Silver had gotten used to, having adapted to it despite how strange it feels to interact with his father in his callous prime.

Near his father is Princess Malenoa and her betrothed, the former carrying her egg in her arms. From where he stands, Silver watches as the draconic fae’s face creases as she laughs at a comment Lilia makes, the three of them enraptured in their own little world.

He bites his lips, heart aching as it thumps against his chest.

It hurts.

It hurts because Silver knows who he is, what he is now. He’s put it all together, uncovered all the missing pieces of the puzzle throughout his time fighting by his father’s side, hoping to wake him within his dream. There was an uncanny resemblance Silver shared with the Knight of Dawn, one that had struck him upon laying his eyes on the man. Even now, it makes him sick to his stomach thinking of the implications.

But appearances could be coincidental. There were many people in the world; surely some people were bound to share similarities in the end? And yet, there was another piece of evidence, one that had casted away any lingering doubts Silver had clung to, one that damned his fate.

Silver’s fingers close around the ornate ring in his palm, its necklace chain draped over the side of his wrist, swaying slightly.

He’d found the very same ring in the Knight of Dawn’s tent, when they’d ransacked it after a lengthy battle. It had been nestled in a tiny locked box that opened at his touch, and Silver’s breathing had stuttered to a gasping halt as soon as he laid eyes upon the tiny piece of jewellery — a perfect replica of the ring slung around his neck.

“Hey.”

The sound of a voice snags his ear, swaying his attention away from the cheerful face of his father — though does Silver truly reserve the right to call him that, after everything he’d learnt? Glancing to the side, Silver relaxes at the sight of Yuu shuffling over, standing next to him, their hands buried in the pocket of their jacket.

Silver dips his head at them. They smile weakly at him in return.

For a while, they stand there together, simply observing the rest of the room. Silver’s gaze flits around, from the thronging groups of fae celebrating their victory, to the sight of Sebek laughing up a storm with the younger form of his grandfather — an apparition of Lilia’s dream, but still an indulgence for the boy — until finally, they land back at his father.

“How’re you feeling?” Yuu asks, out of nowhere.

Silver exhales. “I… I am fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Mm. I don’t really think fine constitutes standing in a corner of the room like this,” Yuu points out with a shrug. “Isn’t now probably the best time to… what was it, try and wake up Lilia?”

It is the best time to do such a thing. And yet, whenever Silver considers the thought, eyes darting back to his laughing father, he hesitates. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of Princess Malenoa passing her egg off to her lover to lean over and wrap his father up in a warm embrace, lifting him off the ground as she whirls around in giddy joy.

The peaceful bliss on Lilia’s face is familiar to him. It’s an expression Silver’s seen many times before while growing up.

“...We can wait,” Silver eventually says, stifling a sigh. He crosses his arms. “It would not hurt to let him enjoy this a little longer.”

“If you say so,” Yuu hums in response. “Not that Grim would complain, I think. Pretty sure he’s off gorging himself on food somewhere, the little rat.”

Another pause, only permeated by the constant sound of festivities.

“...Something isn’t right, huh?” Yuu exhales. “I don’t really… know much about Hornton— um, Malleus, apart from what he told me, and… what I’ve learnt here.” They gesture at the room. “But I kinda get the feeling his parents aren’t exactly around anymore. And yet they’re alive, huh?”

Silver doesn’t even need to turn to know just what Yuu is looking at — the very much alive, not missing, Princess Malenoa and Levan chatting happily with Lilia.

“...Yeah,” Silver eventually breathes, voice weak. “They’re alive.”

Maybe— no, not maybe. It’s definitely better this way. How can Silver restore the status quo after everything he’s learnt throughout his father’s dream, of the wretched past that Lilia never told him about? His father looks so unbearably happy now, in this peaceful dream of a war won without the losses that happened in reality. Lilia had lost his closest companions, his childhood friends. He’d spent years presumably exhausting his magic, to take care of Malleus in their stead until the draconic fae finally hatched, because Malleus’ parents had been killed.

And he’d taken Silver in, despite the hue of his hair, the colour of his eyes — all little bits of evidence that should have clued Lilia in on his son’s true identity: a descendent of the Silver Owls.

A ragged exhale spills out of his mouth.

How can he look at Lilia now and call him his father? Silver is sure of it; he has to have been descended from the awful humans who ravaged the Valley and bled her dry of her resources, all before slaughtering the fair folk’s princess before her child could even be hatched. They’d been responsible for her bethrothed’s disappearance too, Silver is certain of it.

How can Silver have the audacity to think of Lilia as his own, when he is tied to the root of all his father’s misery?

And to make matters worse, in such a selfish, wretched way that it makes him feel sick—

Silver cannot stop thinking about how, in this other world, this perfect fantasy that his father supposedly longs for, he would have never found his son.

(Can Silver still call himself that?)

“SILVER!”

That familiar, thunderous voice startles him out of his swirling thoughts. Sebek frowns at him, hands resting on his hips. When had his friend arrived…? “We ought to get a move on with waking up Master Lilia,” he declares, attracting a few glances from nearby fae, chittering to each other about what Silver presumes is the sound of Sebek’s voice. “That IS what we came here for, no? And then after, we shall go and save Lord Malleus!”

“And on that note, I should go find Grim,” Yuu says, turning with a wave. “I’ll meet you guys when you’re ready to dream hop, Silver!”

Silver watches the human prefect depart, vanishing into the throng of shifting fae.

He bites his lip.

“Silver?”

Sebek’s voice is stern. And yet, there is a hint of what Silver knows is concern weaved into it. He glances back over at his friend, noticing the scrutinising arch of Sebek’s eyebrows, the way he inspects Silver closely. “What are you waiting for?” he demands. With a wave of his hand towards Lilia’s general direction, Sebek says, “Let us depart!”

“I can’t.”

Those two words spill from his lips before he can stop himself. Silver winces at the sight of Sebek’s eyes widening, pupils constraining at what he said, thoroughly taken aback. “What— Whatever do you mean, Silver?” Shaking his head, Sebek narrows his eyes. “Now is not the time for such foolish jesting—”

“I’m serious, Sebek.”

Silence. Sebek gawks at him, and Silver averts his gaze. His heart hammers in his chest, so loud he can hear it in his ears. He feels vaguely lightheaded. And it still hurts.

But it is precisely because it hurts that Silver is doing this, that he is refusing to wake his father up from his dream. What right does he have to do that, to disrupt such a wonderful fantasy, a world where everything turned out right for Lilia in the end? It would make him no better than the selfish, greedy humans who pillaged the Valley, killing fae left and right, and wrecking such havoc upon them all.

In the end, to wake Lilia up would be such an audacious, inconsiderate desire on Silver’s part. How dare he strip his father of the happiness he deserves?

Because, Silver thinks wistfully, gazing upon Lilia and Malenoa and Levan all over again, this is Father’s true family. It was never me. It is an epiphany that dawns upon him. And all of a sudden, everything feels clear.

(“Silver? SILVER!”)

Yes, this is the way it should be. Lilia should remain here in blissful paradise. Silver can move on, can take Sebek and Yuu and Grim with him — unless they wish to stay, of course, to which he wouldn’t fault them; he’s seen how attached Sebek is to his grandfather, after all. They don’t need to bother his father with the likes of their plans to save Malleus from his overblot. They can find other people instead!

(“SILVER!”)

We were never meant to dream together, Silver thinks wistfully. It’s like his focus has narrowed down to solely his father, everything else in his peripheral vision blurring together into a mess of darkness. But that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?

What sort of a selfish son would he be, to strip his father of his hard-earned happiness?

“SILVER!”

He jolts at the sharp sensation of a slap, lurching back to his senses.

The first thing he notices is Sebek’s face, contorted with such abject fear, hand raised in front of him.

The second thing he notices is—

The darkness, bubbling around him, sucking at his heels, clinging and sliding its way up his legs.

Hands wrap around his wrists, trying to drag him forward, away from the sloshing pit of inky blackness that claws at him. “Get OUT!” Sebek screeches, in part a furious demand, in part a desperate plea. But as soon as Silver stumbles his way to clean, even ground, the darkness slides right back in, nipping at his ankles, dragging him back in.

And yet, all Silver can feel is an overwhelming sensation of calm. There is a dull ache that throbs in his chest, one that sobs and wails and causes the darkness to clamber up his body even further. A single realisation makes itself clear in his mind.

He’s overblotting, isn’t he?

That’s the only explanation Silver can muster, the reason why the darkness has returned for him. It’s not reacting like it has in the past. No, this time, it’s surging straight for only him while ignoring everyone else in the room.

Perhaps he’d overexerted himself a bit too much. Perhaps he’d let his tumultuous emotions get the better of him.

What will happen if he stays? Will he lose control of himself? Silver exhales, a melancholic acceptance overtaking his soul. He knows what he has to do now.

And it is with his newfound purpose in mind that Silver pulls his hands out of Sebek’s grasp. He steps back, a sad smile on his face as the other boy stares at him. “ARE YOU INSANE?” Sebek screams, voice erupting through the air, dragging the room into silence. “SILVER, YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY THINK OF GIVING INTO THE DARKNESS!”

All Silver can do is hang his head, and take another step back. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs — and he truly is. But it’s safer this way, isn’t it? He can handle an overblot. He knows how to get himself away, so he cannot hurt anyone else any more than he already has.

And as Silver readies his magic, hands clasped firmly around the ring in his palm, beginning to murmur the words under his breath, his gaze flits around the room once more. From a panic-stricken Sebek to a distressed and frozen Yuu, Grim tucked under their arm, to the whispering fae backing away from the scene, until finally…

He meets crimson eyes that widen, a glint sparking within them, face contorting into one of realisation and pure fear.

“Meet in a Dream,” Silver whispers with a sad smile, raising his ring to his lips, breath ghosting along the glistening gem — slowly clouding over, losing its lustre and shine.

And as the general breaks away from his two closest companions, boots slamming against the stone floor as he sprints for Silver, one arm outstretched, the scream of a name emerging from his lips—

Silver allows his magic to tear himself away from this dream, taking him somewhere far away, where he can let the blot swallow him whole.

At the very least, as he loses his mind—

He knows his father will be safe and happy.

[3terna15unshin3]

hi!! would you consider writing a blurb where matty has the rahab conversation with este? like he sits down and really explains what it was like and how be struggles (maybe there’s some tears and este is super supportive and comforting)

love your work sm <3

Hi!!! thank u!!

I must say tho, I have very little knowledge on or personal experience with drug addiction and rehab, so i didn’t really feel comfortable writing anything more in depth just in caution of accidentally portraying it inaccurately or using insensitive language or romanticizing it in any way. since i do think it’s a bit odd and some ppl do cross a line when using his addiction as really intense and triggering angst😬😬😬

only sometimes tho! it can be tastefully done :) and i’m glad u requested it! anyway thank u again here it is hehe

(tbsg series masterlist) ((also please send me more requests i’m desperate))

warnings: mentions of addiction and drug use, angst

To stand it upright, Matty lifted the heavy metal to him and Este’s newest piece of furniture for their bathroom. He had spent the past half hour building the majority of the shelf, with Este passing him any tool or screw he was needing. Now that the contraption was standing, they only had a couple of stray pieces to get attached.

But before he could, his ringtone sounded. Este glanced at his screen and watched it flash ‘Frankie’ across the top. She racked her brain to think of if she’d known such a person, but it didn’t ring a bell.

“Just decline it for me, love.” Matty instructed after reading who was ringing.

She obliged and pressed on the power button to hang it up. “Who’s Frankie? Don’t want to speak to him?” She said jokingly.

He chuckled a bit. “Not that I don’t want to speak with her, maybe just not at the minute. I’ll just call her back later,” His wrist twisted a screwdriver to secure another slat.

“Oh, okay.”

Frankie’s a girl, Este digested. She thought it was a bit bizarre that Matty didn’t answer her first question, but rarely let her contextless thoughts develop into jealousy. Este’s nosy self was more eager to know what the call was about—regardless of who it was from. But she decided to leave it.

He threw her a smile and leaned all the way over to plant a kiss on the skin right in front of her ear. “Mind passing me that last screw?”

Este doesn’t mind, smiling back as blood rushes to the spot where his lips once were, while he silently continued building. When Matty glanced back at her, the shelf now complete, he could read the curiosity on Este’s face. So, he elaborated. And Matty didn’t mind elaborating when he was with her. Since he knew she’d listen.

“And Frankie’s a woman I met in rehab. We’ve kept in touch since so she calls time and again,” Matty explained, “She usually wants to talk something out, since she’s had a bit of a rough journey since treatment. Not a lot of family left. Whether it’s for advice or just for someone alike to listen. But I’m in manly-builder-testosterone mode. Didn’t feel like a good time to answer. Even though she does enjoy sharing what she’s been through and would probably love to meet you. I don’t want to unload all of her shit onto you. For your sake,”

“If her shit’s on you then it can be on me. I don’t mind. Your shit is sort of my shit too,” she said.

They burst into laughter as both of their eyes diverted to the toilet they sat next to, the ironic and gross sounding language making them giggle.

He stood back to admire the shelf that stood beside the sink, raising his hand to chew on the skin around his nails. Once his explanation was finished, his mouth stayed shut and slightly pressed. Eyes darting around the space to make sure everything was in place. Este could see that the topic was making his muscles a bit tense.

“Yeah, it is.” Matty agreed, still laughing at the poo jokes. The two of them started to transfer the various body and skin care products from the draws below the sink onto the freshly built shelf; in comfortable silence.

“I guess I haven’t really told you much about my recovery, have I? Rehab, and everything,”

“No, not really.” She shrugged, not wanting to pry.

Eventually the sink didn’t look crowded anymore, and the supplies that usually sat messily were organised. Having only recently moved in together, it was an obstacle to have to balance their belongings in the same space. So, Este sunk down to sit on the floor and lean against the wall to rest in satisfaction. They’d made good progress.

He copied her and they sat hip to hip.

“I spent most of the treatment I did in Barbados alone, believe it or not. There were plenty of nurses and doctors, but I was pretty isolated. That was until I met Frankie.” Matty tucked his knees under his chin. “I think meeting her was the first time I met anyone just as a human—no self expression, no signs of culture, no pre-conceived expectations, no representation of status. There was this insane level of purity within our connection. We were just two broken people,”

Este’s eyes didn’t leave his as he continued on. She listened intently and thoughtfully.

“But we were from the same road,” he revealed. “Not even just the same city, or town. The same road. Minutes of walking between where we grew up. And finding that out felt super emotional,”

His fingers fidgeted nervously, opening himself up more and more as he spoke. Matty found comfort in Este’s presence, though, and sought the feeling of her hand on the back of his neck or the in and out of her breath against his skin.

“Wow,” she whispered briefly, wanting him to continue. Este was fairly close, so the breath he craved grazed him ever so slightly as she spoke. It calmed him down.

“Since we’d been on the road for so long, and I obviously was having trouble coping with it, things had been so loud. Constantly. But I think the equine therapy, and meeting Frankie—it was the first time in ages things were quiet. And I really drank it in,”

She ran her hand up and down the front of his leg lovingly. “I’m so happy that you’re on the other side of that now. And that you had access to treatment that worked for you. That’s the hardest part sometimes,”

Matty nodded.

“The horses did do something, that’s for sure,” They chuckled together, “When we retire in like 40 years and move out to the countryside maybe we should get a couple. I’m a whisperer or sorts now, I think.” he suggested.

Este leaned her head down onto his shoulder, internally cooing at the mental image of the two of them growing old together. Maybe somewhere rural up north—near Manchester, to be close to family. She’d have a greenhouse and maybe grow fruits and veggies during the summer for them to eat. A couple of horses, like Matty suggested. Este had never met a horse in person, but she was sure she’d like them if he did.

“That sounds like a plan.”

He pressed his lips delicately to her forehead, dreaming of the same things that floated round in her mind. They lounged in silence—still sitting on the floor across from the sink and toilet.

“You know,” Matty started again, “I still have this dude’s number in my phone. He was my dealer here in London for a bit. I ran to him when I scored for the last time,”

There was a pained expression on his face, like he had to work through his own disdain for that time in his life before admitting it aloud. It shocked Este, realising that speaking about his addiction could be so heavy; since he was usually so open and honest about it to anyone who was curious. But this was different, as Matty dug to the parts of himself that he had learned to keep personal. He didn’t have to think twice about letting Este see them, though.

“It was early 2019. I’d been clean since rehab—and at this point I’ve honestly forgotten what brought me to the point of relapsing. But what I do remember is the morning after. I saw my mum and Louis. And it just broke me,” His sentences had long pauses between them and his voice broke over and over. The sound of it sent a pang through Este’s heart, the two of them immediately nuzzling closer into each other’s comfort. “The guilt was all-consuming. I was so ashamed knowing that I was hugging my little brother still strung out from the night before. Smiling at him while lying about being clean,”

Matty dropped his head into her lap, slow salty tears trickling onto her bare thighs. She wiped them away, hands lingering on his face since she knew he liked them there.

“Oh, Matty,” A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down. She spoke gently. “Can I ask why you still have his number?”

He thought about it for a second. “It’s sort of a reminder, I guess. That I have the power now. That if I wanted to call, I could. But I don’t want to anymore.”

Matty’s eyes looked up towards Este and they shared a bittersweet smile. He laid his hand on top of hers that still sat cupping his cheek, lifting it to plant a kiss on her palm and quickly setting it back.

“And I know that if I ever wanted to—even a little bit—that I’d have you there. To tell in a heartbeat. And the boys, and my family. We’d do anything we’d need to do. Together.”

And with their bottoms against the cold concrete, Matty picked up his phone to call Frankie back, fearlessly pressing the speakerphone button. Este interlaced her fingers with his, waiting for her to pick up, and their chests rose and fell in sync.

[littlestpersimmon]

You are one of my favorite artists of all time. Your mastery of color, pattern work, and character design is unparalleled. Your artsyle is wholly unique and distinctive. I'm completely convinced that if you lived in a western country, you would be a full-time, wildly successful artist. It's so tragically unfair that you're not afforded the same opportunities as we are here. I'm so sorry that things are so much more difficult for you. I hope that one day, the world gets to experience your art.

oh wow. this is intense! I'm glad you like my work. I really really try, and I often fail to see how ppl could possibly like my work because I keep comparing myself to other artists, I keep wanting my work to look like someone else drew them.. hearing that my work is distinct and that's why you like it..!! it means a lot to me, it's just the kind of emotional support boost I need to keep going.

the second part, breaks my heart. I just keep thinking to myself, that lately, a lot of people who aren't westerners are getting their stories told. like how Thai and Chinese authors who aren't Americans have been getting a lot of cool opportunities, and I choose to believe that more and more opportunities will come for ppl like me!!! arghh. I've been really pumped to get back on making webcomics, I'm terrified it'll flop or won't get support, but i don't wanna give up. I love drawing, I just can't see a future where I'm not making art!! so if you're still here.. thank u!!!!!!! i really hope we make it!!!!!