#from an old pencil sketch of mine

[fortunaestalta]

[v-tired-queer]

Sketches from a fem!Sheith ATLA AU that I never ended up writing where Keith is the Fire Princess, and Shiro is a Fire Nation soldier-turned-Sun Warrior tasked with teaching Akira (Keith) firebending (she owed a favor).

Akira doesn't firebend much, not after loosing her father in a tragic accident, but it turns out the princess is remarkably skilled with swords. Shiro is smitten (but of course, so is the princess) ❤️

[novasintheroom]

050. Impress

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash catches you drawing in your journal.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hobby, you tell yourself. Plenty of people do it.

In the shade of the overhang, you glance over your book and scratch a few more lines down the page. A curve here, some dots there. You bite your tongue gently. It’s getting better. Marginally. And Vash is none-the-wiser to being observed.

He’s slowly taking apart and cleaning his gun. Rubbing a cloth along each piece, careful of where he puts things on the flat rock he’s taken as a ‘table.’ Vash is scrunched up now, making an interesting pose to note down in your journal.

Next to the drawing, you sketch out some lines and notes on his anatomy. Triceps, you write. Brachioradialis. Palmaris longus. You trail down to his legs. Vastus medialis. Gastrocnemius. Back up to his chest. Pectoralis major. Subtly, you put a heart by the name.

“Watcha drawin’?”

So much for subtlety. How did he sneak up on you? Faster than Vash has time to blink, your book slams closed. He’s left with a waft of air blowing in his face and a wide-eyed stare from you. From your side, he lifts his hands placatingly. “Woah, I didn’t see anything.”

Still, blood rushes to your face and you purse your lips, giving him a searching look. “Liar. What did you see?”

Vash’s smile is gentle. Always gentle. “Nothing, really.” Then, that smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t know you drew naughty pictures.”

You splutter. What? “I do not!”

“It’s okay, really!” He waves his hands and walks over to his bag. “Everyone’s into something. Why else would you panic like that?”

The blush has reached the back of your throat. You cough, sucking in air to protest. “I don’t draw naughty pictures!”

He looks over with a smirk, putting his gun back together without looking. “Sure. And I have both my arms.”

“I don’t!” Not only mortified by the suggestion, you’re blatantly outraged he doesn’t believe you. Only one way to rectify this. You stand from your rock and march over to him. Flipping open the book, you shove it in his face. “See! I’m practicing anatomy!”

Vash’s look goes slack, and with care, he takes the book from your hands. You realize he was teasing you too late. He sees your drawings. He sees them. You’re suddenly nervous again, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s fine, you think, it’s fine, fine, fine.

Vash takes his time looking over your drawings. It’s of him, obviously. Chest bared, missing the scars and wires and plates he feels on the daily pulling at his skin. You don’t know about them. How could you? He never lets you see. But you are studying anatomy. He sees the scientific terms criss-crossing the page in your neat handwriting. On the next page, he sees you’ve sketched him in different poses; some of him crouched as if over a fire, some jumping in mid-air, coat floating wildly behind him. One is just of his face, his smile. The eyes are a little crooked, but it’s impressive, even still.

He sees your hands worrying out of the corner of his eye. Cracking your knuckles. You do it when you’re nervous. “I only have you around to draw,” you explain, trying to save yourself from more embarrassment. Vash hums, and you duck your head. “It’s…an old hobby of mine.”

The next page are close-ups. Hands, feet, mouth, eyes. You have no coloring pencils; everything is shaded charcoal black-and-gray. In the margins, you’ve drawn different worms you’ve come across, with beaks and bug-eyes and many legs. But overall, he’s the subject. He’s the one you’re drawing the most. A strange feeling settles in his chest, and with a slight grin, he hands the book back.

You take it, watching him, wary. “So…?”

Vash shakes his head. “These are really good!”

Your look is dubious. “You aren’t…weirded out?”

Weirded out? Why would he be? He’s never been the subject of someone’s drawings. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know, searching for the word. “No,” he says, “I’m – flattered,” he finally puts a name to the feeling, and his cheeks pinken.

You look down, gnawing at your inner cheek. “It’s something I started doing a few months back. Just…drawing your poses whenever we have downtime.” Finally, a smile breaks on your lips. “You’re very limber.”

Vash laughs. “It’s all the yoga I do.” He reaches up and tugs at the back of his neck. He feels a bit shy, but asks, “Can I watch you draw sometime?”

Your mouth falls open. “Um…sure?”

He kicks at a nearby pebble. “I’m not the best at drawing. But I like to do it too. In my journals, sometimes.”

You perk up. “You do? Of what?”

“Mainly architecture. I tried people a few times, but they…they look like they’re melting.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

And later, in the firelight and lamps of your camp, you and he draw together. He practices drawing your face (and it does look like it’s melting, much to his chagrin and your laughter), and you sketch architecture, blown away and inspired by the detailed drawings of derelict ships and abandoned towns and cities Vash has been to in his journals. You trade art secrets, tips, and switch journals with each other to draw in for a page.

You both go to bed with stained fingertips and smiles, happy to have one more thing to bring you together.

[ask-elliot-doorman-fam]

"Not-a-Hunt" (Tera Doorman Lore)

Tera sat perched on a tree, watching the ground below, tail flicking absently as all her senses tuned to the world around her.

Her hands feeling the rough contours of the ancient bark, audials picking up the wet-season breeze rustling through the leaves, what little sunlight that did penetrate the canopy flickering around her harmlessly.

She could feel the shifts in wind current, inbuilt sensors initially used to detect depth and vibration in mining tunnels and construction zones modified instead to detect air pressure, vibrations that traveled from the ground and up into the tree she was sitting in.

Even with her visor off, she could feel the den of sprats nesting in the roots of the tree, the Fox Monkeys playing in the thiner limbs of the canopy above.

Her audials picked up the distant bleat from a heard of Wooldeer, a calf calling for it's parent or the far closer cries of the birds beginning to settle down and roost, making sure their flock was safe and secure.

The jungle was a safe space. One that welcomed her, that didn't go silent in fear when she walked past- instead only quieting down in curiosity before resuming it's playful song, accepting her as part of itself.

It was more then she could say for the colony. Where she was the predator among prey, instead of another welcome part of the great chain.

Snap!

Everything stopped at once, and she opened her eyes, sniffing the air like a bloodhound on the scent of it's chosen path.

Rumbling footsteps broke through the silence, and the sensors on the back of her neck came to life, a brown shaggy shape made it's way through the forest, followed by it's other half and a litter of wrestling puppies that yipped and growled at their siblings.

She relaxes. As does the forest- sound slowly resuming to its normal volume as the apex predators are welcomed; it's not night yet, and this pair is already carrying a kill to feed on, some poor, gigantic reptile that had undoubtedly gotten too close.

They stop just below her, both adults diving into their kill with fevor, the puppies too young to eat solid food yet, and so they instead climbed on top of their Dad, chomping on his ears and annoying him just enough her him to tip his head and slide them off.

Tera let out a small chuckle as the smallest of the litter tumbled head over feet onto the ground. This family wasn't too close to town for her to be bothered about chasing them off or killing them... which was exactly why she came out this far.

She pulled out a rough little leather-bound journal and a even rougher looking pencil and began to sketch.

She wasn't the best artist- she rarely drew, but her little journal was filled with sketches and notes on all the animals she's seen and observed of the several years she's been going on hunts.

And right now, she was sketching the little family in the section labeled Nightstalker.

The first few pages were of weak spots, mating behavior, how to track them; everything useful in hunting them...

Then after the fourth... the wording and observations changed. From outright aggression to respect and curiosity, how they raise their children, diet, pack behavior, migration patterns, the way their fur changed texture between wet and dry seasons...

The last page was all about how to care for one. nail trimming, fur care, horn maintenance. An entire old feeding schedule that had her getting up every 2 and a half hours as well as the ingredients for a milk substitute.

A yelp caught her attention, ripping away from her sketching to look down finding that the two bigger siblings had accidentally injured the smaller one. The paw bleeding onto the open ground.

Her brow furrowed. This was normal enough, runts like this one didn't normally make it to adulthood... didn't mean she had to like it though.

She put the journal away, watching as the mother looked at the siblings and reprimanded them... but put little effort into comforting the injured party aside from a single lick.

She sighed as she made a dumb-reckless, gold hearted decision.

She climbed down the tree headfirst- landing without a sound right next to a family of the most deadly living things in the planet, and crept up to the injured pup, calling to it with a mimicry of another puppy that had taken many practice sessions with Mars Bar to get right.

It limped forward curiously, and with a swift movement she grabbed it and pulled it into the bush she was hiding in, it tried to yelp, but she kept it's mouth shut with her hand as she pulled out a bandage from her pocket, wrapping the injured paw securely.

"Shhhh. Shh. I got cha..." She mumbled, cleaning and dressing the wound with uncomfortably practiced swiftness before she bolted back up the tree when finished. Leaving the pup confused and licking at it's now wrapped foot.

It looked up at where she returned, but she was already gone, hidden amongst the canopy branches...

It returned to it's family, able to put pressure on the paw again and resuming play... it won the second time- if only because it caught the other two off gaurd.

Tera smiled from her new perch, observing the family until they set off once more, all three pups able to keep up with mom and dad...

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀: 𝘋𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘔 𝘈𝘉𝘖𝘜𝘛 𝘔𝘌

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: you bite your nerves and go out to dinner with spencer, which goes surprisingly well, but then things take an unexpected turn when a conflicting invite is placed at your feet.

word count: 2658

warnings: mental breakdowns (only in the flashbacks!), mentions of cheating, so much fluff good god, once again loser gf x loser bf... did i mention fluff?

a/n: i think i'm becoming a cliffhanger pro of sorts at this point LMAOO. aside from that, i'm so incredibly happy at the influx of encouragement, but also, i wanted to know if this series should take an angstier turn? or just leave it as a fluffy hurt/comfort fic with a potential smut?

masterlist | series masterlist | AO3

The apartment was silent.

You were deep in drunken contemplation as you looked at the blank canvas in front of you. Your head was swimming, eyes occasionally crossing, but nevertheless, you lifted up your glass to throw back the rest of the golden, aged whiskey.

The ice clinked loudly when you slammed it back on the spare stool next to you in frustration.

Why couldn’t you do this? Why couldn’t you think?

Your visits to your at home art studio lessened and lessened as it neared closer to the anniversary of your father’s death.

It’d been a year since you left, but being able to do art hadn’t gotten easier.

The arts were something you had shared with your dad. He was the one that introduced it to you, putting the pencil in your hand and had given you your first sketchbook. He was an artist himself, and you often painted or sketched together in silence.

It felt like a disservice to let your passion die with him, but you just can’t.

“Why can’t I do this for you?” It was a slurred whimper, but pathetic all the same.

Helpless anger boiled in your gut.

You were a failure, you failed everyone around you. A failure and a coward.

The word coward circled around your head like a moth to flame.

“‘M not a coward…” You murmured to yourself, but you didn’t believe it. “I’m not!” You all but yelled to no one.

Then, you blacked out, grabbing the glass and chucking it at the nearest wall. It shattered, exploding into millions of microscopic pieces. It was like something inside of you broke as well.

“I’m not! I’m not! I’m not!” You repeatedly shouted, but you couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop smashing and grabbing, taking the dull end of your paint brush and stabbing it through the material of the canvas, ripping it in a slash.

Moving, moving, grabbing, ripping, destroying; you tore down finished paintings off the wall, old and new, all but obliterating me.

By the time you were done, you had collapsed to your knees, pressing your forehead to the cool floor, and just sobbing.

You hadn’t painted since then.

You weren’t the only one who had decided to come early.

You spotted him sitting in a booth tucked away into the corner. He looked nice, handsome even.

His hair was an adorable mess, his button down and tie was replaced by a collared shirt and purple cardigan, followed by brown slacks and his signature black Converses.

Yeah. He looked really nice.

You rubbed your clammy hands on your jeans harshly, the slight burn helping to ground you as you nibbled nervously on your lip. You could do this.

When you near him, he looks up, eyes widening slightly before scrambling to slide out of his seat to greet you.

He breathes your name. “Hey.” It’s shaky and anxious and it causes you to relax. “Hey, Spence.” You say back, but it’s a little less breathless.

It’s awkward for a second before you both laugh shyly, choosing to sit down across from each other.

“So… How was your day?” Your voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. He looks up from the menu a little startled before relaxing. “It was good! It was nice to be able to wake up a little bit later than I usually do.”

“I have a feeling that your ‘waking up later’ is a bit different from mine.” You tease, and he huffs with a shy smile. “You know I like waking up early.”

A waitress comes around to ask about drinks, but the whole time she’s staring at Spencer. He gives her a flat smile before returning his full attention back towards you. A strange feeling of satisfaction fills you at the sight of him brushing her off, even if had no idea he was doing it.

Your eyes follow her with a raised brow as she leaves.

“Wow, Spence. You’re a big ladies' man, arent’cha?” You ask with a smirk. “What are you talking about?” Spencer asks with a slight pout. “I’m talking about our waitress and the fact that she was making goo goo eyes at you.” He blinks. “Oh.” He says intelligently. You chuckle, shaking his head. “You’ve always been too oblivious for your own good.” You would know.

“Too bad you’re here with me.” You continue with a self-deprecating joke. “I’m glad I’m here with you.” He murmurs with big brown eyes. You feel yourself flush at his affections and drop your gaze back to your own menu. Maybe you’re hiding your face behind it. Sue you.

“God, I’m so hungry.” You say to yourself, but he hears you and laughs… fondly? 

“Yeah, the food here is pretty good.” He comments on his own.

Finally, the silence this time around is comfortable.

“Can I ask you how your day was?” Spencer asks carefully. “Of course you can.” Before you speak, the dreaded waitress brings both of your waters.

“Thank you.” Spencer says respectively, and you think she could’ve swooned. “No problem.” And you all but roll your eyes.

After she leaves, you continue.

“My day was fine,” You shift uncomfortably. “I uh… I went to my first AA meeting today. It was… eye opening to say the least.” You shrug, leaning forward on your elbows to sip leisurely on your water.

“That’s great. Have you thought of getting a sponsor yet?” You purse your lips in contemplation at his words. “I haven’t really thought about it, but if I were to, I’d probably have to pick Miranda. She’s a sponsor at my location. I’ve met her. She’s nice.”

“That’s nice.”

You roll your lips between your lips at his answer before sighing and slumping back into your seat, leaning back against the wood of the booth.

“Fuck, Spencer, listen – I’m sorry everything is so awkward between us. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You’re my best friend.” You fiddle with the straw wrapper nervously. “I know I hurt you – and don’t even try to act like I didn’t, because I did – but I really, really, want to make things right with you.” You ramble anxiously, tearing the paper to shreds.

“I…” You look up and he gulps. “I would really like that.” He admits softly.

“I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t stop you.”

The rest of dinner goes by surprisingly well now that the emotional ice was broken.

You heard more about his job and what he does, praising him and he flushes a pretty red all the while brushing your compliments off.

Spencer holds the door open for you to exit.

“I told you I could’ve paid.” You grumble. “You can pay next time, I promise.” He says with a gentle grin. Your steps stutter before faltering completely. You pause to turn and look at him. “Next time?” You question in surprise.

His words seem to catch up to him, because he pauses too.

“Do you… not want there to be a next time?” His voice is drenched in sadness, and it makes your heart hurt. “No, no! That’s not what I meant! I just… I’m kind of just waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? It’s like tonight has been really great, but I feel like once I go home, you’ll totally ghost me.”

Spencer says your name and gets into your space. Your body buzzes at the limited distance between your bodies, but you refuse to shiver.

“____.” He says with a full frown. “I’m not going to ghost you or leave you, not when I just got you back. You aren’t the only one that missed their best friend, you know? I want to see you again, every day if I could.”

You stare up at him with tears burning in the back of your eyelids, turning your head to the side to blink them away.

“God, when did you become such a sap?” You grumble, smacking his chest lightly. But the truth was, your stomach swarmed with butterflies, and you were a bit nauseous, but this nausea was different. It was nice, and you had no idea what it meant.

He chuckles softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “I know it’s something you need to hear.” He says it like it’s nothing. Spencer’s always been an enigma like that.

“I don’t know when we’d be able to meet again though.” Spencer says with a thoughtful expression in his face. “My schedule isn’t very fixed, and my job takes me everywhere. I can’t give you a definitive time.”

“It’s fine, Spence.” You wave him off. “Don’t stress about it. I have faith in you, you know.” You say slyly. “Well, I’m glad.”

“I had a good time tonight.” He continues, and you nod in agreement. “I did too. Made things a little bit easier for me.” You confess, scratching at the back of your ear.

“You know you can talk to me about it, right?”

“Yeah… but it’s just… we just started being friends again, so I don’t want to stress you out with all my shit.”

“You wouldn’t ever stress me out with your ‘shit’, and with the way I see it, we never stopped being friends, we're just picking up from where we left off.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way.” You respond breathlessly. I mean, you really aren’t in a good place where positive thinking comes naturally. Maybe you should call your mom’s therapist tomorrow.

“Well, I should head home, I know my mom’s waiting for me even though she shouldn’t.” You huff fondly. “Tell your mom I said hi, okay? And be safe.”

“I will.”

You both stood there for a moment, like you want to make a move, but you step back and clear your throat. You don’t think you’re ready for physical affection just yet. There’s always a risk for you to crumble where you stand, and Spencer has softened you up more than you would have liked to have been tonight.

“Ah – uh, good night.” You bid sheepishly, and his ears flush pink in the moonlight.

“Good night.”

You see Spencer again after two weeks of radio silence.

You knew he’d have to be dragged away eventually, but you found yourself missing him more often than not now. You two had started texting daily, even exchanging good morning and night messages.

You’d ask him how his day went, and he’d ask you about your meetings or anything else you wanted to talk about really. It was like he was always interested in what you had to say, and you had forgotten how it felt to be heard.

It was strange, really, you didn’t find anything you did all that interesting, but Spencer seemed to want to hear all about it.

You’ve been going to AA weekly, and you even visited your mom’s therapist once and that was an intense experience. It had brought a lot of uncomfortable feelings to the surface, often causing your cravings to flare up.

It wasn’t like you weren’t willing to try, but therapy was one of those things that you had decided to go slower on. There were a lot of demons you weren’t ready to face yet, five years of self-inflicted trauma does that to a person.

You had just been sitting on the step of the porch smoking with a coffee. It was a familiar breakfast combination, one that you would have often back in New York while you sat on the balcony.

There was no rest in the city, no matter how high up your apartment was, it was always bustling, so you often fled the loudness of your mind just to step into something far fainter. It was an equal balance you suppose, the beeping of cars in the morning bringing some solace to the wicked hangover you were probably sporting.

Those were the days where you had been able to see Luke.

You wouldn’t say you missed him per se, because the way you felt about him was… different, to say the least. You loved him of course; what woman would say yes to a man she didn’t love? But it wasn’t the kind of love that he needed, and you knew that. 

You tried so hard to be the perfect girl he was with back when you’d first met, often hiding the nasty, ugly parts of yourself from him with a smile. Many of your self-destructive tendencies happened when he wasn’t home.

The difficult part of it all was that he wasn’t unkind to you at all; he never raised his hand or his voice at you. He gave you your own credit card, never pressured you into sex or demanded where dinner was. He was just a nice guy.

So, you really didn’t blame him for cheating on you.

You honestly don’t even consider it cheating at this point, you had been so emotionally checked out of the relationship that it wasn’t even like you two were together. Space managed to wedge its way between the both of you, splitting farther and farther until it finally separated. Cue that fateful night.

Hurt people, hurt people.

Your phone buzzes in your hand, bringing you out of your thoughts and you peer down at it lazily, but you almost choke on the smoke in your lungs when you see his text.

Spence [10:30 AM]: Good morning! I’m in the office right now, but I just wanted to see if you wanted to grab lunch together during my break?

You [10:31 AM]: Sounds good. Where are we meeting?

Spence [10:31 AM]: Here’s the thing, I don’t think I’d be able to leave the office for that long, so I was thinking we could eat here? It’s really no problem if not. I just wanted to save the trip for both of us.

You stared at his text unblinking for a moment, a sinking feeling settling in your gut.

The office was where his team was at, so basically his family by proxy. 

You had heard about them when you two had gone out for dinner, the man gushing about them fondly. It was cute, the way he looked up to them, but you couldn’t help but question how much they knew. Of course, they sounded like nice people but… but when you had left, Spencer should have just gotten the job at the BAU.

Did they know how fucking awful of a person you were? You wouldn’t have been surprised if they did. If you were Spencer, you’d curse yourself up and down. 

Maybe you were being too critical.

You nibble on your bottom lip before taking the final drag of your cigarette, putting it out on the now ashtray that sat on your stoop. Your mom had complained about finding the buds scattered throughout the yard, talking about how the tobacco was killing her plants or something. You’re not even sure if that’s scientifically possible.

Anyway, you look back down at your phone.

You [10:36 AM]:  That’s fine with me. What time should I stop by? Also, what do you want to eat?

Spencer [10:36 AM]: Great! My break usually starts around 12:30 to one, so any time after that should be good! And surprise me! You know what I like :)

You gawked at the usage of his emoticons, who taught him how to use those? It made you grin.

But then your smile quickly dims when you realize that you only have two hours left to get ready – you haven’t showered yet, let alone brushed your teeth – and leave as well as get the food all the while trying not to drown in your sea of overthinking.

Once again you find yourself attempting to swallow down the anxiety that rattles your bones, and the itch that alights in your nerves.

Welp.

It’s time to meet the family.

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[nrdmssgs]

König x tattoo artist reader

Masterlist

This started as a headcannon, but has grown into a brief scenario. There is a bit a of pet play happening down there, but i've tried to keep it light

Once he found out about your job, there is no way back. Man practically begs you to show him any new thing, you're working on. Congratulations, you've got your biggest fan from now on.

In Königs` opinion, not only was he lucky enough to get the best person out there, he was the luckiest one to see how your ideas are born! And he LIVES for that moments.

He sees your projects as something, that should be displayed in a museum.

Yes, Louvre, he is looking at you. It's high time you open new rooms for his Schatzs`* works to be displayed in!

"König, I thought, I threw out that sketch. C`mon, man, it's garbage, nobody needs it!"

"Nein! I'm keeping it! It's mine from now on!"

Secretly keeps a whole pile of scraps of paper, crumpled sheets, napkins you threw away while sketching.

He is interested in your entire creative process: from the first sketches to photo sessions with healed works. Bombards you with questions. "Is there any differences in a result if you draw two same sketches with a pencil and a thin brush?", "What do you like to tattoo the most?", "Where do you draw inspiration from?".

He brings albums with views of the nearest cities and just books with beautiful photographs and reproductions from every airport and train station when he travels (which is really often).

If you had not a huge library of inspirational sources before meeting him... you better buy a few new bookcases.

He never considered getting inked, especially not by you, no... To put your masterpiece on his calloused and scarred skin would be a sacrilegious act. No, he can't even dare to think of it...

Until one day, when he is sitting at your tattoo studio, minding his own business waiting for the end of your working day, like a good boy, when an old customer of yours arrives. You greet them warmly, give them a hug. And you say this one phrase, which is an old and silly joke between you and that customer...

"C`mon, lets get you marked." You say and take the customer to your room.

At this moment, something clicks in Koenig's head.

He tries not to think about it for the next few weeks, but fails. Because when you put it that way... To be marked as yours by your divine art, to wear that traces of your touch for eternity... His heart flips every time this idea reappears in his head.

You notice that lately he is often lost in his thoughts, and a light blush touches his cheeks.

So one of these times, you're having breakfast and can't help but notice that look on his face. "Koenig, are you alright? You look... lost."

"Oh?", he shudders. "No-no, I'm fine, just thinking..."

After some persuasion, you manage to draw out an indistinct "How much do you think it will cost ... to get a tattoo at your place?" out of him.

"It depends on which artist you have in mind... but you know, there are some perks in dating one." And before he is able to process that, you add, "I'm not taking your money, love. Tell me, what was on your mind, what you wanted to see on you?"

His answer was ready long ago. "Anything! As long as it's yours. Anything you could leave on me."

You try to get anything more specific, but he is really happy for any piece, that will remind him constantly, that you are not a figment of his imagination, that you exist, and you want him by your side.

You decide to start with something small, so that he can always cover that, if he feels like it.

Later that week you flip the pages of your album, that you are using just for ideas for his body (as the professional you would never try to convince him to get inked, the decision must be fully his, but nobody can stop you from fantasizing, how could you decorate that gorgeous body of his) in your studio, as he comes.

"Hi there, love. Haven't changed your mind?" you greet and embrace him. He is so excited, he almost shakes. "Nein, Schatz! I would never." he answers, pulling you in a tighter embrace.

So far he is your most trusting and content client. You barely make him look at the sketch after you made its copy on his arm. He wanted the reveal to be a surprise for him after you finish the whole tattoo, but you refused to proceed with the main process without obtaining his consent to this particular idea.

But when he sees the sketch on his skin, the man is speechless. Yes, you were always so very gifted in his eyes, but this... So simple, yet this idea is exactly, what he's been dreaming of. Two words superimposed on each other. Curves of letters, merging into the most intimate sounds that have ever flown from your lips ...

Good thing, he isn't afraid of blood, and has a pretty high pain threshold. So he sits there absolutely still, admiring every second of you working on him.

He is almost afraid to move, he desperately tries to calm his rushing heart down. What you do to him right now is sacred and divine to König. You are leaving your mark and you are not to be interrupted in any way.

So even when a little sweat drop slides down his temple, he doesn't flinch.

You notice it and decide to give the man a break. You give him a towel, pour a glass of water and ask him if it hurts. He tries to answer, but his voice is raspy because of dry throat.

"I-I... khhhmm, I'm fine. Go on, please!"

It's when your gaze slips down his body and you notice it. He enjoys it, he painfully enjoys it.

That's when you put your machine away and lean closer to him.

"I see, someone is having a good time...", you whisper, putting your hand oh sooo close to his hardness. "Looks like a pet just wants to be branded so badly."

Königs face grows bright red. He tries to mask the fever burning under his skin, to not disturb your work, but it is impossible, when you are so close, and you have him completely at your mercy. Your hand is almost touching him. Almost, but not yet. He looks away, embarrassed, aroused, panting. Silently praying for your mercy.

You grin. Poor thing is desperate for your touch in any way. "Now you be good and let me finish this work, ok?"

König nods quickly and covers his erection with the free arm.

"Did I let you hide yourself, pet?" you seem to look in the other direction, but notice his notion and correct him in a flash.

"You will sit here still as I work, you will look at me, and you won't cover yourself unless you're said so", you purr as you continue working.

When you are done, the man is a mess. He is breathless, he can only mumble and curse under his breath. You wipe off blood trails from a fresh tattoo on his arm and lean away to appreciate the result.

It's nothing really fancy, but it is a good start, if he ever decides, he wants more ink (he already has, believe me).

"You like it, love?"

Königs eyes are completely transfixed on your work. He slowly looks up at you. "Schatz... am I dreaming? This is ideal. H-how can I?"

You cut him off: "You'll thank me by caring right for it. No rubbing, no swimming, no touching the bandage till I let you... and no extensive physical activity for you for today. I'll bring you the lotion this evening, so be good and wait for me at home."

He looks at you with the most obedient eyes and just silently nods.

"One last thing." You go behind him, he is still sitting in the chair. You lean towards his ear and whisper, "Don't you dare touch yourself without me. Furthermore, you sit and wait for me." Your hand slides down his torso and his breath hitches. "This is all mine, pet. And now you have a constant reminder of that." 

*Schatz - treasure

[emry-stars-art]

EDIT: PENCIL HAS BEEN REPLACED AND IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING AGAIN!! Thank you to those who donated, you have my ENTIRE heart for now and always

Hiii I’m back to bother you all again with technical difficulties. Long story short, if I have diagnosed the problem properly, I need a new Apple Pencil! And if I’m wrong I’ll need to replace both my pencil and the iPad itself!! But (and I am sure this will surprise no one that’s read this far) - I have no money 🥲

This isn’t quite a 100% necessary expense. I still have a handful of job applications sent out that are still waiting on replies, and hopefully I’ll have some more income sooner rather than later - but since comms and art have been one of my main sources of income this year, this is gonna be a decent problem for a little bit 😅 in the meantime I’m going to reach into the void and boost some stuff and offer additional ways that maybe I can earn some money for the month!

So if you do happen to have extra cash, some ways that would help a ton: my patreon (this month’s star tier sticker is going to be an aftg mermay design of some sort or another), my etsy, my kofi shop, or plain old kofi donations. But I also wanna be able to sweeten the pot a little, so there’s more!

I’m selling a couple original pieces over on kofi as well, including Raven Kevin, the Jean & Jeremy piece, and the og mermay comic from last year 👀

I’m taking low-stakes sketch commissions, also on kofi! For 15usd you can drop an aftg/tsc sketch request, and if you want to be tagged when I post it, leave your url as well! Additional characters for a little extra, and you can drop specific reqs - give me thoughts, ideas, meme redraws, outfits, or ask for a specific scene or specific au of mine (sure is a good month for mermaids 👀). I’d also take requests of my own ocs, but unfortunately for these kinds of sketch requests I won’t be taking others ocs.

All that being said, of course I understand if donating isn’t possible for you rn, so I’m not trying to make you feel guilty about scrolling past lol. If you’d like something free to do you can also just leave a nice comment or tag on something I’ve drawn to get my mind off the issues 😅 thank you so much to all you lovely people who support me in every way, it’s literally my livelihood and makes me so happy every day to make you happy, so! I hope you all have a wonderful time zone, and I hope you’re as excited for more merms as I am 😌💕

[snowzapped]

So... The 10yr old Grandpa PC is now bootlooping. Probably turning senile and yelling at the cloud if it could.

Our guess is the graphics card finally giving up. I still have to take it to the shop tomorrow since it's a holiday today. That being said, I may need to build a new pc. I'll salvage what I can from the old one (ssd, hdd, probably the psu) but I need to get a new graphics card, motherboard and processor since mine is 10yrs old and the new stuff aren't that great paired with older tech and if I'm getting a better gpu, might as well get good processing power. Hopefully, it will last another 10yrs.

But I don't have enough money. So if anyone wants to commission me, now would be the time. As long as you're willing to wait a bit. If anyone wants to buy the SteveTony coloring book, send tips on kofi, I would be very grateful. And if you want to consider supporting me on patreon, I thank you so very much. Lowest tier is $1. You get everything the highest tier has.

I am stuck right now. I'm a freelancer and the pc is my only source of income. I will make pencil sketches for $5 dollars. Send me a kofi and your request. I will be very happy.

I can't copy paste all the stuff on mobile but here's the commission link. And the rest of the links are also at the bottom of that post. Coloring book is pinned on my tumblr.

Thanks so much and wish me luck! 😄

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

This Is Kinda Nice Too (2)

So I know I have requests to be working on - and I am - every request I currently have has a plan sketched out for it, I just need time to get them all written up.

In the meantime, however, I couldn't get this little idea to continue a previous request out of my head, so here it is. Part three may or may not make its way into being.

Can be read alone, but best read as as the follow up to the below (also if these inserted links look odd I'm sorry but it's the only way I know how atm)

You’re not a morning person at the best of times, and a night on a lumpy, creaky camp bed certainly hasn’t changed that.  You studiously ignore Janine’s chirpy ‘good morning’, making a mental note to apologise later once you’ve been properly caffeinated.

Speaking of which, there seems to be a distinct lack of a fire going and so currently no boiling water to make the dream of a cup of tea into reality.  Not bothering to ask for help or wait for anyone else, you move as quickly as you ever do in the morning to set a new fire going. 

You’re making decent progress when a gentle hand lands on your shoulder and a steaming cup of tea is brought into your line of vision.  The rumours really were true when they said Barb was a Saint.

“How?”

“There’s an electrical outlet in the little cabin I’m in,” she smiled, settling herself on one of the camp chairs closest to the fire, hands cradled round her own cup of coffee.  “I called ahead to check and packed a little travel kettle.”

“If you weren’t already married I’d be proposing right now,” you tell her as you take your first sip of tea.  It’s perfect.  It’s too perfect.  It’s your exact morning tea precisely how you take it.  Barbara Howard has never made you a cup of tea in your life.  You frown as you lower your cup, meeting Barb’s knowing smile.

“Melissa made it,” she offers by way of an explanation. 

You’re not quite sure what to think about that, but it makes you smile.  A few moments later the mysterious red head herself appears out of Barb’s tiny cabin, her own mug of coffee in hand.  The Kindergarten teacher had the only ‘cabin’, after trying to get out of the trip saying she was too old for camping.  Cabin was perhaps a strong word for the small wooden hut, but it did at least boast running water and electricity.  The smaller wooden camping pods laid out around it weren’t quite so luxurious, but they were at least wind and watertight.    

“I hate to say it, but I think I might be too old to sleep on a camp bed,” groans Melissa as she stretches. 

You chuckle.  “I don’t think anyone is young enough to get a decent night’s sleep on those beds if yours is anything like mine.”

*

“Ava, this is not breakfast,” Melissa says flatly as she looks dubiously at the small packet she has been handed by the Principal.

“Of course it is,” the younger woman snaps back.  “It says ‘breakfast bar’ right there on the front.  Besides, gotta have portable snacks so we can get our scavenger hunt on!”

This gets a collective groan from the group.  Ava ignores this and proceeds to fetch a folder. 

“Okay, now everyone come get a sheet and take a pencil. The pencils have numbers on them that’ll tell y’all who you’re paired up with.  Now remember, it’s not just about collecting all the items on the list, it’s about getting to the end point in the quickest time.”

You end up with Barb and Jacob.  Could be better, could be worse, you figure.  You look over to see Janine with a look of genuine worry on her features as she looks from her numbered pencil to Melissa, who’s eyebrows are hiked impressively high on her forehead.  There might be one less member of your little Abbott family around the campfire tonight if her murderous expression is anything to go by. 

Barb, ever the peacekeeper moves forward.  You expect her to offer to swap with Janine, so what she says next comes as a surprise.

“Oh Janine, I was hoping you’d end up in my little group.  I thought it would give us time to talk.  We haven’t had a chance of late with school being so busy,” says Barb.  She moves to take your pencil from your hand.  “You wouldn’t mind swapping, would you?”

“Course not,” you say, because really, what else are you meant to say?  You move to stand next to Melissa, who is now shooting an odd look on Barb’s direction.  “I can swap with Barb if you want?”

“What?  No!” she quickly reassures you.  “I was just wondering if she’d actually lost her mind volunteering to take those two.”

“Oh come on, they’re not that bad,” you reply, admittedly rather half-heartedly. 

“You really wanna swap with Barb?” she asks, eyebrow raised.

“Hell no!” comes your immediately reply.  “I definitely got the better deal one this one.”

*

“There’s a shortcut coming up.”

Melissa frowns, looking at the map Ava had provided.  She turned it to and fro, not sure where you were seeing any shortcut.

“It’s not on Ava’s map,” you add, coming to stand next to her.  You point to where the marked path takes a long, meandering loop.  “It’s just here.  It leaves the path and cuts out that big loop.  It’s a bit steeper, but-“

“You saying I’m too old to take the short cut?”

Your eyes go wide at her words and you immediately start to back track.  “That’s not what I said!  I said it was a little steeper, that was all!”

She chuckles.  “I was just messin’ with ya, kid.  So, this shortcut takes some time off, huh?”

“Should do,” you nod.  “I only know it’s there because when I first came here it was after seeing pictures on Instagram of the view from the top.  There were hints about making the hike quicker in the comments.”

“You think it gives us a shot at beating Ava?” Melissa smirks.  The Principal had practically dragged Gregory off at a run at the start of the scavenger hunt.

“It just might,” you grin right back. 

“Then I say lets go.”

*

“Shit!”

“What?  What happened, are you okay?” you ask, quickly turning around to inspect the red head.

She waves off your concern with a hand.  “I forgot about the list of crap we’re meant to find.”

“Oh that?  Don’t worry about that.  I found half the things we needed before we even left camp this morning.”  You take the list out of your pocket.  “We just need a feather, a Y shaped twig and a heart shaped rock.”

Melissa shakes her head, looking at you with a fond smile.  “You got this all under control, huh?”

You hope the blush that creeps up your cheeks can be passed off as the exertion of your hike.  You’re helpless under her soft gaze.  “Didn’t think you’d let me live it down if we came last.”

Her smile turns positively wicked.  “You know me well,” she says as she starts the uphill climb once more, treating you to a rather glorious view of her rear.  You’re quick to chastise yourself for your blatant staring and fall into step behind her. 

*

“Oh, wow.”

You look up at the softly uttered words to see that Melissa has reached the viewpoint ahead of you.  She has a soft smile tugging at the edges of her lips as she takes in the view.  You remember feeling the same sense of wonder the first time you saw the landscape falling away before you.  Like you were on top of the world. 

Abandoning your search for a heart shape stone, you force your legs to take the final few steps to bring you level with the red head.  You take a moment to breathe, looking over the expanse of green below you before turning to look at the other woman.  Her cheeks are flushed from the effort of the hike, her hair in windswept waves around her face.  She looks beautiful.  She always does, to you. 

She turns to look at you and you immediately duck your head, aware you’ve been blatantly caught staring.  That’s when you see it, right in front of your boot.  A heart shaped stone.  Bending to pick it up, you hold it out to her.  “Looks like we ticked off our list.”

“And made it to the top first,” she grins smugly.  She proceeds to open the small rucksack she had been toting, shaking out a picnic blanket before producing a bottle of wine.  “A little drink to celebrate?”

*

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look up to where she sits next to you on the blanket.  “I tend to be more relaxed when I’m away from things…people,” you finally reply.

“I’m not people?” she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

You pull yourself up until you’re sitting next to her, your knees drawn up to your chest as you look out over the view.  It’s easier to talk when you’re not looking at her.  “You’re different.”  You get nervous around Melissa, yes, but it’s not the same anxiety you feel around others.  “You don’t make me feel self-conscious about being me.”

“You know something, kid?” she breathes.  “I think that’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me.”

You feel an arm slip around your shoulders, pulling you into her side.  This is why you fell in love with her, you realise.  This acceptance of your quirks, your anxieties and your oddities without question.  You’ve never even had to explain them to her.  She just gets you. 

You’re not quite sure you can recall when it started, her understanding, you falling for her, but there is one night that stands out in your mind.  Ava had organised staff drinks.  It was a bar you’d never been too and it was busy and loud.  It had taken having a quiet word with yourself to even make it in the door.  Standing barely two steps inside, you had scanned the room, looking for a friendly face, your anxiety rising when you couldn’t find one.  It was stupid, you knew, to think that anyone thought you looked out of place for simply taking a moment to stand and search for your friends, but you couldn’t shake the feeling. 

It was then that you heard a familiar voice and saw Melissa cutting through the crowd towards you.  Her hand found your own, and she offered you a smile before leading you through the busy room to where your Abbott family were gathered.  It had been a good night, but as usual, you had struggled to find a way to leave.  You knew you were an adult who could leave whenever they wanted, but somehow, you always seem to end up the last to leave out of some misplaced notion of it being more polite than leaving before the night was over. 

Melissa had given you an out, seeing you were flagging and offering you a lift with her and Barb.  She was forever giving you an out, it felt like.  And yet she never made it feel like a burden.  You shift until you can lean your head on her shoulder, in almost a reverse of the night before. 

“How the hell you beat us?”

You both jump at the sound of Ava’s voice behind you, turning to face her.

“We practically speed walked!” she shouts, dumping a bag beside you clearly containing the contents of the scavenger hunt list.  “Ya’ll must have cheated!”

“How?” Melisa questions.  “We all left at the same time.  You saw us.  If I remember rightly, you practically took off like a sprinter out the blocks!”

Gregory appears behind Ava, looking slightly winded.  He looks just as surprised to see you as she had.  “How the?”

“Skills,” smirks Melissa.  “Some of us just have them.”

*

You jerk awake at the creek of the door of your little hut, squinting in the dark. 

“It’s just me,” comes the hiss of a whisper.  

Melissa.

“Scooch over.”

“To where?” you grumble, acquiescing all the same, and moving as far to the edge of the small camp bed as you can without falling off.  The frame squeaks in protest as the red head joins you on the too small bed.  You huff as she manhandles you into a comfortable position, her arm around your waist and her head on your shoulder. 

“First you call me old, now you call me fat!” she chuckles as she shimmies in an attempt to get more comfortable.

“Did not!” is all you can manage.  “You know I wouldn’t.”  You feel her smile against your neck.  Yes, the line has definitely been crossed.  By both of you.  Baby steps to many, it may seem, but giant leaps for awkward lesbian-kind. 

“I know I’m just teasing,” she says quietly. 

You hum in reply.  “One of your many skills.”

“You like it.”

“I like you,” you say quietly, too sleepy to worry too much about your words.

As your eyes drift closed, you feel her lips smile against your skin.  “I like you too.  This is kinda nice, too.”

[akai-anna]

Rambling post about The Art TM

Firstly, a special thank you to @livmadart who fuelled my motivation with her lovely tags on my art to finish making this post as soon as I could (life just likes to get in my way). You are such an amazing person and artist (by the way, everyone should totally check out Liv's BDay piece for our favourite little menace BECAUSE IT'S GORGEOUS), and your words always mean a lot to me (even if I'm not the best at communication, for which I apologize, still love and adore you, despite the awkwardness and sporadic talks).

The Idea

My art was inspired by the amazing @detshin's piece. Ever since I've seen it, I felt the urge to make a companion piece for it; I adore the composition and the symbolism in it to bits.

The Concept

I also wanted to take my own spin on the piece. From the start I wanted:

Conan's eyes not being covered (because he can see)

Conan looking at the viewer like he is looking straight into your soul. No thoughts, head empty why, it just felt right.

His mouth to be the one that is covered in some way. The sheer symbolism of his mouth being obstructed (but cannot speak) just made my heart ache so badly.

Changing the outfit based on this musing of mine.

As for the rest, it came about when sketching around, and waiting for that CLICK in my brain. And the forget-me-nots covering his mouth was that CLICK: SYMBOLISM IS MY LIFEBLOOD.

The Materials

I had 2 techniques in mind: watercolours and soft pastels. Ultimately I decided on soft pastels because

I haven't worked with pastels in YEARS, yet I adore the technique

I haven't used these pastels since I got them from an attic cleaning that we did for an old lady last year-ish (they would have been thrown away, after YEARS OF DISUSE and my heart couldn't take it, SUCH BEAUTIFUL MATERIALS TO WASTE AWAY)

I felt that what the material has to offer suited this particular piece: the vibrant colours offering a certain contrast to the original piece, and a certain feel (especially on the right paper) to the texture.

After some testing, I decided that going with a dark background works better: it made the colours more vibrant, and the slight texture of the paper did its magic. + Dark VS Light background colour was another nice contrast between the two pieces.

The Making

At first I didn't know what to use to sketch with, so I tested a couple things, and ultimately went with a white pencil: easy enough to erase if needed but also visible enough to see on this particular paper I had.

Looking up and studying tons of reference pictures for various things (sometimes with more, sometimes with less luck): the pose, facial features, the flowers... I have a whole folder of 'em LMAO

Actually drawing that sketch LOL

Then came the colours, which I tested on a separate piece of paper, to see which ones I want to use... After that I added the main blocks of colours.

And when I liked it, proceeding with the actual colouring: mixing all the different colours and layering them. In some places I used 4-6 colours (or more, depending how you look at it), while I used only 2, but mostly 3 in others.

Lastly: I used hairspray as a fixative, which slightly changed the quality and texture of the pastels and colours. (See below.)

The Feelings

As mentioned above, it has been years (I think around a decade actually, what the fck) since I used soft pastels, so it was a bit of a challenge to get back into using the material (and I'm not as experimental and confident I want to be yet, and likely fried my brain a little in the process). Also tons of fun, though! I forgot how much fun is there in the process of creation, and this piece brought that back into my life.

[eegasleega-will-change-this-l8r]

-OUR FOUNDER-

⚙ THE CHAIRMAN ⚙ OF COGS INCORPORATED EST. 2003 ---------------------------------

So I've never talked about this on here before, but Toontown was one of my absolute FAVORITE games as a kid (despite never having membership so being locked out of 99% of the actual game jlkjfsakj) Like it was absolutely formative for me, I drew the cogs a bajillion times and they inspired a ton of my own stuff later on (and still absolutely do) Then the game closed and Rewritten came out so I could actually play the whole game for the first time (haven't gotten anywhere close to getting to the end though) To this day I have an on again off again interest where once or twice a year I'll suddenly get absolutely smitten with it again haha

So, if you're also into Toontown, you'll obviously be familiar with the mysterious, unseen overarching villain The Chairman This is my own take on his design that I came up with a few years back ^^

We don't have much to go off of from the original game for what the Chairman might've been like, so I had a couple of different inspirations

Obviously the giant head in the Sellbot Factory, since those old Chairman pics with that head pasted onto a cog body were absolutely what I was most exposed to as a kid, but it's also not a 1:1 lift

In some of my earliest sketches trying to come up with the ideal design I tried making him look like he had the giant robot from the old installer video underneath his suit, so he had like lanky, cartoonish proportions, toonier hands, etc It looked really bad though and I couldn't do what I wanted with the head since it would've had to fit over the shorter, wider robot head, so I just ended up scrapping it (i do take some inspiration from the video for my vision of Toontown's story, but i've just scrapped the robot entirely) Oh I also gave him the eyes from the Field Office since I thought that could be neat, but it looked out of place so I simplified them to what he has now (they're still stylistically similar to the eyes on regular cog buildings, so i don't think i'm really losing any of the meaning behind them at least)

By far the biggest inspiration was when the FY11 plans got released

Holy FUDGE did this blow my mind when I saw it for the first time All those years as a kid of the Chairman not even being ACKNOWLEDGED except by the CEO's final words and a couple odd references in obscure magazines and whatever Desperately speculating and grasping onto all those tiny pieces of some mysterious, horrifically evil entity behind everything And then this??? This awesome, ominous silhouette?? Plans for something huge??? Seeing it is what drove me to go and draw him in the first place, it still gives me chills just looking at it

So yeah, I wanted mine to have that same aura of cold evil, that striking silhouette, while also having a bit more character to him Like most cogs are frozen in the same screwed up scowl, where there's not much room for expression If I could, like, make an actual model for him, I'd want him to have the same sort of capacity for different expressions as the toons have (even some you wouldn't expect from the head of the cogs)

He's ruthless, calculating, doing everything he can to maximize the profits and efficiency of Cogs Inc and expand their operations to the entirety of Toontown, with no regard for ethical business practices or the wishes of the people he plans to subjugate (But does it work? Is he happy?)

I'm absolutely gonna do an analysis of the cogs as a whole at some point (as long as my interest doesn't plummet for a little while longer), there's a ton of stuff I wanna get into about my interpretation of them as villains because oh my god I love them so much

OTHER STUFF - He's not as massive as the other boss cogs, but he's still absolutely huge (iirc the highest level cogs are all canonically like 8ft?? and he's got a LOT of height on them) - He's drinking oil in the pencil drawing - I happened to watch this video where one guy talked about the way the villain in Tarzan held a glass of wine and how it left a huge impression on him, so I just arbitrarily decided to emulate it in my drawing XD - Oh yeah a big reason for the main drawing in the post was that I really felt like I was getting too attached to a single style in my digital stuff (literally just using the same default pen tool for everything, never changing the size), so I wanted to force myself to try something new - I drew the frame myself, just kinda winged it so it's. not as good as it could be but it works fine I think

[thetistaboveall]

Sketch Artist

Sitting on the boardwalk of my small town country side home in the midst of a busy parades passing the streets and yet I am yanked back to reality when my pencil drops to my side. My eyes meet the page shading in beautiful designs of the way of the hottest guy I have every seen and I knew I had to have him as my own even thought he is a truly haunted soul. He is forty something years old hot, muscled and super sexy guy who I created with my own imagination and indeed it all starts flow from control as the ink flood through the pen. The ink piles from the pen flooding all the way on to the ink helping it to take up room shaking things up and my drawing comes to life flying off the page because I am a master of the world.He is looking absolutely amazing in a light leather jacket with a grey tee and super tight dark blue jeans and I am consumed by his inner beauty to do as I please with him. I stood up walking toward him standing up to him face to him because I take his waist in my hand and pull him in to me kissing him slowly and soon i find myself making out with intensity.

“Who are you? Who am I?”

“I am Master Lawrence”

“Oh!”

“You are Slave Jay, my slave”

“Yes Master”

“Kneel at my feet”

“Who are you to me?”

“I am your creator”

“Literally your God”

“Yes! My God”

“You submit to me”

“Yes Daddy!”

“Daddy?”

“You are my young creator”

“Fair enough!”

“May I kiss you ?”

“I crave to do so”

“I don’t know why”

“You are in love with me”

“I am”

“Every fiber of my being “

“You seep through “

“At the core “

“Yes sire”

“You are a poet”

“How would you know?”

“Your words”

“They call to me”

“Your voice is sweet”

“Your sound is kind “

“You are the perfect “

“The perfect what?”

“Everything my king”

“Be careful what you say “

“My love”

“You don’t understand “

“No! You don’t”

“What do you expect?”

“I am in awe of you “

“Kiss me”

“Worship me”

“I am on my knees”

“Do you love me?”

“More then anything “

“Go on”

“My whole world “

“I love you “

“I am at your core”

“Bite my lips “

“Oh god!”

“Sit on my lap”

“Show me who you are “

“My lap dance”

“Get on with it “

I grab My sketch book giggling a bit with a tip of the pen we are transported to my bed room in my newly renovated mansion in the private part of the city .

It is soon enough he woke up in a heat of hot passion he leans in to kiss me slowly

his lips act as if they are attached to me

on purpose he is unwilling to let go.

I back up to edge of bed as his heavy ass of a body comes barreling down on me as we fall back on to the bed and he kisses me very slowly.

His arms wrap around my waist as they are growing even tighter on my waist he yanks me up and places me to face him and plop

i am on his waist.

It is too funny for me watching him this jerk of an asshole is squirming under me while his eyes grew full and he continues make love to me.

He loses himself digging his hand under my shirt as he shifts it up and over my hand as my clothes toss in to the air and fall to the floor.

“Are you a real man Jay? Speak!”

“No Master! You are my King”

“Tell me”

“Call me Master Lawrence “

“Yes! Master Lawrence “

“Lead me”

“I am your man”

“You are mine”

“We are combined “

“We are one individual “

“Belonging to you”

“Wonderful!”

The end

[wanderlustmagician]

Alright here's something for your ask box: aside from baking breads and other awesome foods, and writing, of course, do you have any other hobbies you want to talk about?

Ooooooo this is fun. Thank you Estelian! (este? Lian? What’s your preferred nickname?)

I’m a big old dweeb. I love learning, specially about history. I think the last deep dive I did, to the consternation of my friends and family, was on the Six Wives of Henry VIII. And one time before that I gave myself nightmares because I read everything I could about bog bodies at 3am it’s a fascinating topic, it’s a burial practice! Just don’t recommend looking at the photos. Dont do it. It’s not worth it.

On the subject of learning as a hobby, a friend of mine and I are trying to learn ASL together. We’re excited.

I play video games, mostly of the cozy variety. Stardew Valley, Spiritfarer, Kingdom: Two Crowns are some faves. Legend of Zelda is the only game I play in its genre tbh but it’s a lot of good fun and I enjoy that it challenges me to get out of my comfort zone. There’s a lot of hijinks that come from me playing LoZ, which serves to make it very enjoyable.

I’m also a painter! I’ve tried my hand at murals (lots of fun) and years ago I entered some art competitions with some colored pencil sketches and a pointillism piece. Everything I’ve done is traditional in medium, so I’ve been trying my hand at digital art lately. It’s a fun challenge and it lets me exercise a different approach to my creativity.

What about you? Tell me some of your hobbies.

[stelsundarkstar]

sketches from 2022

This will be a relatively long post!!

---

Kimetsu Gakuen Gyutaro & Daki (old genderbend versions)

short comic thing about an old OC of mine that's supposed to be gyokko's dad

more gyokko & his fanon dad

a concept sketch about a fic where gyokko randomly turns into a human

Touko & Yoshiteru's little sisters

frisk undertale

kamaboko squad but they're girls

a gyutaro filled page full of angsty shit

old design of hashira!Gyokko &, again, his fanon dad

gyokko with a random demon slayer

this was (i think) the first ever muzan X gyokko sketch that i've ever done

based on a meme that i saw on here

gyokko in a fishing net

i thought it was cool to draw him in a bunny suit

akaza

coloured shitposts that i used to find amusing

a sketch that is still relevant to me

pencil sketch of daki

rengoku & a tiger

[borrowedtimeandspace]

Say You Love Me Too

AU: The Donna Trilogy | If I Could Turn Back Time

Note: This one kept getting longer on me, but I wanted to make sure I did these two justice. Here's hoping I have.

~~~

“Thirty days.”

Orrick’s words cut through the dusty air inside the walls of the cottage. 

He and Zepheera hardly said a thing to one another since their talk over tea that afternoon. Nothing quite as meaningful, anyway. Her sudden return put a damper on his big plan to leave it all behind, and he hadn't accounted for dinner. Reckoned he'd borrow something nonperishable on his way out, just enough to sustain him on the journey between human houses. He'd steadily (albeit slowly) eaten through everything in their stores so that pests wouldn't find it and gather, ever since he decided what he would do if Zepheera didn't come back.

Now she had come back, and he didn't have anything in.

She was quick to offer to come with him on the borrowing trip, a standard food raid that he could easily do on his own. Still, with her penchant for vanishing, there was no way Orrick was leaving Zepheera out of his sight. So he agreed, and they silently traversed the darkened pathways under the floorboards and within the walls, all the way up to the humans’ pantry.

Despite their time apart, they fell into the rhythm of borrowing together right away. One kept watch while the other worked on subtly gathering food in a way that wouldn't be easily noticed, and they traded off these roles silently and smoothly. It was easy work for seasoned professionals, especially with most of the giant folk out of the house at that hour.

It was still odd for them both, how natural it all felt. Like nothing had changed, even though that couldn't be farther from the truth.

Orrick meant to emphasize that as he tossed the two words over his shoulder on their way back from a successful run.

Zepheera was quiet for the first few seconds afterward. “What?” she asked, though he noticed in her tone that she didn't sound like she'd misheard.

“How long you've been gone,” Orrick confirmed. He sent her a quick backward glance, though he was only able to make out her general shape in the darkness. “You asked, and it's only right I answer your question since you answered mine. It's been a month.”

His gaze lingered on her silhouette when he heard the slightest stutter in her steps, but she kept pace. He turned back to face the front once he felt assured that they weren't going to be separated again, and continued leading the way home.

It didn't sound like much, saying it aloud. One month. Some of Orrick’s most detailed sketches took him a few weeks to feel satisfied with the results. Zepheera’d knitted jumpers in that amount of time as well. Neither of those tasks had ultimately felt like they'd taken an incredibly long time in the past.

When it came to waiting to see if your spouse would return home, unsure of why they left or if they were even alive… Then, a month felt like an eternity.

Zepheera seemed to understand that, because she fell completely silent. It wasn't until well after they'd climbed down below the floorboards that she managed to whisper, “I'm sorry…”

“You've said that,” Orrick pointed out as they reached the main entrance to the home. 

The door was a lid they'd repurposed from an old tin. The hinges were intact to use like a proper door, swinging inward with a firm push and unable to do so in the other direction. To keep pests and strangers out, they'd installed a couple of small hooks to either side of it on the inside, onto which they could drop a sturdy bar (usually a pencil) that would hold the door in place.

Orrick let the door swing inward and once again glanced back at Zepheera. In this space under the floor, a little more light was able to slip between the cracks. Now the shadows couldn't hide the flush of contained emotion in her cheekbones, the way she could barely maintain eye contact with Orrick for more than a second before her gaze lowered in shame. 

The way that, though he wasn't barring the way inside, she simply stood behind Orrick. Almost waiting to be invited into the home they'd built together.

“You still haven't explained why you needed that answer. Why, of all things, that was the mystery to you.” Orrick's tone stayed even and calm, not wanting to come off as accusatory. She hadn't gone into any detail, but he knew that something had happened to Zepheera since he'd seen her last. Something that changed her.

Zepheera took a deep breath in and out, though Orrick noticed the slightest hitch, like a second small inhale before she let it slowly out. As she did so, her gaze met his and stayed this time.

“I told you, it's a long story,” she said, though to Orrick it didn't sound like an excuse. Zepheera wasn't dodging his question. No, she was simply warning him that the answer to it was far from simple.

Orrick slowly nodded in understanding. Then, with just as much care, he reached out a hand toward Zepheera, who blinked at it before looking back up at him.

“Tell it, then,” he invited.

In the dimness, Orrick thought he caught the briefest glimpse of a smile flashing across Zepheera's lips before she lifted a trembling hand to take his.

Learning that Zepheera couldn't age, while unexpected, wasn't too difficult for Orrick to accept. She had always been an unusual one, able to recover from injuries incredibly quickly compared to the average borrower. She took that in stride, and so did Orrick.

They crossed the threshold together.

~~~

When it came to time travel, however…

It wasn't the easiest topic to simplify for a borrower, let alone one who had lived his entire life in the 20th century. Space travel was only just becoming a more prominent reality for humans, and even that felt very far away and foreign to the smaller folk, who had no such ambitions. And apparently, Zepheera had taken part in that as well!

Zepheera hardly claimed to be an expert on the matter, but she explained it to the best of her understanding. Though she had clearly prepared something that would be easiest for him to swallow, it was an intense shift in Orrick's worldview.

He was still processing it all hours later, lying in bed and staring up at the underside of the floorboards that were their ceiling. Thoughts swirled in his head in so many circles that his eyes traced them as though they were visible in the darkness of night.

At the time, he understood just enough of what she told him to be able to nod along with it. Now, hours later, all attempts to let it actually sink in kept him awake.

What struck him the most in the moment was that Zepheera had traveled with humans.

It wasn't that it was more strange than the time travel, really, but it was one of the cardinal rules drilled into every borrower's head from the moment they were born. Never be seen or heard. Human beings were powerful simply by the nature of their being, well over a dozen times the size of a borrower more often than not. Even the weakest human could do the strongest borrower great harm with hardly any effort.

Whether a given human would treat the smaller folk that way was beside the point. They all had to be considered capable of such things by every borrower as a matter of caution.

Zepheera insisted that these humans were of a good sort. Well, one of them was actually not human, but was “close enough to practically count,” which was another notion Orrick was still grappling with. The Doctor, the non-human one was called. He'd saved Zepheera from a bad situation, and that was all she could say on the matter.

She went distressingly quiet when Orrick tried to ask about it.

Most of the time spent between making and eating dinner was filled with Zepheera’s stories about this Doctor and the human woman Donna Noble. How the unnamed terrible thing that happened affected her intensely, and her companions helped her recover from it. How they inspired Zepheera to take on a more active role in bettering the lives of others where- and whenever they went. 

Orrick could tell they had been close, and the way Zepheera talked made it seem like this was a rarity for her. And he could see glimpses of the heartbreak in her eyes as she told him about how she was separated from them.

With a deep sigh, Orrick brought up both hands to rub at his eyes. He was making himself dizzy trying to understand time as something non-linear, but it was so intertwined with everything Zepheera had told him about her life.

The Doctor had a machine, she said, a vehicle of some sort that allowed them to go wherever they wanted at any time. She'd described it as something quite fantastical, far bigger on the inside than it appeared from the outside. It could disappear from one time and place, and reappear in another. 

And even with all its magics, it still rendered the Doctor helpless to find Zepheera when she was lost. This was apparently due to the nature of said separation, her being somehow flung through time to the past, well before Zepheera's own birth.

“Wait, so…” Orrick had piped up at that point. “If you were in the past, and knew about things that hadn't happened yet…why didn't you try to change them?”

Zepheera had blinked at the question, one of Orrick’s few interruptions to her story. He wasn't casting judgment on her, and the sadness that crept back in behind her eyes told him she understood exactly what he meant.

“It's…quite complicated, being in the past. Especially your own past. Time can be rewritten, yes, but the effects of that are impossible to predict.” At that, her gaze lowered to her wringing hands. “And everything that happened to me… everything I've done… It made me the person I am today. Made me better. If I tried to change even one line of my own history, then the me I am now wouldn't exist anymore. Or worse. I couldn't risk that.”

Zepheera glanced back at him then. “Do you understand?” she’d ventured to ask.

Orrick had listened to every word, but that was the point where it all started to scramble in his head. Just like he would do later in bed remembering the feeling, he buried his face in his hands. “I regret asking…”

Back in the present, the sound of quickened breathing to Orrick’s left caught his attention. He let his hands run down his face as he turned to look at Zepheera's deeply sleeping form beside him.

There really was no place for her to sleep other than the bed they used to share. She tried to insist she had something in her travel pack that she could set up, but Orrick couldn't let her just sleep on the floor. Even after everything…it didn't feel right.

It wasn't like it was before. Orrick lay flat as a board on his side, while Zepheera had started out curled with her back to him on the other. A solid inch of their makeshift mattress was left cold between them, a significant distance when the tallest between them couldn't quite claim five inches in height. Though Orrick had been too overcome with his thoughts to move, Zepheera had long since fallen asleep and began stirring more than he ever remembered her doing in the past.

He gently rolled to his side to face her. She'd writhed enough to end up lying on her back. It was dim, but not dark enough to hide the sweat on her twisted brow. The grimace on her lips as she sucked in air between clenched teeth. How one hand clutched the covers and the one nearest Orrick, tossed up near her ear, twitched as though grasping at something that wasn't there.

Before he could think twice about it, Orrick slid a hand up to gently wrap around Zepheera's and give it a squeeze. 

He understood then just how much pain Zepheera had kept to herself. From what he could tell, she had been truthful with everything she'd shared, and yet she'd glossed over the darker aspects before they could sink in. Now, it seemed like she couldn't hide it as easily in her sleep. Or hide from it.

Zepheera's hand automatically clung to Orrick’s. He froze, caught up in the feeling of her grip twitching in his; a feeling that gradually calmed down. After some time, he noticed a change in the rhythm of Zepheera's breathing and saw her shadowy shape turn his way.

She was awake. He couldn't explain how he knew that, but he did.

If she looked at him, he was only vaguely aware of it in his peripheral vision. He stared at their joined hands as his thumb gently traced along her palm, as though the new questions he had would be answered there.

“How long have you been gone?”

Zepheera stayed quiet a moment, recognizing the repeated phrasing. Now Orrick understood exactly why she'd asked, and that her own answer was not straightforward and very different from the one he gave. He waited while she momentarily pondered the answer.

“I think…” she whispered, “between when I left and when I met the Doctor, and then how long ago I was sent back in time… almost two hundred years.”

Orrick’s gaze snapped up to meet hers, something in him clenching to hear such a number.

“And…in all that time, did you…” Orrick hesitated; it suddenly felt quite silly to ask, but he'd already started. “Was there ever anyone else?”

Either the darkness was playing tricks on him, or Orrick caught the tiniest sparkle of hope in Zepheera's eyes. It was gone in a flash, and she slowly shook her head no.

Orrick scoffed at himself for forgetting. “Right. ‘Course, it wouldn't change anything, would it? You'd still be worried about outliving them and–”

“Nobody was you,” Zepheera emphasized.

His breath caught in his chest, along with any more words. 

Outside of his control, the hand holding Zepheera's pulled it closer. It stopped a hair's breadth from his lips, and with the slightest pause, he angled his wrist to instead place the back of her hand against his cheek.

Orrick's eyes squeezed shut as he basked in the warmth of her skin. So many times since her return, he'd avoided such intimate contact with Zepheera. Like there was some wall between them after what happened, a line that he couldn't be sure was safe to cross. For his own sake or for hers. Over the past few hours, she'd chipped away at that wall with her honesty and openness about her completely mad life, and he could feel his resolve crumbling. 

There was only one thing Orrick needed to hear to make it real.

“Do you still love me?” he breathed.

Zepheera's grip went slack in his hand and twisted its way out of it. Before Orrick could fear the worst, he felt her hand gently slide in to hold his cheek. His eyes shot open just as her thumb tenderly brushed away his tears.

With her own eyes welling up, glinting in the barest light that made it into the room, Zepheera spoke with more conviction than he'd heard yet. 

“I never stopped.”

Orrick kissed her. The barrier shattered.

His wife was home.

[runawayonryo]

In the beast's den

{karl heisenberg x gen!neutral reader} Chapter eleven: renovation

notes: sorry for not updating, life is a bitch sometimes

__________

The sun rises early; peering through the blinds and disrupting your precious sleep. Reaching out to hug Karl, you notice his sudden absence; no trace of his soft touch, his handsome face, his strong hands anywhere. Whilst you tiredly roll out of bed to freshen up, Heisenberg himself sits in his workshop; his pencil scraping over paper to create an intricate sketch for a new 'Soldat Model'. Minutes later, you stumble into his abode; tiredness and confusion visible on your face. 

"Mornin' buttercup~"

He says with a tinge of seduction; his hand supporting a cigar between his gloved thumb and index finger. His round sunglasses hang low on his nose bridge, his hazel piercing gaze fully visible. By your tired mumblings, he can tell that is far too early for any sensual games; instead he hands you his half empty cup of coffee. Unlike a few weeks ago, this time you actually finish the beverage. His eyes dart over his sketch before glancing over at your form again; eyes scanning your body but stopping at your neck.

"ouhh, forgot about those- tendencies I have to mark what is mine"

You already know what he's talking about; the various large hickeys covering your neck of course. Not that you mind, not in the slightest. It tells a story, it shows ownership and possession. You are marked as his and his only, if only that tall lady knew. Speaking of Dimitrescu, you can't help but wonder what ever came of her? Is that truly that pale lady from the picture you saw the other week? Snapping you out of your thoughts, Heisenberg speaks once more:

"Didn't mean to leave 'ya so early, got some work t'finish. give me a few hours-"

He mutters, swiftly grabbing your hand and pressing his scarred hips against your knuckles in a sudden unexpected romantic gesture. A blush creeps up on your face again; though you know that he will be busy for the rest of the day. Leaving his office and moving to an old empty room that is now coined 'training grounds', you practice your close-up combat instead of knife throwing. Sweat forms on your forehead as you work your muscles until knots and cramps start to form. Huffing and groaning in exhaustion; the axe he had given you to practice with falls to the ground in a quick movement. Your feet, hands and arms are sore; sweat coating your skin and clothing. Moving to the personal quarters, you try to avoid the passages where the Soldat's are being constructed. Aware that Karl controls them, you never know when those literally mindless beasts may turn on their master. 

You make quick work in removing your clothing, taking a speedy but refreshing shower {once more using Heisenberg's soap}. A new outfit and refreshed, a sensation of cleanliness fills you despite the dirty surroundings. That is when an idea comes up-

"this place is a damn mess..."

You whisper to yourself, glancing around the personal quarters. Despite the fresh bedding, minibar, relaxing fireplace and comfy sofa... it seems somewhat dull. The colors only being brown, gray and black. Debating for a moment, you fish through some shelves. Some old green paint, white and yellow paint, some cloths and old pots... perfect, you think. Quickly, you get to work; furniture moved and tools gathered for your renovation plans, hopefully to gain your dear lord's approval. 

"eughh- how old is this..." you grab some of Karl's old clothing, quickly tossing it into the bathtub, figuring that even IF he had a washing machine, it likely doesn't work. You gather a collection all old clothing, stacking them in the bathtub and adding soap and hot water to wash them. Letting said clothes soak, you grab the small pots and a paintbrush from his small desk within the personal quarters; painting the pots yellow and white. Whilst the freshly painted pots dry, you grab the cloths and look for a sweing kit. However, you don't find one anywhere. 

"damn it- how the hell can this man not have some damn yarn and a needle?"

Cursing under your breath, you make a long way towards his workshop once again. Sticking your head inside; Heisenberg sits at his desk engrossed in his sketches and tinkering. Coughing slightly to grab the lord's attention, he turn to face you.

"mmhm?"

He only plays half attention to you, though not a rude way-

"do you have a sewing kit or something, hun?"

Karl raises an eyebrow, cigar between his lips as he reaches into a drawer with a slight cocky chuckle; tossing over the small cardboard box.

"ripped clothes 'eh?"

He asks, turning towards his work again. His workshop also is a mess, though that is a project for another day. 

"something like that..."

You utter playfully, quickly turning on your heels and practically running towards the personal quarters within the barn once again. Heisenberg rolls his eyes and laughs, placing his cigar in the ashtray as his pencil gets to work on scribbling once more. Kicking open the door, you launch forward to grasp the cloths; matching colors and sewing them together to make a makeshift hopefully tablecloth that doesn't look too out of place when on the coffee table. Your mind is now fully devoted to ridding the room of trash whilst the clothes still soak, the pots still dry. Finishing this, you grab the dried pots; quickly stepping outside to collect dirt and any aesthetically pleasing plants you can see. Feet still sore from the training earlier, you make quick work to finally collect all the plants and decorations you need. 

Meanwhile, Heisenberg remains in his workshop; his hand tensing in anger as he tries to perfect the sketch that is very much needed for the future revolution. He huffs, his cigar forgotten and on the old scrappy metal floor as he angrily scrapes the pencil over the paper again. 

"fucking damn it-!"

He exclaims loudly, kicking over his chair as he stomps over to the barn on the top level; moving towards the personal quarters to take just a brief break. But when he opens the door he sees you folding his clothing, placing it in the dresser against the wall. He eyes you confusedly, his gaze then falling upon the plants on the shelves and counter, the new red tablecloth to catch future beer spills, the cleaned floors and corners... he was surprised to say the least. Despite not much change, it was great nonetheless.

"what... buttercup?"

He asks; gaze confused yet still with an underlying hint of anger from his failed sketch. Your eyes dart towards him, silently praying he doesn't unleash his fury upon you. He takes slow deliberate steps towards you, his swagger as prominent as ever; hazel eyes piercing with a mixture of emotions. Gulping, you prepare for the worst; his hand lands on your shoulder to pull you close. This, is surprising as you were expecting unnecessary anger. His bearded cheek brushes against your own, lips tracing your jawline.

"buttercup... i appreciate it, but you didn't have to-"

A chuckle escapes your throat as he draws your form closer, his arms around you. His scent a mixture of cigar smoke, pine and his natural musk; indescribable yet delicious. His hands roam your back before suddenly giving your rear a gently spank. Gasping, you look at him stunned; eliciting a booming laughter from him. 

"ahhh my dear- you're too damn cute!"

His breath hot against your neck, anger seemingly fully forgotten now. 

"and maybe one day as dangerous as I"

He adds with his signature grin.