#didn't feel like cleaning the sketch this time

[egyptiangamer]

TWST fanfic: Braids (Yuu/Leona)🦁💙

Plot: Yuuma(my mc) asks Leona to braid her hair.

Enjoy! ♥️

Yuu scrolled through the photos on her phone, zooming in and out a couple of times to get a better look at them before sketching them in her sketchbook/diary. They were photos of Leona's braid, which she took during lunchtime. Why did she take these photos? To try to learn braiding.

She tried to do it herself, but it would come out messy with hair sticking out. The prefect thought that sketching them out might be some help. The only person she had seen with braids was so far Leona. Despite being someone who didn't care about his looks or tidying himself up, his braids were very pretty. It made Yuu wonder if he did himself or if it was one of the many tasks done by Ruggie.

However, little did the prefect know, a pair of green eyes in the shadows of the garden was staring at her. Leona. Being the elusive predator he was, he stealthily approached her as she continued to draw, unaware of his presence.

Leona's eyes moved to the sketchbook to see what she was drawing. They glanced at her phone screen before returning back to the detailed drawings. He wasn't really into art. But, the prince had to admit the prefect draws pretty good.

"Heh. Not bad. Did you actually get all that just by taking photos?" He asked her curiously as she continued sketching. "Yep. It helps sometimes when I have a good reference on me." she said absent-minded, not turning her head to look at him as she kept sketching some details.

Leona quietly chuckled amusingly at how she didn't panic yet that he was here. After that, Yuu froze, and her eyes widened when it hit her. Turning her head around to double check, she gasped and jumped to her feet in surprise, dropping the sketchbook in the process.

"Why are you sneaking up on me, Kingscholar?!" She asked him alarmed as he caught her sketchbook easily in his hand with ease. He just smirked at her more amused. Her reactions always kept him entertained.

"You know I like to nap here. Also, word of advice. Don't ever try anything sneaky with Ruggie around." he told her, and at that reminder, Yuu knew what he was referring to. When she took the photos, it was during lunchtime, and Ruggie was next to her.

His eyes then went to the drawing of the braids as Yuu looked down and her eyes widened. "Hey! That is mine!" She told him flustered, reaching to grab it, but he held it far from her reach.

"Heh. Not until you tell me why you took those photos." he told her, keeping it as high as possible since he was taller than her. "I was just sketching them so I could try to learn how to braid." she explained to him.

"That's it? Pfft. You can't braid your hair?" He asked her, poking fun at her as he moved the sketchbook to behind his back. Even he knew how to braid his own hair.

"I've tried, but it doesn't come out nice." she told him fustrated, reaching around his waist to grab it. However, an idea popped into her head as she looked at him with anticipation in her eyes. Leona's smirk fell, sensing the prefect had something mind.

"Leona. Can you braid my hair for me?" She asked him, making eyes widen and ears up in surprise. He was not expecting that question from her. "What? No way. I'm not a hairdresser. Find someone else to do it." he rejected, annoyed as Yuu still tried to get back the book. She pouted, annoyed, having a feeling he was gonna say no. Luckily, Yuu had her own tricks up her sleeve.

"If you braid my hair, I'll do something for you in return." she offered him, getting his ears perking at that. Yuu knew she had him. Offering him something in return will guarantee something. It worked before with the Octvanille adventure.

"What's in it for me?" He asked her, suscpious, lowering his hand for her to take the sketchbook as he eyed her. "Anything you want. Like clean your room, get ya lunch, or help you in the club. Whatever you want." she emphasized, eyes big with the hope that he'll do it. Leona thought about it for a while. Compared to Ruggie, Yuu didn't complain as much when doing the tasks.

Lying down on the ground cross-legged, he stared at her for a while. "Sit." he commanded, making Yuu smile. In Leona's language, that meant yes. She sat down in front of him as he started getting to work. He first removed the bow tie, letting her ponytail be loose.

His fingers gently ran down her hair to check for any knots or tangles in them. Surprisingly, he didn't really find much. 'Huh. Herbivore really takes off her hair.' he thought in his head until curiosity came to him about how soft it was. Seeing as her back was turned, he took his glove off quietly as possible and ran his fingers down her hair. His ears perked at how soft it was. It felt fluffy like the finest fur on a feline.

Leona quickly shook his head, wondering how he could let himself get distracted by something so small. He quickly got to work, twisting the strands and making the braid. Yuu found it a weird feeling, but she could tell he was surprisingly gentle with her. Like she was something fragile. Yuu felt her face heat up at the feeling and needed something to get her mind off it.

"You are surprisingly good at braiding. And here, I thought Ruggie did your braids." she told him teasingly. "What? Pff. I mean, sure, Ruggie does a lot of tasks for me. But I can do my own braids. I've been doing it since I was cub. Heck, I used to braid my mom's, Falena, my sister in law and even Cheka." he explained proudly as Yuu turned her head slightly to him.

"Wait. Your whole family has braids?" She asked him, curious about that. "Yeah. For lion beastmen, braided hairstyles are actually popular since they resemble a lion's mane." he explained to her, intriguing the prefect at that piece of information.

"Alright. Done"

He finished, setting the braid down her shoulder so she could see. Yuu was impressed at how long it was. It was clean and beautiful. But her blue eyes widen at what she at the end of the braid. A bright blue and white flower was tied at the end of her hair. Leona must've putted himself.

"Wow. This is beautiful, Leona. Thank you." she told him gratefully, smiling at him as he stood up. The lion turned his face away to hide the blush. She really was pretty with the braid. "Just remember, you owe me for this one. So be prepared for when I ask you for something." he reminded her, walking away. Yuu just shook her head smiling, about to admire the braid until she heard his voice.

"You look nice, by the way."

He complimented her genuinely before leaving, a soft smile on his face. Yuu blushed, surprised, but she smiled fondly at him.

[o0kawaii0o]

RACER NAMI 🏁

[portrait-of-a-moron]

I DONT CARE. ZUKO. IM TIRED OF STARING AT MY ART 😭😭😭

Hehhhehehhehrhee

[outeremissary]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

(this got terribly ramble-y. apologies.)

Ah, this is difficult. Putting self-deprecation aside, I've accomplished a lot in the past year that's been significant improvement for me in terms of visual art. I guess that I really like the Valentine's art? Which is good since due to a series of mishaps it wound up framed next to my desk (realized I had no safe storage for it that wouldn't smudge it to hell and back) so it would be very sad if I wound up hating it.

I really loved the Crystalhue art I never finished as well. The sketch was really cute and it had the most complex composition of any large scene I'd done at the time (and probably since).

And it's silly, but I did really enjoy the letter I wrote back to you. I always struggle with Balthazar's voice. It was a helpful exercise even if it turned out messy. I'm sorry for not continuing the chain better. But thank you for the opportunity despite my unsociability. Lately I've been doing other art that I really liked too, so I'm surrounded by cute expressions right now. There's a beautiful smile to my left and some terrible (affectionate) smirks to right. Hopefully I can finish things in a reasonable time this week to share :) It's been a long while since I last did sequential art, so I'm always excited even when it's simple.

Ah, and recently there was a lot of really good art with Vio (@mountainashfae's character, as always), so that's lovely. This was messy (and color made it messier) but I still like it because 1) it's cute and 2) I challenged myself a lot to try things I always wanted to draw but avoided because I just thought I couldn't do them well. Well, the omnipresent mistake hiding eraser speaks to the imperfection, but I'm still happy.

I'm seldom satisfied with what I make, but I try to see it as a good thing. I'm always growing, perhaps. My therapist thinks it's like living with a curse though. ^^;;

[jananabananawithnopeel]

Polin Album - 2- Worship of Penelope, also on AO3

Inspired by "Worship of the female form" Alméry Lobel- Riche

[luvly-writer]

Is it a Wonder I Broke?

Batfamily x Neglected! Reader

Author's note: I really did NAWT want to write a two parter but hey, I should have expected it with how much I write. I am so new to writing angst but I've had a thirst for writing and reading angst lately and I just NEEDED to cure it!!! ENJOY

Warnings: The Bats being kinda shitty, Neglect

Part 1 // Part 3

---

Damian was sure something was missing. He woke up that day and as he had breakfast, he had noticed something odd about Alfred. There was a certain sadness in his eyes that Damian couldn't place. None of them had gotten injured in last night's patrol. Jason's deathaversary (as he loved to call it) wasn't near. No one had fought, quite the contrary, he'd say this has got to be one of the weeks where they had best behaved and gotten along. Even Bruce and Jason were relaxed. So what plagued the man? Damian looked around the house and wondered what could be the problem. Maybe he was tired? Or Sick? That could be it. Sensing the young man's gaze on him, Alfred erased all emotion from his face and looked at Damian questioning.

"May I help you with something, Master Damian?" he asked with a raised brow. Damian inspected him thoroughly and hummed.

"You are different, Pennyworth" observed Damian and the butler gave the boy a deadpan. Nop, he's good, never mind. Maybe he was just thinking something unpleasant and it showed in his face.

And yet, the feeling didn't leave Damian. There was something odd in the house. Thankfully, it was Saturday, so he had the rest of the day to walk around and investigate. He had visited the gardens, and overseen the entirety of the first and second floor, yet nothing came to mind. What the fuck was wrong in this damn house?

He had decided to empty his mind in the art room. There, he spent the rest of his afternoon sketching a portrait of some plants he had seen in the garden. His 16th birthday was soon approaching and he really needed to get some new art supplies. The ones he had were old and very worn out. As he finished, he noticed the time and realized he had spent the majority of the day in the art room. He had gone to clean his hands and headed to the cave to suit up, hoping tonight's patrol would clear his head. What was missing?

So into his thoughts, Damian hadn't noticed the rest of his siblings down at the cave suiting up as well.

"Hey, Littlewing! What's got you looking so constipated?" Asked Dick with a hint of humor in his tone.

"Have any of you noticed that the manor feels rather odd?" he questions as he suits his boots up.

"What do you mean, bat brat?" Asked Jason raising his eyebrow.

"The manor, it feels….odd. As if something is missing. It feels emptier and I can't help but ask why. Not only that, have any of you noticed Pennyworth looking….strange lately?" He questioned and the group fell into silence, all thinking of his observation.

"Now that you mention it, Alfred has been looking a little tired lately. Like, you know, as if his age is kinda showing." Tim recounted

"And he has had this sort of sad glaze in his eyes" Steph added.

"It's not my deathaversery, I can assure you that" hummed Jason.

"And no other impacting date is near, so what could have caused him any sort of discomfort?" Asked Dick.

The group looked at each other, clueless about what could have caused their beloved butler and grandfather to feel odd.

"You don't think he might be sick and is hiding that from us?" Asked Duke

"But why would he be sad about that?" Barbara question.

Plagued with the heaviness of confusion, none of them noticed the patriarch of the family arrive all suited up and looking at them.

"Is everyone ready?" sounded Bruce's deep voice snapping everyone out of their thoughts. They all nodded still a little bit distant and lost. Bruce, not wanting to push his kids, nodded and clapped his hands to gain their full attention. "Tonight we have a slow night as it seems. Everyone has their patrol route, let's hope that we can be already finished by 2. Everyone, dispatch.

It was a relatively slow night. So much so, that it had allowed them to goof around a little as they went on. Midnight had arrived and Damian was crouched next to his father as they overlooked the city. He could hear Jason, Stephanie, and Dick joking around in the back and smiled a little as they laughed. That's when he felt it. The lingering gaze in the shadows. Surely, he looked up to his father who had felt it as well.

His mother.

After years of being separated from her and getting only a handful of visits, he had gotten used to her gaze when she was lingering, watching him. He knew it was her. Damian stood up and turned towards his left and there he saw her. Black, gold, and green armor shining in the night. The sudden silence told him that his siblings were on high alert as well. What could Talia want?

She finally noticed their gaze on her and began running. This alerted every one of them.

"Oracle, send Red Robin and Orphan our coordinates. We encountered Talia Al Ghul and are on the move." Ordered Batman

"Copy that, B." Answered Barbara in their comns.

What did the League of Assassins want now? If they meant no harm, she wouldn't have run, so what happened?

They followed Talia as she led them farther from the city and closer to the harbor. As they went, he noticed that more assassins made themselves visible and surrounded them and that alone raised his suspicions even more. Normally, when his mother wanted to talk to him, she came alone. Why were they here?

Finally, she stopped in front of a boat…the same one where I met my father…WITH Y/N. Damian came to a sudden halt. That is what was missing! He tries to think back on the past few weeks and he couldn't conjure up the slightest memory of seeing his sister. As a matter of fact, he hadn't seen her in the past few months…Where was Y/n? Was that why Pennyworth looked distressed? Why did he just notice now?! Had he been so busy that he couldn't recall his sister? No….that's imposible. She probably has been in practice. She was busy with her own life as well. Especially now, that it was getting closer to the Ice Skating National Competition. He had been keeping tabs on her competition schedules. Yeah, that was probably it. Any time a competition got closer, she would either be locked in their home rink or her practice rink making sure it was perfect. Yeah, that had to be it. She probably left early, was busy in practice, and came during the time he was in the art room or getting ready. Damian wanted to believe that..he really did, but something was nagging at him in the back of his mind. Why would Alfred be sad at that? Had she gotten hurt in practice? Ice skating meant the world for Y/n so that was probably it. Alfred adored watching her skate. Per Damian's request, he would record her practices and competitions so that once he got back from a mission and patrol, he could watch her. She was truly wonderful. That could have been it. She got hurt before Nationals and had been resting in her room lately. That could be why Damian had not seen much of her in the last few weeks. Before that, he had stayed a few months with the Titans, so that could also explain the lack of memories in the past year o so. That was the logical conclusion, right? But if she was hurt, why did Pennyworth not mention anything? He would have to ask him when he arrived later because now he was concerned for his sister's health.

He looked forward and realized that all of them had stopped further. He ran and reached his father's side. Observing his surroundings, he noted that there were 10 or so assassins on both of their sides. Why would his mother need so many?

"Ah, Damian, finally, you are here," Talia spoke up with her back to them. If she was a threat, she wouldn't be giving them her back. Ras taught them better than that.

"What are you here for, Talia?" questioned Bruce.

"Well. Beloved, I have come to extend an invitation, per my daughter's request" She smiled turning around to look at them fully, "I had to lure all of you out here so that we could settle this private matter without the sounds of the city." she explained.

"My sister is resting back in the manor, Mother, what could you mean?" Damian questioned narrowing his eyes at her.

"Is that what you all believe, my dear?" She smirked and watched each of their reactions one by one.

"Where is our daughter, Talia?" Asked Bruce slowly

"You mean to tell me that MY daughter was left under your care and you have no clue where she is?" asked Talia, venom slipping into her words. "Is that what you are letting me know, Batman?"

"Our daughter is safe in the manor" Bruce answered. Damian looked at him and if he wasn't doubtful himself, he probably would have believed him.

"Well, that's not entirely true, beloved. Y/n has not been living in the manor for almost two years now." Talia corrected and everyone froze. "Can't believe you would lie to my face like that"

Jason, Dick, Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra looked at Bruce expetantly. Surely what Talia said can't be true. They all take a moment to digest the information. Y/n was in the manor, right?

Tim tried to look back but he couldn't think of a moment he had seen her. He lived in the manor as well for fuck's sake. Had he been too busy with Wayne Enterprises and Red Robin that he hadn't noticed his sister's absence? Then again, Y/n was always training so it was difficult to tell….or was it?

Dick and Jason looked at each other. They didn't live in the manor anymore but surely, they had seen her at dinners. Y/n rarely spoke up so she could have been there but they just didn't notice? But as far as they can remember, Y/n loved to talk about her competitions in the hope that they would be able to go to one. They thought she had finally given up on asking them….and that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Why had she all of a sudden gone silent?….or was she just not there at all?

Cassandra had noticed what Damian had said earlier. The Manor had felt different. It seemed as if one presence was lacking but she was constantly with Stephanie so it was rather difficult to keep up on the whereabouts of her life. Besides, Y/n was always training…

Bruce stiffened. Where..was..his..daughter? Since when had she not been living in the manor? When did that happen? He had noticed that Alfred had gone out less and figured Y/n began transporting herself to her things, but that was odd because the old man loved taking her. It was the one moment where Bruce could tell he had peace. Y/n had always been such an independent child from a young age. She didn't need the same training as Damian because she abandoned that life once she was in Gotham. He was truly so glad that she wouldn't follow in his footsteps, that she had chosen to be normal. When was the last time he had seen her come to dinner? When was the last time he heard her songs blasting from her room? When was the last time she used her rink? He would always watch footage of her through Alfred's recordings and the security cameras installed in the ice rink. He still remembers the day he surprised her with it. "I didn't think you'd even know" she whispered thinking he hadn't heard, but he did and those words had plagued his mind ever since then like a broken record. Why wouldn't he know? Sure they were all busy but they cared for her.

"Oracle, search footage of all of the security cameras in the past two years. Find anything and everything about Y/n."

"Right on that, B."

"What invitation does Y/n have for us, mother?" Asked Damian, unsure whether or not he wanted to hear the answer.

"To her coronation as the new Heir to the Demon Head and Future Leader of the League of Assassins, of course" She answered almost instantly.

.

..

…

"WHAT!" yelled Damian. Everyone felt their blood run cold, "My sister, my beloved twin sister, would never NEVER desire that. You must not be serious! Y/n Wayne Al Ghul has never EVER wanted to be like grandfather. She is better than that. She is too good for the Demon Head. I was the one trained to be the heir an-"

"And you weren't the only one trained. Have you forgotten that both of you endured the same training and whilst your grandfather disciplined you, I was disciplining her." interrupted his mother harshly. "Y/n moved back to the League a year and a half ago and has been training endlessly to become the next Leader of the League, Damian. You would have all known that had you chosen to not neglect my daughter. She is safe and well-"

"My sister will NEVER be happy-"

"Because you know her oh so very well, my son?" Talia let her gaze linger on her son. Her disappointment was palpable. He had failed to be there for his twin….

"Nightwing, Red Hood, do one last round on the city, then head to the cave. The rest of you, you are dismissed. Head straight to the came, now. Especially, you, Damian. I have to speak with your mother first." Batman's left no space for argument. They all nodded and left, aside from Damian.

"Father-"

"Go, Robin"

"Father, this is just my problem as it is yours"

"To the cave, now. We will discuss this later."

Damian wasn't happy with the outcome, but one look at his mother and father; and he knew he wouldn't want to be part of this discussion when he had many important matters to attend to.

Once Damian left, Bruce turned to Talia.

"Tal-"

"You neglected my daughter-"

"Our-"

"MY daughter. You spent six years ignoring one child and favoring the other and you THINK you can make demands and look at me as if I have done something wrong? I went to her practices, I went to her competitions, I visited on their birthday every. fucking. Year. Bruce, I may not be the example of motherhood, but at least I was as present as I could be and I didn't even live with her." She hissed at him coldly.

"This is different, she wanted to be a professional ice skater. I know my daughter well enough to remember that. Damian is right. Becoming the Leader of the League of Assassins will never make her happy-"

"Because you know her so well? Bruce, I believe in what Y/n can bring to the League. She has astounding potential as a leader. She is levelheaded and diplomatic, she understands my father's ideal and vision without a vengeful eye. Unless you intend to be supportive…Do not cross her path. I came here to extend the invitation per her request as cordiality, not because I planned to. It will be a week after her birthday. I will not repeat myself. Farewell, Batman"

"Talia" Bruce tried, but she was already gone.

---

Author's note: Well fuck it's gonna be three chapters. I swear, part three will BE THE LAST ONE!!! I SWEAR!!! I HAVE ANOTHER ONE SHOT THAT I WANNA WRITE DAMN

[punkitt-is-here]

Had to write a three-page screenplay script for a "Discovery" for class. Didn't have any further instructions. It's super off-the-cuff, but I wanted to share it. Happy pride <3

INT. COLLEGE DORM - NIGHT.

A college student sits at his desk, sketching. It's a one room apartment, and his roommate is sound asleep. He's sketching in the light of a single lamp, being quiet. The student, GABE (male, 19) is drawing a cartoon version of himself. He's studying outfits from a fashion catalogue, drawing himself in different ones. He bites the tip of his pencil, not feeling the piece he's working on. He rolls his chair back, reeling away from the desk. Gabe puts his hands in his hair, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale. It's late.

After a moment, he rolls back to the desk. Tapping the pencil to his head, he flips through the pages. It's an unremarkable task, stopping on a random page. Oh, the women's fashion section. It has simple, practical outfits for girls, including a jean skirt. Gabe peers at it. Fuck it, it's late. He erases the pants of one of his drawings and pencils in a skirt instead.

He pauses.

He stares at it.

Something here is weird.

He goes to erase it, but once he does, he just draws it in again. This time with more care. More detail. He stares at it again.

Tears well up in his eyes.

GABE

(whispering)

…what the fuck?

Gabe, confused, touches his hand to his eye. He looks at the tear on his finger. Huh? He stares at the drawing again. He looks back at his roommate, sound asleep. He's having some sort of moment, but he has to be quiet. He frantically looks back at his sketchbook.

GABE

(whispering)

Uh…

A beat.

Gabe starts drawing himself again. In the women's fashion this time. It's like a whole different world. He's drawing like crazy. It's all flowing out of him. He draws another.

And another. Slowly, details start to adjust in his art.

Longer hair. Longer eyelashes. Daintier poses. More smiles.

He's got tears running down his face, but he's not wearing any emotion. He's not sure what to think.

CUT TO

An indeterminate amount of time later. Gabe stares at his notebook. It's full. It's lots of drawings of him.

As…well, he guesses as a girl. But he's not one. He flips through the book again, then turns towards the dark window his desk resides next to. He looks at himself. Patchy facial hair and a shaggy haircut.

CUT TO

INT. DORM HALLWAY - NIGHT

Gabe rushes down the hallway, looking frantic. He's carrying a bag.

INT. DORM BATHROOM - NIGHT

It's quiet inside the bathroom. No one else occupies the space. It's just him and his reflection. His reflection? Maybe their reflection. Her reflection? No, that's not right. Is it right? Gabe stares at himself intently. The whirring of a trimmer cuts through the silence. He brings it up to his facial hair, shearing away a week's worth of fuzz.

He looks at himself like it's not him in the mirror. He holds a hand up to his face, feeling it.

It's not enough. Not yet. He has to know.

He gets out his phone and starts typing.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFHG

He frantically types, misspelling. He backspaces like his life depends on it.

HOW TO SHAVE FACIAL HAIR OFF ALL

THE WAY

He quickly scans an article and then gets to work, pulling some miscellaneous bathroom supplies out of his bag. Shaving cream. A razor. Gifts for cleaning up at college. He wets his face. Applies the shaving cream. Does careful strokes down his cheeks and neck. Slowly, someone reveals themselves.

They lean down, splashing themselves with water. They look up, and it's a different person. She's completely shaved her facial hair off. Gabe hasn't seen herself like this since she was in freshman year of high school, before facial hair was even an option. She reaches up and touches her face, smooth to the touch. She stares, enamored. A moment. She grabs a towel and dries her face off, and then looks again. She's so…different. But that's her! That's Gabe! Is it Gabe? She doesn't know anymore. A close up to her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. Her neck. It's all so new. She starts laughing. She laughs, and tears well up in her eyes a little. She laughs some more. In moments, she's full on crying tears of joy. She doesn't know why. But she is! That's her!

CUT TO

INT. SECONDHAND - DAY

Gabe is at a clothing rack, searching for something. She looks around, a little embarrassed. She browses for a moment before finding what she wants. She passes by some more racks carefully, trying not to be too obvious. She slips into the changing room, then locks the door.

GABE

…okay.

Gabe unbuckles her belt. In a moment, she's wearing black leggings. She hikes them up, then unclips a gaudy skirt from the clothes-hanger. She stares at it, a little scared of it and what it represents. She bites her lip. She stretches it out and then steps in. She looks up at the mirror.

Oh shit, that's her! That's her!

Gabe is wearing a long, patterned skirt and a tee-shirt. The colors don't match at all, and the patterns don't either.

She looks a bit like a yard sale of a person. But it's her!

She spins around, watching the fabric flow out from her hips in a whirlwind of stripes and insignia. She laughs again.

This is her! This is her!

This is her!

[heartsickspider]

(soft) arthur morgan aftercare headcanons <3

arthur immediately cocoons the two of you in blankets after sex, regardless of how hot and sweaty the both of you are.

touch, touch, touch - he wants to hold you close and feel your skin against his. gentle forehead kisses, tracing soft patterns across your body with his calloused fingers, braiding your hair, spooning, etc.

despite not being super verbal for a long while after sex, arthur will ask to make sure you're okay in that raspy drawl of his. "you alright, darlin'? i didn't hurt ya, did i?" he's a bit overbearing with it, but he just can't stand the thought of accidentally harming you in any way.

arthur always takes the opportunity to sketch you in your blissed-out and half-lidded state. pages of his journal are dedicated to drawings of you curled up in bed next to him flushed, sleepy, and content as hell.

acts of service - arthur does everything in his power to make you feel comfortable afterwards. he'll get you water or food, clean you up with a cool washcloth or draw a bath, massage your sore muscles... literally anything.

sometimes, arthur will hum softly as the two of you are cuddling.

this man definitely keeps some salve on hand for any love bites or marks he might have left on you.

arthur reads to you to help you fall asleep afterwards. he knows how much you love hearing his inner thoughts through his journal entries, so oftentimes he'll read you a recent passage. other times, he'll read from a book the two of you are enjoying together.

also, he definitely uses your chest as a pillow (he’s a silly man that loves boobs).

a/n: i love soft arthur sm, he consumes 98% of my thoughts 😔 howeverrr, i’m thinking of potentially writing some low-honor arthur stuff as well?? idk why that makes me so nervous lol, but lmk if you'd like a low-honor version of this and i will try 👀

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

TF141 reactions to "want me to paint your nails?"

PRICE has never been asked that question before

knee-jerk reaction is no. because he is a man.

but he knows better than that, too; it's just an assumption he was raised with and he's lived too long and seen too much to care about other people's judgement.

he leans over and watches you paint yours. seems harmless enough.

he allows you to paint one (1) pinky nail.

you do as neat a job as you can. very deliberate strokes. sliding one of your unpainted nails around the edge of his cuticle to catch a smudge.

you say "there you go :)"

he nods, seems pretty unaffected by the whole thing. just indulging you, it's a good captain thing to do. fun is allowed sometimes as a little treat.

if you catch him looking down at that one painted pinky nail in thought, in meetings, running his thumb over it in thought, no you didn't.

GHOST balks. acts like that's a stupid question. this is a lie.

even if you shrug and say okay, your loss, he feels kinda tingly about it in the stomach for a minute.

but if you were to just... maybe reach over and pull his hand in anyway, he wouldn't stop you.

he just lets you paint his nails. all of them. just sits there like it's not happening.

activates the monkey grooming part of his brain. not only are you doing a nice thing for him for no reason, you're touching him.

like, you're holding his hand almost. that shit is intimate.

his touch-starved ass starts having pavlovian reactions to the smell of nail polish after that.

GAZ says yeah. asks you to show him.

you lean in and show him the hand you're working on.

when you pull his hand over to do his, he pulls an uno reverse. flips your hand over in his.

plucks the nail polish brush out of your hand and starts painting the thumbnail of your non-dominant hand.

he's just doing it as an excuse to have your hand in his. he does not deny it when you point this out. no, he's not letting go.

his grip is secure. you protest and he counters by asking you how long it takes to dry. how many layers. if this is your favorite color. how to clean up that dot he just made on your fingertip.

he is so coolheaded about it that he flusters you the more you try to argue. you eventually have to just shut up and let him work. and answer his questions.

he is smirking.

after that, he makes a point to grab your hand whenever you're not wearing gloves and check your nails. if they're chipped, he quips it's time for him to fill you in.

SOAP says sure >:)

do not trust him. this is a mistake.

the minute you scoot over to pick his hand up, he yanks you over and wrestles you to the floor.

pot of nail polish? spilled. your freshly painted nails? ruined. done for.

you should've known. like this is seriously your fault. you know him.

he gets your nail polish on his fingers by accident. then happily smudges it wherever he can reach. 

he loves wrestling :) and playing too rough on purpose

eventually he will apologize for ruining your manicure.

helps you repaint them. you're awed when he does a better job than you could.

he has steady hands. part of his demo skillset. and he likes sketching, so

you don't have to clean up any of the nails he paints.

he even uses your detail brush to draw a little something on your accent nail to remind you of him. you think it's just something to make up for his bullshit, but now whenever he sees it (and that thumbprint of nail polish he left on the back of your shoulder and didn't tell you) he feels like he signed you <3

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[noisyghost]

(I started sketching this design nearly immediately after season 2 ended but just now had some time to clean it up so. Excuse me rambling out loud here)

TLDR; I actually really liked the initial design + direction for Warwick-Vander (I <3 human faced werewolves)! But the show design kinda felt like a transitory state between Vander and Warwick to me, so I wanted to try my hand at blending his Arcane design with his in game design. Like a "what would he look like if the transformation kept going" kinda thing. There's a few things I'm not fully settled on, but Im mostly satisfied :)

(rambling under the readmore, its 3 am as i type this lol)

When season 2 first started, I sort of had it in my head that the narrative would have Vander "die" for Warwick to finish the transformation into his final form, forcing Vi and Jinx to finally say goodbye together. Well! That didn't happen lol. I mean. Vander did "die", but whatever was left behind isn't really Warwick. I'm not quite sure what they were going for, either with him or with how Jinx "dies", its all just a little messy when i feel like there was a more obvious narrative conclusion.

Visually i think the final design in the show is cool removed from context, but it doesn't really make sense to me in regards to the story. Like. Warwicks whole thing is that he curbs his violent impulses by killing "bad guys" in the undercity. League lore is a hot fucking mess and I don't even go there so I get that they (the writers) were playing fast and loose but I can see why so many Warwick fans were less than pleased with where the show leaves him, because it doesn't really feel like the same character outside of his initial experimentation.

In my own idea palace, Jinx fakes her death and leaves Warwick to be Zaun's new mascot. Having this literal monster that eats bad guys and saves innocent people in the process become a new symbol for Zaun feels like a no brainer to me. Imagine the iconography they'd make for this thing! And it brings Vanders whole schtick back around; he still "dies" but the Literal Memory of him lives on in Zaun, still protecting the people he cared about most. You get the bittersweet ending of Vi and Jinx having to move on because hes not really their dad anymore, but their memory is what keeps Warwick "human", still with Zaun even if Vi is doing Piltover shit and Jinx is off exploring the world.

Idk! I know the implication that Jinx faked her death is there, but whatever happens to Warwick seems to be like they didnt really have the time to fully explore the ideas they were going for, so a couple characters just got kinda left floating at the end there. If Ekko and Jinx werent going to run away together, I wanted to see Ekko befriending Warwick so they could fight to make Zaun a better place.

I have more coherent ideas than this but it's 3 am when im typing this so sorry if im not eloquent enough to properly explain what im thinking. Ekko and his weird dog that used to be his uncle. Imagine.

[princepinkart]

"Finally. Mine."

I have a lot to share about this drawing. I've detailed all my thought-process under the cut below :]

The idea is simple: I wanted to draw Magolor getting his hands on the crown, but surrounded with symbolisms of regret.

About the color palette:

Purple is the main color of regret in occident

It is complementary with yellow, the crown's color

Everything that is yellow has a connection to the crown

For the crown, it is obvious, its own self

For Magolor's eyes, they are the same yellow as the crown, as if you could see it reflected in his eyes. It represents his obsession, his ambitions, and most of all, the eyes are the soul's window. The moment Magolor put his hands on the crown, his soul wasn't his to control anymore.

The roses and the sand are detailed below

The roses:

From my research, I found that yellow roses were a symbol of regrets and asking for forgiveness in ancient greek mythology

It stuck with me, firstly because the color yellow is important to my drawing

But also because Magolor isn't a character represented by flowers

He's represented through magic or technology (like gears)

However, those roses do not represents him as a character, but his wish to be one day forgiven for all the wrongs the crown forced him to do.

Magolor is a liar and a traitor. In order to show his sincere apology, it had to be something that did not mirror his usal image (like magic and trickery and technology), but instead something that mirrored his feelings.

Thus, yellow roses.

The hourglass:

The hourglass symbolises time, by nature

Here, it represents the unforgivable nature of time. Mistakes cannot be erased, pain cannot be forgotten.

No matter how strong Magolor may regret his actions, he will never be able to take them back.

The last grain of sand falling means that he cannot go back on what he is about to become.

He sealed his fate, touching the crown signed the contract.

Overall composition:

The yellow roses and the crown follow a fibonacci curve

The crown resting at the apex. The most important point of the composition is the crown, because in this picture, Magolor is not the one in charge.

The hourglass is in the exact middle of the frame, disregarding the rest of the composition.

The houglass, time itself, represents balance, something eternal and abstract, perfectly symmetric

A mechanical beauty surrounded by a flower field

The stars of the galaxy in the background.

The very same stars Magolor wished to rule over, with the power of the crown.

He may have looked so close to accomplishing his ambition, however, much like the stars, there were still a billion miles more to go.

And lastly, the title:

"Finally. Mine." is meant to be ironic. Because there wasn't a single instant where the crown was his. As I said multiple times already, he is the one bowing to the crown.

Ok that's all I had say about what I thought about when creating this piece!!! XD

Now let me show you how I turned a quick doodle on a notebook into the finished drawing!!!

It started with simple notes I took while at work today, with a quick thumbnail.

Did a quick sketch on my pc as soon as I got back home, just to have a rough idea of the composition with all the elements

I went over everything now that I had the composition in order to have a better sense of proportions and perspective

I cleaned the lines. Those roses were so tedious to draw XD Originaly I wanted to do a very clean, sharp line art, but I changed my mind and settled with this as my line art

I added the flat colors. I didn't use a palette from somewhere, I went with my gut feeling all the way through XD I really like how Magolor's colors turned out!

And finally, the finished product. Added more vibrance to the yellow, added the light rays and the details in Magolor's eyes.

Extras of the finished drawing with the fibonacci curve on top of it :D

A job well done if you ask me :]

[nastybuckybarnes]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: Ghost helps his Mouse find a way to sleep throughout the night.

Warnings: Minor angst, language, fluff

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: Short piece but we still love it. This is for @oh-my-damn

~*~

Simon Riley is a light sleeper.

Hell, all of Task Force 141 is. Most military men are. They need to be, trained to be.

It's only amplified now that he has you by his side. His senses are heightened and he's on more than red alert, ready for the first sign of danger.

He doesn't care if he has to fight an intruder in his balaclava and boxers. He'd do it in a heartbeat for you if it means you get to sleep peacefully. That you're safe.

His sweet little mouse gets to curl herself up in his bed, surrounded by his scent, safe in his arms.

Except she doesn't sleep.

The first night you spent in his room, you didn't sleep. And not because he didn't give you reason to.

Oh, certainly not. Forever a man of his word, he made sure to wear you out thoroughly, until your head was devoid of thoughts and your eyes were glazed over and dreamy.

Yet, even after, you didn't sleep.

Sure, you curled up against him, head snug on his chest - which caught him a little off guard, but he'll never tell you that. But you didn't sleep.

He chalked it up to nerves. It was your first night on base with him, after all, you were probably a little on edge. A little afraid.

Little mouse like you, he can't blame you.

Nor can he blame you the second night.

The third night is a little iffy.

The fourth night, however, he starts to get a little concerned.

Instead of resting your head on his chest the way you do after fucking, you have your back facing him as you trace patterns on the wall silently, watching your fingers in the darkness of the room.

He's behind you but not touching you, sandwiching you safely between his strong body and the firm wall, head propped up on his elbow as he watches you.

He says nothing.

Nor does he say anything the fifth night, though that's when he really starts to worry.

He can feel you fidgeting, hear you sighing... can practically feel you counting down the minutes until his alarm goes off.

Finally, after almost a week of you not sleeping when you're in bed with him, he decides to confront you about it.

You sit on the floor in his quarters sketching absentmindedly in the early hours of the morning while he cleans one of his guns at his desk.

It's a slow morning. Nothing urgent calling him away from you.

You're silent, basking in the comfort you feel in his presence, but you can feel his eyes boring into your forehead.

"Why don't you sleep at night?" He finally asks.

You don't lift your gaze, watching as the pencil dances across the paper, mapping out a familiar scene, a familiar room.

"What?"

He doesn't say anything. He knows you heard and understood the question. He's not going to repeat it.

Finally, you lift your head and meet his gaze for only a moment.

"I don't need sleep at night."

"Bullshit."

You huff, turning around only for him to get up and spin you right back around as if you weigh nothing.

"I do sleep," you protest weakly.

He scoffs, "you must think I'm a right moron if m'gonna believe that. I can feel you up all night, fidgeting, sighing, not sleeping." His voice gets softer and he cups your cheek gently, bare skin warm against your own.

"You need sleep, Mouse. It's been days."

You hate the worry in his eyes.

"I sleep when Ghost is gone," you confess after some time, shrugging as if it's no big deal.

It is a big deal, though. He can see it in your eyes, in the tightness of your shoulders, the way you scratch at the palm of your hand and pick at your fingers.

"Why?" He asks quietly, his gaze dropping for a moment as he tries to figure out the most logical reason. Finally, he lands on the only one he can think of.

"Do you not trust me?"

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't offended, but when you snap your gaze to his and shake your head violently, he feels a little reassured.

"I do!" You exclaim quickly, grabbing his hands tightly and looking up at him with desperate eyes.

"With my life, I trust. I just..." You huff out another sigh and shake your head, embarrassed at what you're about to confess.

"I have... bad dreams. Very bad, they stop my sleep. I... don't want to stop your sleep. So I sleep when you are gone," you whisper.

You feel so small and vulnerable confessing this to him, and you can't stand the way that he just looks at you without speaking for so long.

You pull your hands from his and grab your sketchbook, showing it to him after a moment, hoping the pictures will explain better than your words.

He flips through the pages silently, and it all makes more sense.

There are drawings of small cages, of an angry man's face, of a soft woman and a delicate necklace.

Your home.

"Sometimes dreams... not so bad. But sometimes..." you shiver at the thought of it.

More than once have you woken up in a cold sweat, confused and disoriented and waiting for your father to come back and punish you.

But he never does.

Simon's gaze lingers on the drawing of your mother.

He can see the resemblance. The soft tiredness in her eyes that you seem to be wearing more often than not, the worried line between her brows, the soft curve of her lips.

His eyes slowly pull to yours, softer than they were before.

"You don't need to worry about that with me, little one. I want you to feel safe, even when you're sleeping. And if you wake me up, good. I'd rather that than have you deal with your nightmares alone."

Your lip wobbles and you look away, unsure how to feel, what to say.

But with Simon, you don't need to speak. He seems to understand you better than you can understand yourself.

His arms wrap around you tightly and you sigh, snuggling against him.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't tired.

Yes, you sleep during the day when he's gone, but that's only about 3-4 hours uninterrupted. It's been... too long since you've gotten enough sleep.

But he's going to change that tonight.

You go about your day as usual, sharing breakfast in his office, sketching your thoughts away while he does... whatever it is he does during the day, stopping only when he interrupts you to bring you to have lunch with him and his team.

And then it's more drawing and a warm shower, and then he's bringing you dinner.

As he showers after dinner, you wonder if this new schedule is going to be permanent. If this is what your life is going to be from now on.

All things considered, it's not too bad.

You don't notice him get out of the shower, far too deep in thought.

Oh how drastically your life has changed, and in such a short period of time, too.

"Wha're you thinkin' about over there?" Ghost asks, balaclava covering the top portion of his face.

You bring your eyes up to his, curling your knees up to your chest on the bed and smiling shyly at him.

"Nothing."

He hums, flicking off the light and lying down in bed beside you.

"Doesn't seem like 'nothin'."

He wraps an arm around your waist and wrestles you onto your back, his heart filling with warmth when you giggle wildly.

"Tell me what's on your mind," he whispers, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

You curl up against him, smoothing your hands over his bare chest.

Usually he wears a shirt to bed. A tight one, but a shirt no less. This is a real treat.

You'll never get enough of the feeling of his skin against yours.

Your fingers dance over scars, old wounds and permanent reminders of the life he lives. The life that brought him to you.

"You."

"Oh yeah? What about me?"

You nudge your nose under his jaw, pressing it to his neck and taking deep breaths of his scent.

"I am happy. Because of you," you murmur against his skin, pressing a kiss to the scar just below his collarbone.

He feels light and fluffy inside, like a cloud is forming in his abdomen.

He's tempted to go to medical just to make sure he's okay.

Instead, he squeezes you closer to his body and closes his eyes.

"I'm glad, little one. You make me happy."

You sigh happily against his neck, your lids growing heavier the longer you stay curled against him.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep, and Simon feels pride blossom in his chest.

Not only do you fall asleep in his arms, but you also stay asleep. For the entire night.

He's not sure if it's the skin-to-skin contact or the way he's cradling you to his chest like you're his lifeline, but whatever it is, he plans on doing it every night from now until forever.

He lets his own lids fall closed, and then he's slowly falling into a light sleep with you in his arms.

And it's the best sleep he's had in years.

[klausysworld]

I love your writing it’s so good!! Maybe a story where klaus treats reader really bad as he sees her like nothing more than a pet until one day he hurts her really bad out of anger and feels guilty. You can choose what goes on from there thank you

(Trigger warning for physical and psychological abuse!!)

Petrified

Y/N was a quiet little thing. Kept out of the way and made sure to be seen not heard.

Klaus liked that, he took advantage of that. Y/N was pretty, easy to pull around like a trophy. She was pure when he met her, he could smell her innocence.

It was too easy to corrupt that. Take it away from her and twist until it was so deformed she didn't recognise herself.

He had hurt her before. Bruises staining her soft skin and making her insides ache uncomfortably when he left her empty again. Often her body would suffer for his pleasure, she would never say no to him, didn't really know how.

Besides, in all honesty she fell in love with him without realising it.

For all his roughness and rage, he had moments when he would gentle even if just for a moment.

He would carry her into his bath tub, settle her down into the water when he could see her struggling to move much at all. She would be pet slowly, like a person would an injured animal. That's when she would feel safe, when his hands were gingerly touching her skin, a low hum in mouth which soothed something within her.

"You know that I need you, pet." He would murmur to her, his lips beside her ear as he washed the soap away. "I love you." Klaus would tell her so earnestly that it felt so real.

The bruises he left on her were never out of malice. She knew they were heat of the moment, his version of passion. It was a sign that he had enjoyed himself, enjoyed her. That she had been enough for him.

And when he twirled her around on the dance floor, in the dress he had made for her, she wanted to stay with him forever.

When she would be curled up against his side whilst he sketched her delicate face and rest his head against hers, it felt right.

Something about him always felt right to her. She trusted him even when she knew he wasn’t worthy.

Sometimes he would yell at her, often no anger was actually aimed at her but he would still take out his temper on her. Scream and shout and watch her whimper and flinch.

Usually he would actually feel bad, especially when she would really cry. Her body would have gone into defence and she'd be on the floor, clinging to his legs like a helpless child as she begged him not to hurt her.

Klaus wasn't sure if she'd faced someone's wrath in the past but something told him that she had.

She knew how to make his guilt swirl, how to snap him out of it before he could lay a hand on her.

Truthfully he didn't want to actually hurt her, he was never angry with her. She just happened to be the easiest to take it out on. She loved him and he knew that, he could use that.

He knew he could wrap his arms around her and tell her he didn't mean it and she would snuggle his chest, whimpering like a sad puppy as she tried to tell him it was okay.

He couldn't help but treat her like an actual pet sometimes, she just seemed so much like one.

Klaus enjoyed stroking her hair, her skin. Sometimes he enjoyed feeding her, bringing the fork to her mouth. It was nice to take care of someone and know that they appreciated it, appreciated him. That's the same reason he cleaned her up, he liked that she wanted him to be there.

He loved her in his own broken and selfish way. The feel of her, sound of her, look of her. She was perfect and part of him wished that he had just treated her good from the start, wondered if she'd look at him with a different type of love. Would it be weaker or stronger?

But he wouldn't know, he couldn't. It had gone too far, too deep.

She was his lover, yes, but also his scapegoat.

Sometimes he didn't think much when he took it out on her.

This time was especially bad.

Y/N had been with Klaus for years, before his curse was broken. She had been through heaven and hell with that man as he went through all stages of grief, rage and happiness.

She didn't get upset when he slept with other people, she was his but he wasn't hers and she understood that. Which was why she had her own apartment within the house, her own room, bathroom, mini kitchen and a sofa with a tv. The room blocked out the sound so she wouldn't hear him, he gave her that much.

So even when Hayley wound up pregnant, Y/N stayed beside him. Hands entwined as he lead her inside the compound and up to her new room which was still an en suite with a TV.

"I know there's no separate kitchen, pet, but I can get one installed with some time. I got you a new comforter though and a toy." He smiled, she nodded quietly and accepted the new room and the toy. It wasn't a dirty gift, but a teddy for comfort. Often she had a bear of sorts that would smell of him and give her a strange sense of comfort. After so many years, she depended on him like a real pet,

"Thank you, Nik." She whispered and he smiled, bending down to kiss her lips softly.

"You're going to be such a good girl. I just know you'll be so good with the baby, won't you?" He murmured and she nodded.

Klaus knew she had secretly loved the idea of being a mother, he saw that glimmer when he looked at Hayley's belly.

"I can hold her?" She asked, eyes looking up at him and full of hope.

"You know that I trust you." He told her, and he did. She had never once done anything to betray him.

The same could not be said for his own family. Rebekah especially.

Elijah had made the mistake of putting Y/N in Klaus's way.

He was very clearly ready for a rampage, eyes gold and veins bulging as he stormed back into the compound.

Camille hadn't been able to stop him from chasing Rebekah but he still had to let her go. The fact that she and Marcel had gotten away with something so horrific sent him well over the edge and somehow Elijah though Y/N would fix that.

He had seen Klaus's mood change around his 'pet' but he had never seen the full process. He didn't know she'd have to scream and sob for him to finally realise how terrifying he was being. People had only seen the before and after, not the process.

So nobody knew what was happening when she just couldn't get him to stop throwing things, to stop yelling and screeching at her. Nobody heard the sharp cut off of Y/N's cry when the back of his hand whacked her so hard that her neck snapped to the side.

That was what brought him back.

The thud of her body. The silence.

No begging, no apologies and pleas.

She wasn't dead, he could hear her scratchy breathing from how her neck had broken awkwardly.

Time froze for a second as all of his features softened and he knelt down, his hand touching her arm and she flinched which made her choke on the little air left in her.

"It's okay..." He whispered, hands supporting her poor head as he lifted her. "I'm so sorry, Y/N." He uttered, using her name. She almost never heard her name anymore.

A weak sound left her as a sharp little pain tingled through her arm.

"It's okay, it's just a needle." He told her, gently cupping her face and snapping it back into place making her scream. "It's my blood, you're healing." He informed her so she wasn't panicking even more as the banging in her head faded.

She didn't make another noise as he lifted her up, laying her down in her bed and sitting beside her. She was looking right at him but it was like she couldn't communicate at all. He had petrified her.

A quiet whine vibrated in his throat at the sight and realisation.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, his hands trying to soothe her. His touch was light and hesitant, he didn't want to hurt her again.

Over the course of their years together he hadn't ever scared her this bad, or brought her that close to death. For all his faults, he loved her and her death would change him for the worse. He needed her more than he needed the heart in his chest.

Elijah had gotten a little anxious when a few hours went by and there was still no sign of Klaus. So he went to check on how Y/N had handled him.

The door opened silently, not a single creek from the door as he stepped into her room. Nobody but she and Klaus had ever gone inside and he could tell my the strong mix of their scents. His steps were light and cautious as he turned the corner and saw them both in her bed, Klaus's arms wrapped around her and holding onto her like she might disappear.

Y/N looked ready to throw up and pass out.

It was obvious something was wrong.

Klaus hadn't even noticed his brother in the room. His attention was stuck on her, his hands and lips had been gently caressing her neck in an attempt to wash away the hurt he had caused it. Elijah could see her tensing beneath his touch and trying to relax a little after, her hands were clutching a stuffed bear like a frightened child.

Silently, Elijah retreated and closed the door. A sense of guilt bubbled in his stomach as he realised his brother had hurt the girl, or his pet as he called her. He sighed quietly to himself, his hands rubbing down his face as his mind flicked over every moment that brought Niklaus to be the monster that he was now. His head shook and he headed to his own room, Y/N wasn't his business.

She was Klaus's, she would forgive him and she would love him. He would look after her extra well for a few weeks maybe even a month or two before anything else got bad and even then it wouldn't get this bad again. At least, Y/N hoped it wouldn't.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"SWEETER THAN WE IMAGINED"

Here it is, the story where you're the concubine of this two. (I need them so bad omfg I need to be sedated ngl)

I hope you like it!

@sweeteststing

@earfq0ake

The emperors' hands quickly went to the straps of your dress to remove it, while you squirmed between them due to anticipation.

Geta's gaze fell on your parted lips, while Caracalla delighted in the expressions on your face as they left you naked in front of them.

Their gazes wandered over your entire body until they reached your face again.

Geta held your chin between his index finger and thumb, making you look directly at him. He sketched an amused smile as he placed his golden crown on your head.

"By all the gods, you are so beautiful, don't you think, brother?" he asked, glancing sideways at Caracalla, who nodded.

"The most beautiful woman in Rome," he seconded, "and she is all ours.

"His." The possessive made you let out a low gasp. Without warning, Geta placed his lips on yours, Caracalla watched as his brother brushed your mouth, first teasing you slowly and then tugging at your bottom lip between his teeth.

He slowly lowered you onto the bed, while he continued to kiss you. You felt Caracalla run his fingers along the curve of your chest, then down to the place where you needed him most.

You needed them both, at the same time. You wanted them to destroy you, to make you remember who you belonged to.

Geta's lips left your mouth and went down to the place where his brother had rested his hands. You felt the cold of Caracalla's rings holding your legs, making you keep them open for him.

Geta's gaze fixed on your center for a moment before looking up at his brother, and back to you.

-You're soaked, darling, and we haven't even touched you - he laughed, sliding his rings down the inside of your thighs, making you sigh - look at you, so ready for us - he whispered, resting his chin against your lower belly while he watched you closely - Are you going to be a good girl for us?

-Yes - you sighed - I'll be a good girl, please… - you begged, the pressure in your center was starting to be painful -

-That's what I wanted to hear - he smiled, gesturing to his brother - hold her, don't let her move -

And so he did. Caracalla held you by the legs, leaving you completely exposed to him. You couldn't help but scream when you felt Geta hook your clit between his teeth and pull on it, making you see stars due to the pleasure you were feeling.

Caracalla's grip remained firm, moving between your thighs and hips, his lips leaving soft kisses on your neck and the curve of your shoulder, making you rest your head against his shoulder.

Your eyes connected intensely for a moment. He leaned in to kiss you. His lips landed on yours more gently than his brother, but no less pleasurable.

Anyone who had walked in there at that very moment would have seen you kissing Caracalla while Geta ate your pussy. Just thinking about it made your mind go blank, unable to form a coherent thought.

The emperor's crown slipped slightly off your forehead, but Caracalla put it back in place, giving you a loving kiss on the forehead.

-This is staying put - he whispered smiling at you, you returned the gesture delicately-

A broken moan came from between your lips when you felt yourself slowly rushing towards your orgasm. You tried to move your hips against Geta's mouth, but his brother didn't let you, placing his hands on your legs again.

-I'm sorry, darling - Caracalla whispered with a knowing smile - orders are orders

-I can't hold out any longer… - you warned, throwing your head back - I'm going to…

Without giving yourself time to add anything else, you emptied yourself against Geta's face, who rose from between your legs with a triumphant smile on his face, as if he were the winner of a great loot.

He cleaned the corners of his lips with his tongue under your watchful gaze, making you gasp again. Caracalla undid his grip on your hips, letting you fall onto the bed, exhausted and satisfied like never before.

-You have to put your mouth on her, brother – Geta said, gesturing towards you – she tastes sweeter than we imagined

-Is that true? – he asked, looking at you with a smile on his face as he exchanged positions with his brother – it doesn't matter, I'll check it out for myself

[gam3r-girli3]

❛ i burn for you ❜

Arthur Morgan was many things: outlaw, gunslinger, collector of cigarette cards (since he learned from a man he met at the train station that a full set is worth money) - but he was also a fool, especially when it came to women.

The day he read that damn letter, eyes greedily drinking in the cursive writing and the faint scent of a sweet perfume he hadn't forgotten, he went running with his tail tucked between his legs. He was being played like a damn fiddle, he knew that, especially when she asked him to help her with her brother. All these years and she only gets in contact when she needs a favour and a fool like him to do it for her.

But seeing her again ... damn, if it didn't bring up a lot of feelings he'd tried to forget. Memories of happier days, of a love he once thought would burn bright and bold for a long time.

So, like the goddamn fool he is, he helps her. Rescues her younger brother from a strange cult in the mountains worshipping turtles. Brings him back to her. Drinks up her praise, her gratitude. Watches her board the train and continues watching until it's out of sight.

When he returns back to camp that evening, he notices your foul mood. Usually you'd greet him as you always did, a smile on your lips that gave him a strange, warm feeling inside - but this time, you didn't even look at him, face stoic.

What the outlaw didn't know was that when he'd read that letter that came for him and then taken off like a bat out of hell on his horse, you'd followed him, curious to see where he was heading to so eagerly.

You stayed a good distance back while he rode to a big house just outside Valentine, used your binoculars to see more clearly as he dismounts his horse, walks up the steps of the porch and knocks on the door. When the door opens, your heart drops.

It's her.

Goddamn Mary Gillis - well, Linton now, since she'd married a good few years ago. Regardless of her surname, she was still as pretty as a picture, and clearly, she still had a hold on Arthur's heart all these years later.

It stung, more than you'd care to admit. These past few months, before Horseshoe Overlook and Colter, before even the mess in Blackwater, you'd begun to notice a shift in your relationship with Arthur. You'd always been fairly close, having grown up together and taught by Hosea and Dutch, but the past few months ... something had changed. You aren't sure how or when but it had.

And now here he was, his hat in his hands as he stared starry-eyed at another woman, his old flame.

A sickly feeling rises within and you decide you can't watch anymore. Pushing your binoculars back into your satchel, you swing up on your horse and head back to camp with a heavy heart and tears in your eyes.

"Everythin' alright?" He asks uncertainly, concern in his eyes.

You still don't look at him, head down and eyes trained on your rifle as you smear gun oil over it to clean it. "Sure."

Arthur frowns, unconvinced. "Don't seem that way."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. "I'm fine, Arthur. Just not in the mood to talk."

Well then. He decides it's best to leave you to your own devices and turns, heading to his tent, bewildered by your frostiness.

It wasn't like you to be so cool with anyone, let alone him. The two of you had known each other since you were kids, grew up being taught how to read by Hosea and how to fire a gun by Dutch. There wasn't much you didn't tell each other.

And he'd lying if he said he hadn't felt a change between you lately. There was a warmth that bloomed in his chest when he saw you, a rush of air that left his lungs as you smiled at him. He'd spent countless hours sneakily observing you as he tried his best to sketch your likeness into his journal; the slope of your nose, the fullness of your lips, the gleam in your eyes, the light dusting of freckles across your cheeks and nose.

Every day he discovered something new about you he wanted to draw and soon he'd had to get himself a new journal, the previous one filled with pages upon pages of carefully drawn pictures of you.

Arthur didn't know what to make of these new feelings, didn't know what to do with them - so he buried them deep down, tried his best to ignore them and pretend they weren't there.

Acting on them was out of the question for two reasons: one, he was utterly hopeless when it came to women, and two, you were his closest and oldest friend which meant you were strictly off limits. He couldn't bare to lose you, not after everything you'd been through together.

You'd patched up his wounds from countless shoot-outs, helped him back to camp when he'd gotten so drunk he could barely see straight, sewn his favourite jacket when he complained about rips and tears in it. And after the death of his son ... you'd been there to pick up the pieces of his broken heart, seen him at his lowest and still stayed by his side.

Risking such a precious friendship he'd come to cherish was unthinkable. A life without you made less sense than Uncle pulling his weight and helping out around the camp instead of complaining about his 'lumbago'.

Days pass. The air grows a little warmer and the sun burns a little hotter with the coming of summer. The heat isn't the only thing that grates on Arthur's nerves.

You still hadn't spoken more than two words to him. When he'd tried to approach you and speak to you, you'd make some half-assed excuse about needing to go into town for a few supplies or going to collect a debt for Strauss and quickly left. You flitted around so much, in and out of camp, you were little more than a blur these days.

Arthur had had enough. He was tired of your strange attitude and quite frankly, if you didn't want to talk about whatever the hell was going on with you, too bad. Underneath the annoyance and frustration, there was concern. He didn't understand why you were behaving so unusually, why you seemed to be avoiding him.

He'd noticed you talking to other members of the gang just fine, joking and laughing as you often did - so why was it just him you seemed to be so frosty with?

One day, after another cold dismissal, Arthur's temper reaches a boiling point.

"Wha' the hells your goddamn problem, huh?"

You turn to look at him, eyes narrowing in defensiveness at his outburst. "Excuse me?"

He knows he should back off and calm down, he's far too worked up to speak rationally, but he's sick and tired of feeling like his closest friend has become a stranger. He misses you, damn it.

"You heard me. What's going on with you? Why're you avoidin' me?"

You scoff, trying to play it cool. "I ain't avoidin' anyone. You're delusional."

He returns your scoff with a bitter chuckle. "Oh, really? That why you scurry away like a goddamn rabbit whenever I try to talk to you?"

Heat burns in your cheeks. "I do not scurry."

"Well, ya sure seem to move pretty goddamn fast when ya see me comin'." He takes a step closer, face drawn in a tight glare. "So spit it out. What's goin' on with you? And don't you even try to deny it."

"How's Mary?" You ask suddenly, voice laced with venom and eyes sharp as Javier's knives.

The question throws him for a loop, his anger momentarily disappearing as shock registers. "Mary? The hell's she got to do with anythin'?"

"Oh, please," you roll yours eyes irritatedly, crossing your arms over your chest. "I saw you running off into town that day you got her letter. Saw you talkin' to her, lookin' like a lovesick fool. Did you forget how she broke your heart? How you weren't good enough for her? Or were you just thinkin' with your dick?"

Your words cut deep and fuel his anger even more. "You followin' me now?"

Ignoring his accusation, you press on, anger burning hot and bright inside your chest. "After everything that damn woman put you through, after the way her family looked down on you, after she rejected you because you weren't good enough, why in the hell would you go and help her?"

"What the hell has this got to do with why you've been avoidin' me?" He demands furiously.

You want to slap yourself in the face - and then him, and then Mary for good measure and because you're feeling a little petty.

How could this man be so oblivious and hopelessly clueless?

It was right there; you'd practically spelled it out for him and he still pretended like he couldn't read the words your heart had written for him.

Or maybe, he didn't want to. Maybe he didn't want to see how you felt for him because he didn't feel the same. Maybe he was still desperately in love with Mary after all these years and you'd imagined the closeness between you these last few months, foolishly deluding yourself into believing there'd been a spark.

From the way he was looking at you, angry and confused and so oblivious, you could only assume he hadn't felt the same heat from the embers you'd been nurturing inside longer than you'd care to admit.

So you swallow your anger, your hurt, your love. It's bitter and difficult, like trying to chew down Pearson's gristly stew, but you do it.

"Nothin'. It's got absolutely nothin' to do with it."

If the situation was different, you might have laughed at the absolutely bewildered look on the man's face.

But it wasn't.

And you didn't.

Instead, you did what you do best lately: you turn and walk away.

Days bleed into weeks and weeks into months. After robbing the bank in Valentine, you flee once more, packing up the camp and settling into a derelict mansion south of a town called Rhodes. Shady Belle, is the name of the new campsite.

Down here so close to the swamps, the air is much more humid and heavy, weighing down on everyone and clinging to them. The heat is almost unbearable, and everyone dresses in lighter layers to try and alleviate their overheated bodies from the warmer temperatures.

You hadn't spoken to Arthur in quite a while. Well, nothing more than a few words here and there when absolutely necessary, like for a robbery or when someone in camp said to tell him they were looking for him. Other than that, nothing. There'd been a large fracture between you, one that didn't go unnoticed by knowing eyes.

Having raised the two of you from young teenagers to hardened adults, Hosea could see from a mile off that something had happened.

Late one evening, when most everyone else had retired to their tents for the night, Hosea finds Arthur by the docks, a small lantern perched on an old crate illuminating his figure and the ever permanent scowl on his face these days.

"You know," the older man begins as he comes to stand beside Arthur. "When Bessie and I would get into a fight, she'd ignore me for days unless I apologised. Longest we went without talking was a week. Worst one of my life."

Arthur's surprised to see his older mentor up so late, but he doesn't show it, too confused by the meaning behind his seemingly random reminiscing. "Okay..?"

Hosea looses a tired sigh. "My dear boy, you were always a few branches short of a tree, weren't you?"

The outlaw scoffs. "You callin' me dumb, old man?"

"I'm simply saying that there was a time when I thought it was worth being right over being happy and I soon learned I was very wrong."

"I still don't know where you're goin' with this."

"Whatever you did or said, just apologise to her."

Arthur's face hardens as he realises now what Hosea's been getting at, the sly bastard. "I ain't got nothin' to apologise for."

"That hardly matters. You're upset, she's upset. The simple solution is to swallow your pride and say you're sorry."

"I didn't do nothin' to say sorry for!"

"You'll forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe, what with the way you two have been acting as of late."

"She jus' started freezin' me out and then one day she chews me out for goin' to help Mary out-"

"Ah." Hosea eyes gleam with a knowing glint as he begins to smile. "I see."

"See what?"

"She's hurt."

"Hurt? Why in the hell would she be-"

Oh.

Oh.

Hosea says nothing as the realisation slams into Arthur, leaving him winded and reeling.

How did he not see it sooner? You were hurt. Upset. Because he'd gone to see Mary, his past love. Which meant that you ...

Arthur turns on his heel and marches toward your tent, faintly registering a call of 'good luck!' from Hosea.

He hopes that you're still awake and he isn't sure if he's more relieved or nervous when he sees light illuminating from within the canvas. He pauses outside, hesitant and second guessing himself. What if he got it wrong? What if you didn't actually have feelings for him? What if he's being delusional and wanting to believe you do have feelings for him because he has them for you too?

It had taken him so long to get to this point, to admit to himself he cared about you more than just a friend. To admit that he loved you. And now there was a possibility you might just feel the same.

A combination of the heat and nerves made his throat dry, his hands growing clammy. He was frozen in place, staring at the canvas, thinking that if anyone walked by and saw him they'd scold him for being a pervert, but he -

The canvas parted and your face appeared, sending his heart racing even faster. You appeared just as surprised as he felt, eyes widening at the sight of him stood outside your tent. "Arthur? What the hell are you-"

Before you can even finish your question, he surges forward, leaning down to cup your face as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss that steals your breath and sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. His mouth is hungry, insatiable as he devours you, tongue sliding into your mouth and caressing yours. It's like he's a man dying of thirst and he's just gotten his first drink of water in years.

When you both break away, panting and breathing heavily, lips swollen and faces flushed, there's no denying the palpable heat between you now, the roaring inferno too loud to silence or ignore.

"I'm sorry," Arthur rasps lowly, voice husky. "I should've - I didn' - she's not-" He takes a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts before trying again. "I did love Mary but that was a long time ago. I helped her because it was the right thing to do, not because I still had feelings for her. You... you've had my heart for a long time now, darlin'. Youre in my goddamn veins, you're - you're everythin'."

Your heart stutters at his heartfelt confession, tears springing to your eyes. You'd been waiting a long time to hear those words, so long that you'd become convinced you never would but now -

His hands are still cupping your face, calloused thumbs gently stroking across your skin as his eyes search yours, desperate and wanting. "I should'a said it a long time ago, I was a fool, a goddamn fool, but I love ya, darlin'. I think maybe I always have."

There it is.

You swallow the lump in your throat, your heart overflowing as you struggle to choke out the words you want to say. "I love you too, Arthur. I love you so much it hurts -"

Nothing else needs to be said, no further words necessary as he kisses you once more, further igniting the smoldering heat between you that had been burning for years, slowly growing from flickering embers to this.

And nothing, or no one, would ever extinguish it.

requested ♡ hope you enjoyed anon!

this is the longest imagine i've written to date 🙈

[lozeyart]

What am I doing in the year of our lord 2025 drawing Junjou Romantica fanart

Goodness me, I got into JJR back in 2008 when the anime aired and then I got into the manga that same year. At the time, I wasn't really drawing people, I was drawing animals, but I was OBSESSED with this yaoi with my whole heart and wanted so badly to draw fanart for it. So now here it is! 17 years in the making! Btw, trying to interpret anime hair logic with my style is easier said than done, but I did my best lol. All just colored sketches and then some scribbles for funsies.

But I definitely have some complicated feelings about this manga/anime. More below the cut (its A LOT, I'm so sorry).

JJR was one of the first yaois I ever got into, and back in 2008 when I didn't realize being gay was an option, this silly little manga/anime felt like an escape for me. Well, it's now 17 years later and upon rereading this manga (I still have volume 1-12, I could never get rid of them, they mean to much to me) I realize that it has aged POORLY.

This yaoi is definitely a product of its time (2002/2003) and it SHOWS. I find myself disappointed in the dynamic between Usagi-san and Misaki and wish that Misaki would show Usagi-san SOME sort of affection outside of the bare minimum (cooking and cleaning for Usagi) and Usagi definitely has some... Issues of his own. Now, I'm an adult, and I can see that consensual non-consent (CNC) can be fun and exciting for a couple (you know, if agreed upon beforehand), and it can be fun for your partner to initiate things out of the blue, but Usagi definitely toes the line of what that is. Now, I know that this was the early 2000s and yaoi relationships tended to have that dynamic (One being the seme who didn't listen to "no" and the uke who said "no" constantly but actually secretly liked what was happening), like I said, this series is definitely a product of its time. But I don't know man, its not fun (for me) reading sex scenes where one of them is constantly telling the other one to stop over and over again. (I also think it'd be cute as fuck if Usagi-san asked Misaki if he could kiss him and Misaki shyly said yes instead of yelling at him like he always does).

I even went online to read up to volume 27, but all I can express is that same disappointment. Misaki rarely even likes to acknowledge that he's in love with Usagi-san, or is dating the man, or even likes him (it seems to be only under duress that he admits these things STILL. IN 2022 when that volume was released!)

I wish there had been more character development in the years since I stopped reading the manga, I wish we could see Misaki and Usagi-san acting like they actually like each other outside of when they have sex (yes there are small moments between the two, and a bickering couple can be a fun dynamic, but dear lord lets shake things up A LITTLE. I'M BEGGING).

Lets not even get started on the sketchyness that is (at the start of the manga) a 28 year old falling in love with an 18 year old (And we're not even going to TALK about Miyagi and Shinobu) -don't bring up the age of consent in Japan, I do NOT wanna hear it-.

Listen, I'm 29, and I would NEVER even DREAM about dating an 18 year old (or 19 year old) at my age. (Fuck, the youngest I'll date is MAYBE 23 but even THATS pushing it for me).

All of that to say is that I still can't help but have an extreme soft spot for this series, and there are still moments that I love from this (Volume 9, the Christmas chapter, am I right? Gets me EVERY time), and fuck, Shungiku Nakamura is probably still making bank with this series so who the fuck am I to say anything lol. I'm just a rando online with an opinion, you don't have to agree, and you can think that whatever Misaki and Usagi have is fuckin' AWESOME. I'm just an old fart

But, I dunno, I think it'd be interesting to explore Misaki's internalized homophobia, and Misaki slowly but surely growing more and more comfortable with not only accepting Usagi-san's affections and even reciprocating and initiating on his own, but also accepting HIMSELF and being happy with who he is instead of the constant self shame he puts himself through for being with a man. Let's be so real, he is gay, he can't stop looking at other attractive men and FAWNING over how hot they are (Nowaki, Todo, Injuin Sensei, the list goes on).

But who am I to complain, I went and drew fanart of these two anyway. Rock, meet glass house.

Unrelated, I love the art style in volume 3-6 a lot because its very "late 90s early 2000s" art and I think the art peaked in volume 9. And now its unpeaking. Bring back Usagi-san's yaoi chin so help me god.

I do have yaoi I prefer over this one a lot more, and involve older couples (which I find that I prefer), and have fun, cute stories. If anyone has read this far and wants those recs, lemme know (dear god I'm so sorry, this has gone on so long.)

Anyway I do want to redraw some of the sex scenes and post it to my bluesky.