#fuck drawing glasses -a glasses wearer

[nyaar0n]

Hi, how much are the art requests? I'd really like Aaron in a doctor coat and a stethoscope please

doc is stressed

[sincerelywhistler]

Bestie!

Blake’s listener

My sense of humor is drawing Blake like he’s got modeling agencies lined up at his door and him being entirely oblivious about it, but the single person he CLAWS AT THE FLOORBOARDS over is literally Just Some Nerdass /affectionate

More headcanons (ft. Blake) under the cut!

- They have GOT to be colorblind with the way they’re treating all Blake’s red flags like they’re green lights

- Uptight and soft-spoken in public, goofy nerdass with close friends

- Blake thinks their dry humor makes them the funniest person to ever live

- Back when they were closer, Blake and his listener used to stay up until sunrise playing video games together

- And they’re kind of a sweaty gamer ngl

- DND FREAK they’ve played in a campaign with Lasko!!

- Will be your BIGGEST supporter in your creative endeavors and encourage your niche hobbies

- Blake always steals their glasses as a means to flirt cause he thinks he’s being cute and quirky (it works)

- And he wears the key to their lock necklace because they’re gross like that <3

- Film analyst/reviewer!! Movie posters litter every blank surface and they run a whole well-known blog and everything. They take it very seriously

- Blake stalked their blog religiously when they weren’t speaking to one another. He’d listen to their video essays on their fave films all the time just to hear their voice

- They’re OBSESSED with 80s dark fantasy media (can quote Legend (1985) line by line, had a big fat crush on Tom Cruise because of it)

- Their toxic trait is being a “well actually🤓☝️” person, but Blake doesn’t view it that way and is literally biting his lip and fanning his face any time they go on a diatribe regarding a topic that no one asked about

- Chronic band/video game t-shirt wearer send help it is all they own

- They’re the pickiest fucking eater ever good luck getting them to order anything not on the kids menu

[bizlybebo]

Jay Ferin is trans and wears glasses, that is all.

SOOO CORRECT. godd my brain needs to draw her with glasses every time now. as a glasses wearer i am so fuckin into this headcanon. also your drawing is fucking beautiful dude i lvoe it soso mcuh

[andersonpress]

New Year, Same Me: Part 1- Inspiration drives individuality

Updated: Apr 25, 2020

"We're all born naked, and the rest is drag."- Queen Mother RuPaul Charles

I was always going through a phase with my fashion. Or what I originally categorized as a "phase". To me, a phase was when you obsess over a fad, trend, or item for a while until you eventually move on to the next thing. I have always seen my life as a book, or an annoyingly long tv show. Each phase in fashion reflected the chapter of life I was in Chapter 6: Midlife Crisis #1, Chapter 10: I hate high school, Chapter 20: Hair? Who is she?, Chapter 21-100: Midlife crisis #2. I also have always thought that everyone has different parts of themselves and can access those parts at different times in their lives. I know, confucius headASS but hear me out. Who I am on a date is not who I am at work. Who I am at Thanksgiving would be appalled with who I am on my birthday. I think the same should go for my clothes. I may change any part of my outfit up to four times on any given day. As the quote above emphasizes, "We're all born naked, and the rest is drag." You can literally wear whatever you want everyday. Why not dress up, indulge in the human necessity to become another person, to embody a new personality. I want full fantasy darling! When I am at a conference I am exuding Black sophisticated business casual! When I don't feel like being bothered I dress like a hurried young professional, with large sunglasses and the biggest purse I can find. For the most part, life is pretty bland so at least I can look good.

I gained most of my inspiration in fashion from my parents. Both very bougie, but very stylish. I come from two grandfathers who are very sharp dressers, each with their own signature style that suits their frame and keeps them modern. I know right? My grandpa came up in my house one day with some Jordans on and the first thing I asked was "How old are your friends?" My parents, instilled the same importance of body maintenance and public appearance that was instilled in them. Always iron your clothes, only buy underwear from these stores (never the bag), and as most Black mothers emphasize for Black girls: mandatory earrings and a brush ran through your hair. Since my parents would disown me if I walked out the house looking any kind of way, and I always went to schools that required uniforms, I began my obsession with accessories.

For a while, I had a flower crown stage. I would make them for all my friends, sport my own at practically any oppourutinity, and loved being able to add something I made to my daily outfits. That obsession moved to earrings, necklaces, hats, shoes, and anklets. Yes, most of the time I wore all of these at once and I apologize to any glasses wearers who had to be next to me from 2008-2015 and constantly had a glare in their sideview. SIKE! Apologize, I looked fucking amazing you are welcome world.

In regards to fashion, I find it important to remain open-minded to different types of inspirations. I am inspired mostly by Black women, of course and for a long time that was it. I mean I grew up in a house where all the dolls were black, all the angels were black, and Santa was always and will always be a black man. With role models like Beyonce, Oprah, and Michelle Obama, it wasn't hard to stop the search there. Additionally, my problematic ass childhood friends did nothing to help either. The "oreo" label was particularly frequent during my pop punk phase. I loved my Black girl power, but what was being left on the table? What else could I draw from to create these outfits? Who is allowed to inspire me, who am I allowed to relate to, and who the fuck cares?

I had a polyvore with over one-hundred outfits, a youtube playlist full of DIYs and clothes repurposing videos, and a very active pinterest account. If it was fashion, and people did not usually wear it, I probably had it. I loved feeling unique, like what I had on was something only I could imagine.I make sure to always keep an eye out for fashion or beauty inspiration. Where I looked to the most was definetly Youtube. I would spend hours upon hours on Youtube watching tutorial everyday. Morning routines, DIYs, cooking videos, wood working, costume making, chile anything. All of these things that I could wear and do and say and so many amazing people to look up to. Some of my favorite beauty bloggers to draw new imspirations from are Jenn Im, idressmyself, Dina Tokio, IAMKARENO, The Fashion Citizen, Lua P, Amy Valentine, Natasha Lillipore, StyldbyChris, Barbiegutz, and Tothe9s. I continue to be inspired by all the black beauty gurus I grew up watching and still watch to this day, with some honorable mentions to Iris Beilin, TootsieTime, MsChrissyJay, TheNotoriousKIA, Lateef Thynative, Jennie Jenkins, Chizi Duru, and of course Auntie Jackie.

So what has been inspiring me lately? Mostly, my mood. I heard somewhere that this woman wore what she felt. If she felt sad, she would throw on a fierce and sharp all black outfit so she could be left alone. If she was happy she would wear a bright outfit to try and exude positivity throughout the day. I used to plan my outfits the day before, look at hundreds of outfit combos on my pinterest or polyvore, choose the one that I didn't already have a picture of on my instagram, and start my day. Now, it's as simple as waking up, allowing whatever emotion I wake up with to takeover and allow my outfit to be the outcome of my morning introspection. I know that sounds so serious and too dramatic, but that's like, my thing. Sometimes I feel like that bitch and just need to wear a 48-inch platinum wig and party dress to the grocery store, and sometimes I throw on slides and no bra to class. Sometimes I feel like more masculine and choose to go for a sports bra and some baggy pants. Sometimes I need to get into full fantasy and take three hours to do my makeup. Sometimes I wake up wishing I hadn't and adorn all black. I can do all of it and none of it and still come out looking like a hot bag of fuck me.

Another thing that inspires my closet? My bank account. I never inherited my parents' love of name brands and expensive clothing. It takes everything in me to pay more that $30 for a single piece of clothing and I am an undergraduate in college my budget is $0. I am a thrift store frequent. If you live in San Antonio, Canela Vintage is an amazing spot. I go there when I want unique, quality pieces that are vintage and won't break my bank account. It is owned by a badass woman who proudly reps for her heritage, her people, and her community. When I have money, and I need clothes, I give it to her. (https://canelavintage.com)Most of my outfits are things I revamp myself, or tie loosely together with old tired belts. My mother and others have called it "homeless chic" but I can guarantee you that you will NEVER catch me and someone else wearing the same thing. It has never happened. I just don't want to be seen in something someone else can get, sue me.

At the end of the day, my style is me honey. It changes with my weight, my emotions, my bank account, with all that I do. Trends forever come and go so pick up a few and try them out. Wear that thing that seems out of place and own that shit. I always tell people you can pull anything off as soon as you put it on. Don't allow society, your race, your size, your age, or anyone who isn't you, determine how you look. Something I also always tell people is to only care about the person who is paying yo cell phone bill. Mine is my mama and I still barely agree with her fasion sense. You have the choice to speak something about yourself everytime you set foot outside your door. So secure that wig, put your best foot forward, and always look to stay inspired.

#Fashion

[nathank77]

4/4/24

10:59 p.m

Let's rewrite that entire post bc tumblr can't handle uploading photos.

I'm getting refunded 94$. My last 2 afterpay payments have been canceled and I'm getting back 28$

I'm confused. I picked the Oakley Overheads.. they will likely squeeze my head.

Now I'm wondering if it's even worth it to have the lenses replaced in the Ray-Bans as I mean it fucking annoys the shit out of me that it touches my cheek if I smile or laugh, if the placement isn't fucking approximately in a certain spot on my nose.

207$ in Total and I have one pair of Beaus. My two pairs of cheek touching Ray-Bans and one strains my eyes.

I'm getting Oakley Overheads and the rimless. They will likely be heading sqeezers.

I guess if I return the Oakley and the Ray-Bans I'll get the rest of my money refunded minus the order for the two Beau frames which was 46$. I'll have spent like 70$ on the one pair of blue streaked Ray-Bans and the rimless, and my two pairs of Beau..

But now one pair of those are basically fucking tape around your nose glasses and they'll still be fucking uncomfortable bc clearly I cant bend them....

And the only pair of glasses I have currently that fit my face right are the comfy Beaus. I can bring the Oakley Overheads to an optical center and have them apply heat to draw out the arms. Maybe if anyone will do that..for free..

Same with the rimless...

I wish I could just go to lense crafters but oh yeah I'm poor, why can't I? Cause if I do, one pair costs like 300$!!

I'm so aggravated with my face measurements, my focal point never being right, my asymmetrical face making the Ray-Bans be less then ideal.

Is it even worth it to replace the lenses next year in the Ray-Bans? Prob not cause it annoys the fuck out of me that I can't fucking smile or laugh without one side touching my cheek.

I'm sick of this. And I think my ideal size is 138 hinge to hinge. My Eyewear company has nothing in that size....

Idk what to do.

I'm seriously considering not wearing glasses anymore.

Look at Reilly's response! Whats she saying yikes about? Oh 24/7 glasses wearer...

She thought I wore contacts.

Girls don't like glasses.

Girls don't like fucking nerds.

I spent all this money and I got glued glasses, fucking cheek touching Ray-Bans and soon two pairs of head sqeezing glasses... and then my eye straining cheek touching Ray-Bans....

And if my comfy Beaus break I'm without any glasses.....that are comfortable.... and fit properly even though my focal point is off a bit....

Maybe it's time accept that girls don't like glasses. And I can't get glasses bc of my face size, shape and then of course money issues.

I can't just have one pair as a guy with OCD and beyond that as a guy who wears them full time.

May be someone will think I'm worth knowing if I just return the Oakley Overheads when I get them and get most of money back. I'll have my glued glasses, my rimless and my cheek touching glasses..... and my only pair that fit comfortably.

It might be time to just accept my face shape and my money issues do not allow me to wear glasses comfortably..

Also, "YIKES" NERD ALERT

[lunarflare64]

Hello! Disability ask meme: 1, 3, and 8 please

(Disability ask meme)

As promised, the chatterbox train got rolling, you're welcome for the read more

1. Ooooooh boy here we go, its a whole ass List.

Autism, ADHD, OSDD/DID (we aren't certain enough to find out which on our own), ARFID, Non-24 sleep/wake disorder, anemia, Raynaud's syndrome, POTS, and arthritis (we're not sure which type specifically yet, we're on a waiting list to see a rheumatologist)

2. For mobility aids we primarily get around on crutches, on a good day at home we use our cane, and hopefully soon we'll be getting our wheelchair for the bad days. Our first set of crutches got the full sticker treatment, the second set we just haven't gotten around to yet (but we do have the stickers ready, they're neon). Despite us getting the cane first its remained customisation free, every time we consider decorating it we chicken out because unlike with the neon stickers we wanna put stickers from fandoms on it, and we're worried about wasting them because the cane.....we should get a better one, its really not good.

For sensory aids we just have our headphones, we mostly just use them when we're out and about because unlike outdoors where we're tense and on guard all the time and thus hypersensitive, indoors we NEED to be able to hear lots of little things, we freak out otherwise (and having headphones on all the time while you're a glasses wearer........."fucking OW" is putting it lightly)

We also uses braces sometimes, mostly for our wrists and knees (thats where the arthritis is), but we tend to use compression more, since the stiffness from braces can cause its own issues. And as for meds, we've got a low dosage of Ritalin for the ADHD, and some opioids for the arthritis pain. We also need iron infusions once every year and a half or so, since our body isn't the best at absorbing it in our diet (and to make things worse our diet isn't very rounded, thanks to the eating disorder)

8. Oof, identity question for the freshly hatched egg carton (do you like that term? We love it, what a fun term for a plural egg), this is already confusing. I mean, obviously the plurality affects every aspect of our identities in a large scale, its a given, so we'll brush past the specifics of that one. How our disability affects our gender? I'm not one of us who has that, gender is such a hard thing to define, the others have gender in the sense that they are pulled to masc or fem presentations, but I don't know if any of us really understand it. But we HAVE heard that not understanding these concepts isn't an uncommon thing for autistic people, so I guess that's one way it can be affected. Queerness (in terms of attraction) is the same, generally we're aroace (with some oriented-ness from some of us), that's also a common autistic thing, a decent portion of aroace folk are autistic, its no biggie to us.

Culture? We're assuming culture here means "the ideas, customs, and social behaviour of a particular people or society", but we're white and Australian through and through, not much there to be culture-y about. If we were to pretend Australia had a culture that was found though its own community and not theft from others, there is a MASSIVE issue with foods. A lot of "classic Australian foods" are the exact things our eating disorder wants us to avoid, family gatherings (which are ALWAYS barbecues, don't laugh its just how it goes here) are miserable for us (and it was so so much worse when we were a kid and people would yell at us for not eating), we can't eat anything, and even if we CAN find something its always a pasta salad that you can only eat so much of before you want to curl up in a ball and wither away, its an isolating experience, not being able to bond with family through food. We don't even feel that big of a draw to our family and it still hurts to miss out on eating with them

Aaaaaanyways, hobbies and life goals. We're not so good at the life goal thing, picturing the future is literally impossible, we see nothing and we want nothing, we very much live in the present (is that the autism, the ADHD, or the plurality? Hopefully we find out one day), but hobbies? Oh boy here we go

We have many. Many many many many hobbies, and dream hobbies too. The dream hobbies aren't really possible for us anymore, things like surfing, gymnastics, archery (chronic shakiness and sharp flying objects sounds like a bad combo), pole dancing, skateboarding, canoeing, dancing, hiking, and trampoline tricks (you could say all of these are possible with the right accommodation, but its too much for us now). One hobby we do have that we don't get to do often now is baking, we loved baking so much, we would do huge batches of cakes and cupcakes and cookies and breads and then give them out to people we knew, we didn't really keep much of it for ourselves, we just liked baking for the sake of baking, and the joy of giving treats to others was a great bonus. Nowadays we can't really do that much even on the rare occasion that we CAN bake, the heat makes us pass out and all the movement and standing sets our arthritis off so bad, its best to save any baking for when someone can be there to make sure we don't get hurt.

We don't let it get us down too much though! We have so many other hobbies, drawing and writing and knitting and crochet and loom weaving and the guitar (even if we haven't touched it in a while 😬) and drums and animation and architecture and gardening and photography and sculpting and woodworking and candle making and learning about oceanography and biology and physics and so so much more, our hobbies list is a literal list, we have it in front of us now, the ink has faded into odd colours and it COVERS the page, top to bottom, no space wasted, we have a lot of things we like to do and want to try, some things cant be done anymore but it doesnt even cross half the list off, our disabilities shape what we can do, but its hard to let it get to us when we have so much to do

[ds-sparrow-manufacturing-co]

the mechanisms, as explained by someone who hasn’t listened to them

@ought-to-draw-more is responsible for both all my knowledge of them and also for me not having listened to them

so they’re a band of space??? pirates, i know that. everyone is a cyborg and they go around causing chaos and narrating takes on various mythologies that they’re somehow involved in. each album is a different mythology they’ve fucked with, such as norse mythology where everyone is a simp for loki and apparently everything is super sad, and arthurian legend where everything is very queer

members include jonny d’ville, who is not a captain, possible murderer, sarcastic narrator and wearer of many belts. there’s also gunpowder tim who’s role just seems to be annoying jonny and blowing things up. ashes o’reilly who i don’t think ever actually does anything except just sort of standing around having badass vibes. then there’s ivy alexandria, who is very cool and has a computer brain. drumbot brian, who i thought was a drum machine but i’m told is an actual person? the toy soldier, who is not an actual person but sure tries to be. and finally there’s the guy with the glasses who looks like he’d die of rejection in the 18th century

other than the members i know that there’s? octokittens?? whatever they are. i mean honestly they sound pretty cool. oh and someone fucked the ship, and the ship is maybe sentient?? and also maybe controlled by spiders???? and might be an ancient being. i think that’s everything

[god-of-identity]

hello to people whose gender is “who gives a fuck”, people that have to have milk in their coffee, people that say their favorite season is winter (in theory), people that love to draw, people that said “i’d rather not”, water enjoyers, people that like crows, tumblr found families, earbuds users, people with fidget spinners, people who wear sunglasses when it’s overcast, people that cry over yellow roses (or blue anything), people that wear ponytail holders as bracelets, blue-light glasses wearers, writers who struggle to write, people that constantly charge their phones, bluetooth headphones enjoyers, people who can’t remember the last time they cried, people whose gender envy has a brand, and people who think one of these is a homestuck reference.

have some <3′s and a hug if you want

[syn4k]

Hermitblr.

Why Do We Never Draw Grian with Glasses

There Are! So many Cool Shit you can do with this!

you can give him grey glasses. you can give him pink glasses. you can give him round glasses and square glasses and make him look like an absolute nerd or just give him a monocle for fuck's sake

why don't we draw grian in a monocle more?

huh???

anyways for those of you who are whining about "but his minecraft skin doesn't wear glasses" i raise you these:

(Also. Joe Hills. Enough said.)

- a glasses wearer

[tenderdean]

i was talking to @andromedaskyline about how we just know whatever this ending is gonna be will be—well, a punch to the gut at best, but then it got us thinking about what kind of ending we want for dean and listen. listen.

when all is said and done, dean is alive and well, and he drives off into the sunlit horizon, and at the end of that road after however much time he needs to recover—

he starts a halfway house.

a halfway house for hunters, yes, but mostly for kids.

kids like claire and krissy and josephine, and alex and patience. kids that fell out of their normal lives and into hunting, with no feasible way back out. kids like dean.

it’s a place to crash and recuperate, where there’s a roof over their heads and a bed to call their own and a food-stocked pantry (it never runs low. dean never lets it run low.) but also: a waypoint.

dean’s still got sonny’s number, and if there’s one person who can help a kid find a future or a family or a purpose, it’s sonny. (it’s also dean—but he’s not used to advertising himself; it’ll always feel like overselling.) he sits up late at night working through college applications, scholarship applications, to help these kids through the nightmare that is lying convincingly on paperwork. he teaches these kids all the things he had to learn by his lonesome: how to cook, how to clean and mend clothes and treat wounds and hustle pool without getting decked in the face. and if they’re set on hunting—and he gets it, he does, because retiring was never an option for him when there’s lives to be saved, and he knows how—then he rolls up his sleeves and he teaches them.

hunters are a special kind of people, too rebellious for their own good, but he knows not to push. anyone can leave, but anyone can also stay. and when they do, he’s got things to tell them: the fastest way to decapitate a vamp and torch a wendigo, where to park their getaway car, which weapons to always have on hand and which to leave in the motel room, never to leave a case too early to miss something or late enough for the cops to get you. who to call when they do. basic skills, survival skills, but there’s nothing basic about them anymore when they’ve amounted to his entire life and he’s perfected them, had to perfect them to stay alive through it all.

he’s seen things, butted heads with things that go unmentioned in even the thickest of lore books, and he makes sure they know how to take all of them down, or else how to sweet-talk it back where it came from. he makes sure every kid knows the vampire antidote by heart. he also tells them about purgatory, and to think hard before mercy-killing anything into an existence of blood-slash-blood-no-rest-no-peace. some things can save themselves: if they want to, let them, but make sure they follow through. it’s about the saving, not the killing, and if the two of them become muddied you have to save yourself first.

dean has a bed for you, in that case. a bed and a mean burger and an ear tilted in your direction.

sometimes, sam calls: dean lets it go to voicemail, and that’s a gift to them both. dean will leave a voicemail of his own, in time. he’ll talk for however long he wants to, about whatever he wants to, answers the questions he likes and doesn’t answer those he doesn’t. talks about the kids, all the time, about how much he wishes he could’ve done this for kevin. there’s no interrupting in voicemail, no pointed glares, and the new routine is maybe the healthiest they’ve ever had.

he still goes out on hunts, as a teaching outing with the kids or to let off steam or because it’s an all hands on deck sort of thing. he can’t let himself get rusty, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge: memory foam on his bed, a monthly road trip in the Impala planned and followed through with, a nice, slim pair of new boots perhaps more often than he needs. it’ll take a while, but someday in the future, he even goes to the beach. leaves the united states to do it, and comes back toasty and bug-bitten and about fifty tons lighter by way of his soul.

it evolves, as kids leave and new ones come in, because no one can leave dean’s house without his number. it becomes a hub. dean makes sure there’s a weapons arsenal in the garage, stakes of various obscure woods and silver bullets by the thousand and machetes besides. they’re all for borrowing—he’ll get new ones if some don’t return. the rest of the garage is divided: the impala and all that’s needed for her upkeep, and a workbench, a visor, a torch. he works on side-projects. lets his inner inventor out to play. EMFs that can detect hex bags, glasses that fracture the light just weirdly enough that no ghost can slip past the wearer unnoticed.

that’s how, in ten years, he’ll reinvent the Colt. he makes as many bullets as he can, and it’s expensive, slow work, but it’s the largest ace any of them have ever had up their sleeves and he wants it to be available to anyone who needs it.

knowledge isn’t something to hoard, not when it can save lives. and fuck if holding the world together with his bare hands more than once, more than twice, didn’t leave him with some unconventional wisdoms, some hard-earned truths and bits of trivia that could never end up being useful but also very well could. he’s prepared for that. makes sure his kids are prepared, too.

it’s not just the kids anymore, though, not when the hunters among them have branched out and met other hunters and the world knows his name, anyway, for all kinds of reasons, good and bad. his is not a name that slips someone’s mind when it’s mentioned in passing. hasn’t been for a long, long while, and that was never a good thing until this: until it just grows around him, not murder-plots or resentment or a heathy dose of fear of being associated with him, not like a snare drawing tight but a garden. (he keeps one, out back. hasn’t really got that much of a knack for it, but some of the kids like ripping roots out of dirt, and hell, so does he.)

it’s not replacing bobby. he doesn’t pretend to be the FBI superintendent or social services or someone’s lawyer, not when he’s not out there in a suit. when a phone rings, the person on the other end always knows his name.

it starts out messy, and it’ll always be messy, but it becomes more structured as they go. a demon case comes in: they’ve got people specializing in that, send them out. a rugaru: the same. and if it’s something that’s truly Out There, they send dean, and he’ll handle that. when he comes home, he’ll make sure that next time, it won’t be just him who knows what to do.

some kids start penning down comprehensive lore books, his dad’s journal with the volume turned up, with only the stuff that’s true and none of the fluff, the muddied waters. dean contributes to that more than he expects, at first, and suddenly they’re crowding and crawling around him, eager for his input. turns out he has a lot to say.

not enough for the kids, though, it seems, because they keep sneaking carver edlund’s books into the house when he has banned them, has made it a bold point on his penned-down list of house rules. he finds them stuffed under mattresses and as pdfs on phones. he burns what he can. but he also says, okay, all right, i’ll write a fucking memoir if that’s what it takes to get you people to stop smuggling this trash in. and he lays down the basics: azazel’s plot and meddling angels, an apocalypse or two, what’s there besides the earth and how to make sure you never go there. nothing warranting gaudy pulp covers with half-naked men on them. if anyone wants to know which brother did what, they’ll have to be damn good at reading between the lines, because dean’s too over it to point fingers, especially not when his words might stick around for other generations to read and judge and point their own. he doesn’t put his name on it. leaves it anonymous.

what he doesn’t count on are the notes in the margins, the whispered conversations after dinner or the glances he’ll get: that he’s the hero of that story, he’s just too humble to write it down.

he only yells about that once.

in the end, it’s like this: there’s no american men of letters, but there’s people of action, and they all cluster around the heart of the country where the drive is about the same to each coast, and at the heart of that is dean.

in the very, very end, it’s like this: his memoir goes into print, and there’s a preface telling his name in bold letters, and clarifying the details he had made sure to leave extra vague. if you’re in a roadhouse bar somewhere—and there’s more of them now, run by those who wouldn’t stay but wouldn’t leave, either—there’s a solid chance you’ll run into a dean or deanna or ten, and they can tell you exactly who they were named after and why.

but right now, it’s just a chance, something to build out of nothing, something he wishes he had back when. something to turn his north towards, to pour all his strengths in that have grown from pain and weakness. they do always say the best leaders are those who never wanted to lead. out of all the rubble, something that’ll hold up without him there to keep it together, though he’s the heart that beats in it, anyway. he’s the home it grew up in.

[kettlequills]

ok so this was inspired by this post made by @argisthebulwark - check her blog out! - about dovahkiin soulmates that could feel each other's pain. naturally i ran with the concept of dragonborn soulmates. feat. my ldb laataazin/miraak.

Laataazin has always felt trapped. Before they are Laat-aaz, even, when they are a nameless prisoner, hands-bound, another to be executed through a simple whim of fate. No memories then in the buzzing darkness of their mind, but a feeling of fear, confusion, brief-dawning wonderment on the heels of hot green rage in the drumming space of their chest that was theirs-and-not-theirs. Breath hurting, unused lungs and trembling hands that will not grip round the hilt of the sword Hadvar tries to press into their hands like they know it ought. Like they know scars on their bodies – body, for there is only one Dragonborn, only one.

How dare, their mind rages, how dare the gods try to discard me.

These thoughts, these hungers, these fears, are surely Laataazin’s alone, clear as Masser’s moonlight in the dark sky.

They have known imprisonment, in the cold, whispering bowels of Dragonsreach dungeons, where Mephala murmurs maliciously in every iron bar and chiselled stone, hissing breaths dampening, soft and light as cobwebs falling upon a sleeper’s eye, sanity, safety, sight. Trying to tempt, twist, torment total truth from the prisoner-that-would-be-Laataazin, named Dovahkiin and wrestling the ashes of Mirmulnir into restless ebb. Oil-and-ink in Laat’s nose, and a will that is theirs-and-not-theirs, resistant, defiant, no more daedra than dragonfire, sings firm around Mephala’s words, like the thrum of earthbones a song that refuses to be a bound-and-fooled-slave again.

Don’t complain so much, says the thoughts-that-are-Laataazin, they’ll let you out.

Their dragon-soul, for it must be theirs, is loud, angry, knows their head. It refuses to be quieted, grumbles and snaps at the rolls and reams of papery scrolls the Greybeards set down in front of them, snarling answers in a mother-tongue Laataazin has never known, with the air of distant, impatient distraction, like wings brushing across planes. Laataazin is not much of a reader, puzzles through relearning letters in dusty texts that take bored moments to recall when their body slumps softening into slow sleep. They wake with understanding and vague, boundless frustration, dragon-words in dragon-soul that mutter about Stupid fools and their vapid teachings, you will never learn with these chains on your wings.

Laataazin meditates for endless hours on frigid snowcaps with Paarthurnax’s breath steaming the snow and still thinks of smashing skulls and bloodied steel, still thinks of broken wills and shattered spirits.

It is, they tell Paarthurnax, a losing battle. There is something in them that wants out, and it will stop at nothing, nothing, to claw itself free from the trap locked shut around its howling muzzle.

Mortality is a losing battle, Paarthurnax reminds them. It is their nature to beat against the bars of inevitability, and turn their faces from the grind of time.

Hypocritical lizard, the soul-that-must-be-Laataazin’s mutters, and Laataazin chooses not to share this or the smile it provokes.

Laataazin goes about their divine-driven hunting of twin-souled dragons, who speak to them in a language they know, who challenge them to fights they win, who know them and are stranger to them in a way that only the careless and god-flung may be. They do not want to kill the dragons that are like themselves, who look at the sky and see a glorious road untravelled rather than the distant god-realm for no mortal to cross.

Your soft heart will do us harm, their soul reminds them. Do not spare what hungers to hurt.

Delphine tells them that they are not bloodthirsty enough, that they accept the surrender of too many, and create surrender still where there is not even that. That there is no point sparing monsters, and that Laataazin has a duty, a destiny, a fate.

Laataazin tells Delphine and their soul both that they have chosen a different path. But Akatosh does not make the same mistake twice, and this time, there is no give in the leash of fate wrapped tightly around the neck of the Last Dragonborn.

Ushered by inevitability, they go to face Alduin, and within them their soul rants and raves for its freedom. Fate! Fate! The gods laugh at us.

In Sovngarde, they feel empty, empty. It is a dead place for dead souls, and there is no place for living ties in bodies that breathe and fates that twine. Laataazin’s chest feels cold and dim, unwarmed by so total an omnipresence they had thought it part of themselves. It is not, they know now. There is… something, someone, else.

Gormlaith’s golden hair shines like septims when she smiles at Laataazin, all bared teeth. I knew you would come around, she says, and Laataazin wonders which of them she is talking to, Alduin-that-is-Akatosh, or Laataazin-that-is-trapped. Like standing in a boxful of mirrors, making eye-contact with a thousand versions of an image, an icon, a legend, borne through the ages to consume itself.

It is done. Alduin returns to himself, and fate twirls the key to the shackles of its Last prisoner. Tsun drags their weeping body from the gate and casts it into the realm of air and sunlight, wordless in the face of their inappropriate grief. When Laataazin returns, staggering and coughing out their lungs onto the windswept emptiness of the snow-throat beneath the watching dragon-eyes, feeling slams back into them with all the force of a tidal wave. Pure, blistering rage, fanned so hot it can only be the most animal of panic.

Where did you go? demands the thing-that-is-not-Laataazin. Why couldn’t I feel you?

Laataazin presses their hand to their chest and feels relief, relief, vast enough to swallow the sun.

I thought I had lost you, the prisoner thinks.

Come to me, longs the other.

What force on Tamriel could resist a plea like that? To Solstheim it is and kneeling in the hot ash Laataazin feels the sky all around them open up and his presence close in like breath on their neck.

You are so much louder here, Laataazin tells him, their steps still wobbly from the boat.

You walk on my land now, Miraak replies, and what a wonder to know his name, to touch with travel-sore body land his own has walked, see with dust-stung eyes what his has seen. I grow ever nearer to you.

You did not need to enslave these people, Laataazin thinks at the Tree Stone, watching empty-eyed cultists and blankened reavers work on towering edifices of stone. The mumbling figures remind them of Sovngarde, that terrible emptiness where once a gnawing pain sat. I am here.

I did not think you would come. Miraak’s admission is grudging, a little bitter. But as Laataazin walks through the stone doors of the temple, they hear the clatter of tools dropping, and the shouts of startled reavers.

Laat grins, feels it mark their face wide and feral. Put your best panties on then, for I shall see you soon.

Do not keep me waiting any longer. His pain is audible in the bones that house their heart, his impatience like whips licking the soles of their feet, his eagerness like teeth to their neck. Laataazin opens the Book, and there he is.

“You are shorter than I expected,” is what the soul-of-their-soul tells them, towering over them, crowned in blue and gold like fearless god and dripping ink like blood.

“And you are as obnoxious as I predicted,” Laataazin says, but already they are approaching him, and he does not move away but flinches when their hands meet his chest.

They bear together his pain from centuries of untouched isolation, the nerves awakened by another that burn like needles and dragon-fire, and they bear together the pleasure too, found in smoothing gauntleted hands over thick robes, found in solidity, presence.

I would touch you like this everywhere you could bear it, then more, Laataazin thinks, and their hands come away inkstained when they lift them to cup the golden mask, which tilts, as if its wearer has flinched again at the thought whispered into the ear of his mind like a promise.

The prince that Laataazin favours most is not cunning Mephala who whispers to them in Whiterun, nor Hermeaus Mora, who believes himself masterful gardener of all, but ruby-red Sanguine, who with a gift of a loving if unconventional wife found in a night of revelry wins anew with each feathered kiss their loyalty. It is therefore Miraak who tears himself from this indulgence of touch first, and takes a few steps back. The words of fate are a well-settled cloak employing the ruthless machine of purpose.

“And so the First meets the Last at the summit of Apocrypha,” Miraak says, ringing, proud. “Tell me, did you enjoy the dregs of my destiny?”

“If you had not turned from your fate to kill Alduin, I would not have awoken,” Laataazin replies, dryly, “so to some extent, yes. To other extents, fuck you.”

“That same fate decrees you must die for me to win my freedom.” Miraak’s mask is expressionless, but Laataazin does not need it – they can feel through the glass of body-barriers the surge and roil of the infection of wounds thousands of years untreated, the bitterness, the fear. It has beat within their heart from the very first moment of their waking in Helgen, as their grief, their loss, burns like wildfires in his.

“Freedom?” says one prisoner to another. “What freedom is this? Aren’t you tired of being what they ask of you? Haven’t you paid the price?”

“Do you not feel how the world has warped around you since you awoke?” Miraak’s hand is tightening on his sword hilt, but he does not draw. “You cannot die, you do not sleep, you are not real, or you alone exist – there can only be one Dragonborn.”

“We will both be free,” Laataazin asserts.

“Time, and reality, would not survive us both,” Miraak says, but Laataazin knows their dragon-soul, and knows he is hungry, hungry, and tired of cages.

Boldly, Laataazin reaches out. Miraak takes their hand, masked eyes searching, like he is a man on open water clinging to the uncertain shelter of driftwood.

“That is Akatosh’s problem,” says Laataazin, “I choose to have you.”

[set-in-stardust]

i fucking love w&w so much bcus it plays 100000% into the thing for me where its like

*they wear ANY variation of goggles that could be imagined in a steampunk style*

like

i just,,,,,,lov,,,,,,,,the steampunk goggles

as a glasses wearer theres NOTHIGN i want more in life than to own prescription steampunk goggles

w&w grian holds my whole heart. fuck the angst man wears GOGGLES.

OHOHOHO!! and they ARE steampunk goggles

Scar made his first pair a while ago as a gift and they had regular, black stained glass in the frames (acted like sunglasses, sort of) and the frames were mostly gold with some iron supports (hence why they broke so easily). kind of simple, got the job done

and weve already gotta a description of the new ones from mumbo!!

the lenses are amethyst mixed with a little bit of glass for stability, so they're a lilac, more transparent colour and actually keep the harmful light out of grian's eyes without darkening everything like the plain stained glass did. the frames are copper (much more stable than gold) and there are gold accents around the rims and some smaller inlaid designs as well. the band is adjustable and rusty red, halfway in between the colours of Grian's sweater and the copper.

i need to like draw them or something sometime ill try cuz i can see them in my head its just a matter of making it look right on paper.

[chiafett-moved]

Using all the clones from ur high school au, what kind of civ clothing do you think they'd wear?

Okay okay okay I took some time and went to TOWN on this one so clone clothes below the cut

Fox:

First and foremost, Fox has his own pinterest board. There’s not much in the way of clothes there, but yeah. 

Lots of red and black

Hoodies and jeans. Jeans and hoodies. Hoodies and Jeans

If you saw the shape of my body No You Didn’t 😁

Someone help him

Always dressed as though it’s approximately 20C. Sort of like a comic character who wears variations of the same outfit.

For someone who hates being perceived, he does wear some tight clothes

Overall, sort of unintentionally punk/emo and tired

Lip, tongue, and ear piercings

Hunter:

Also has two pinterest boards (butch AU and normal)

Cottagecore farmer. Lots of neutral tones and loose, soft fabrics

Loves knit things

Very picky about texture and fit. If it’s tight, it gets donated

Wears things until they fall apart. This does not take long

Soft, waterproof, ankle-high hiking boots that he wears everywhere

L a y e r s 

Constantly putting his hair up or taking it down

Very concerned with taking care of his curls (and for good reason; they’re gorgeous)

Farmer’s tan n freckles

Tech:

Business casual some days, absolute trash others. There is no rhyme or reason. 

If Hunter’s all about consistency, Tech is the opposite (autism vs ADHD in a nutshell lmfao)

Pockets are a must

He has a messenger bag a la Spencer Reid 

Big ol’ glasses with a thick enough lens that you can see behind him if you look at the right angle

Converse

Has these awful graphic tees from the time he went to Goodwill with Hunter

Wrecker:

Big comfy sweaters like those ones they sell at Old Navy

Walking hug with steel-toed boots

He has trouble finding XXL Tall clothes that aren’t Barbecue Dad™ so he takes what he can get 

Rips the knees of pants first

Rips the tags out of everything

Cannot match colors to save his life and hasn’t yet figured out the Hunter tactic of just owning neutral things

He has a lot of fun hats

Carhartt short sleeve shirts and jeans with sharpie and paint on them

If he can’t move in it, he doesn’t want it

Big fan of open short-sleeve button downs over tees

Constantly asking Tech to hold things for him (they get lost in the Bottomless Messenger Bag)

Crosshair:

Typical teenage boy with a side of edgy

You know those joggers with the puffy knees or the cargo pockets? Big wearer of those

Sneaker Snob

Once he dressed up for a school event and he looked so good but pretended not to notice

Big City Gay energy

Constantly has a pack of cigarettes on him, so he’s got to have a pocket for them. He’s got to have a pocket, right? I just can’t see it from here. There must be a pocket because otherwise where is he getting those he’s pulling them out of nowhere send reinforcements—

Steals Hunter’s worn-out, oversized flannels but he’s a tall bitch so they’re pretty normal on him. How is he making them look so edgy?

Dogma:

Wears the same outfit a concerning amount. Like, you don’t notice anything and then all the sudden he’s been wearing the same thing for two weeks. Doesn’t smell bad or anything, though, so ?????

Always put together, but in that way that’s kind of fraying around the edges

I don’t really know how to describe his clothes beyond a sort of vibe? Idk

He’s a really skinny guy and he loves clothes with angular shapes and hard edges, so he kind of looks like a stick figure with really cool geometric designs

He tries to look sort of formal and aloof, but it doesn’t work

His Manic Art Kid vibe is visible from space, though

He looks cute but in a freshman kind of way. Like, “aww, look at him!”

But also radiates the kind of energy that makes people highly concerned

Many ear piercings and one eyebrow piercing

Tall gangly and intimidating

Always carrying his backpack

Tup:

Basically Dogma but with softer edges and rounder shapes

The Ridiculously Well-Adjusted Art Kid

Always has paint somewhere

Looks like a mess but makes it work

Messy buns

Big fan of overalls and colorful shirts

Likes long sleeves

Converse out the ass, but in a ton of different colors

Big sweaters

People forget he’s tall and Stronk because the way he dresses makes him look small (oversized things do that)

Got his ears pierced when Dogma got his third helix, but let them close

Stacked bracelets

Echo:

Somehow soft punk meets varsity kid? He makes it work

Khaki pants but cool 

Open zip-up hoodies and comfy, well-fitting tee shirts

Sneakers only, unless he has to be fancy

Sometimes wears fingerless gloves and refuses to explain why

Undercut

No I lied sometimes he wears stompy boots just because they’re at odds with the rest of his aesthetic

Basically big calm comfy vibes without looking sloppy or informal

Will wear button downs as normal shirts with jeans

Likes to do the graphic tee over thermal shirt thing

Joggers

SKATER BOY. That’s the word I was thinking of. Soft skater boy (he and Fives both skate)

Fives:

Band tees and jeans 

Not a fan of shorts. Has anyone ever seen his legs?

Constantly has this big-ass set of headphones around his neck

Beanies

Also a graphic tee and thermal shirt layerer

Rarely not wearing jeans

Sometimes wears pajamas to school specifically to piss off teachers

Snapbacks

Paints his nails a variety of colors, but mostly black. Somehow the polish is always chipped

Big wearer of Vans, actually is a skater

Tears through the elbows of his jeans jackets falling 

Cody:

Gay smart kid. Debate team captain. Soccer captain. Looks better than you. Looks better than the teachers. Could kill you. 

He wears a lot of half-zips and khakis, but makes it look less nerdy than usual

Sports paraphernalia helps. Hard to look nerdy when the zip-up you’re wearing is from wrestling Nationals

When he wears tee-shirts, they’re always tight? Does he buy them a size small on purpose? (yes, yes he does)

Collector of those really nice zip-up hoodies with the geometric designs that make them look really nice and neat

Actually wears sunglasses when it’s sunny

Has never been seen in a hat

Neyo:

Oh god oh fuck DIY punk? He’s oh god he’s

Neyo my dear that sweatshirt is falling apart

Neyo is. Troubled and in a Bad home. His clothing choices reflect this. 

He does not want to touch or be touched and he wants to look cool doing it

Stoner kid but Spiky

And also he doesn’t actually smoke

Wears combat boots that look like they’ve seen blood

Skinny jeans bc he’s edgy and cool

Patch pants/vest

Also has a pinterest board

Bacara:

Bland depressed kid. Jeans and dark hoodies

Seriously he’s just trying to vibe. He wants to be comfy and he doesn’t want to draw a ton of attention

Black converse

Constantly has a farmer’s tan

Not a fan of short sleeves

Thinks Neyo looks ridiculous

Has never been dress coded in his life 

Seriously Bacara’s idea of spicing up an outfit is wearing like. A polo. 

[bittybattybunny]

OKAY so here’s the cursed into a dragon story and doodle!!

I wanted to draw the cute knight and the dragon (AKA Ru had an old suit of armor at his brother’s and had no idea the dragon he was asked about was his not GF)

Fic time!! and reminder this idea was suggested by @creepyfuzzymelon​!! It did get a lil long for a ficlet but eh it works! Enjoy!

She paused in front of the red door and brushed her hair behind her ear before she walked in. She sneezed as she walked in, the smell of incense making her nose burn. She frowned as her head began to spin.

“Welcome.” Came the shop keeper’s sing song voice. Her green blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she saw the woman.

“Hello.” Eclipse gave a smile but she wanted to leave. Not wishing to be rude she decided to walk around some before she ran from the over scented store. She looked at the cluttered shop shelves and her eyes landed on an ornate dragon mask. She frowned looking at it. She picked it up and turned it around curiously. There was writing in the back. She squinted trying to read it.

“It says to the wearer their heart will become fierce until the knight calms it.” 

Eclipse jolted, having not even noticed the woman sneaking up behind her. She felt a cold chill as she looked at the woman’s smile as she chuckled.

“Don’t be so skittish dear.” she cooed and took the mask in her hands. Eclipse watched as she spun it around in her hands, producing a ribbon from the air and tying it on. “I wonder what form you would take?”

Eclipse could only gasp as the mask was shoved on her face and she was thrown from the shop.

She blinked a few times. She reached to remove the mask but it wouldn’t come off. In fact the more she tried the firmer it seemed to stick. She struggled and pulled. She felt a burning sensation starting to grow in her chest. She clawed and shoved at the mask. Her body began to contort as she feverishly tried to get the mask off. She gasped as her face felt the cold chill. She grit her teeth as she felt her face ripping at its own seams. Fangs jutting. She roared as her bones grew and rearranged, horns shoving through her skull as she fell to all fours. She clawed the cobblestone sidewalks of the small village as her clothing fell in shreds.

Wisps began to light up as black scales began to grow and cover her body as her newly formed tail lashed around. Large wings caught between bird and moth spread as she panted and slowly the burning subsided. She collapsed on the stone. Her head was heavy. She sighed.

“Way to go Moony. You walked into that one.” she groaned as she lifted her head to look herself over. She lifted a hand and looked at the claws and whined.

“Great.” she moved to stand. At least a dragon was similar in limbs to a wolf so she had that going for her. The wings were a new feature. She lifted one to inspect it and looked around. She had entered the shop in the downtown of Subcon City but. 

Small buildings with no life surrounded the dragon-woman as she walked around. She raised her head to look at the rising moon and huffed. She turned to inspect for her bag among the remains of her clothes but couldn’t find it.

“Guess no phone calls.” she flicked her forked tongue as she jumped on top of one of the buildings. She narrowed her eyes as she saw a church and decided to get a better view.

A wind blew as she climbed up to the steeple and looked over the rolling fields.

She looked at the sky and sighed, “Fierce until the night calms it huh?” she shook her head side to side. “Hopefully this mask comes off soon then.”  she ran off, deciding to enjoy the empty fields in the meanwhile.

------

“A dragon?” Snatcher asked as Kaya gave a frown. She scratched her cheek as he stood in her office.

“Yeah. reports of one in the old ruins of Tir na Nocht.” she sighed, “I put SO MANY BARRIERS!” she puffed her cheek annoyed, “I tried to make sure NOTHING would get into Ti Na Nocht when i left!” she fumed, “And this dragon comes WALTZING IN LIKE SHE OWNS IT!” she stomped her foot, “The worst bit is NO ONE CAN GET NEAR!”

“So what does that have to do with me?” he raised a brow, “You know I’m busy watching the kid since Eclipse is working a job.”

“See that’s the thing!” she frowned, “I thought she was home! I was going to ask HER to do this! She’s fought dragons before! And I would ask Jacob since he’s a dragonborn, but he went off on another mission last week with Maki and Tiffny to deal with an issue in the elvish kingdom.” she rubbed her neck. 

“Why don’t you go?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she scoffed, “NO ONE can get near!” She groaned and winced as she rolled her sleeves up, revealing bandages all over her arms. “I already TRIED and that bitch roasted me with wisps!” She whined, “And even my healing takes a bit when it’s soul fire.” she sighed, “it’s made to chew up magic in the first palace after all.”

His eyes widened as he looked. He hadn’t ever thought the Solaria Umbra could even be harmed, much less burned. He frowned, “So why me? I’m less resistant than you are.”

“You have a blessing of attraction. It should work on the dragon. If not throw this down.” she handed him a glass orb, “it’ll instantly send you back here.” she explained. “If you’re worried, I saw some Solgarian armor at your brother’s when I was visiting, you could wear that!” she teased, “a knight in shining armor!”

He thought about it and sighed, “Yeah, let’s do that then. Let me just text Cookie see if she can watch Hattie.”

“Oh, right the kid. I’d say i can watch but I need to drop you off, if it takes a bit I can get her from school even if my arms are bacon.” she snickered, “Since I am the one asking you to do this for me.” she moved around the desk and began to shift the shadows. Snatcher sighed and walked over as she used them to send them to the woods.

Marcus jumped as the two appeared on the porch. His potion flying from his hands. Kaya reached to catch it and screeched as it landed on her burned hands and then the floor. Marcus stared at the ruined mix and brushed his hair back annoyed.

“Yes?” he asked, hands on his hips as his tail wisped.

Kata frowned, “Can we take that Solgarian armor?” she asked, “I’m sending your brother to calm and agitated dragon down.”

“Ru? To a dragon?” Marcus deadpanned and rolled his eyes, “Sure I guess.”

“Sweet.” She moved the book shelf to head into the storage room. She grabbed the golden armor with a snicker, “Did you know my dad’s armor actually does have a similar look?” she asked.

“Does it?” Marcus floated over, “Interesting. But it makes sense. Father wanted his approval more than anything.”

Kaya snorted and chewed her lip.

“What?” Snatcher asked taking the suit.

“My dad LOATHES your dad,” she admitted as the two former princes stared.

She laughed loudly, “My dad thinks your dad is a fucking piece of shit who doesn’t deserve his bloodline!” she wheezed. She adjusted her bandages, “I mean he picked a fight with ME!” she snickered, “and my dad is a god of UNION not war.” she pointed out.

Snatcher snickered as he started to pull the armor on. “Yeah sounds right.”

“I pecking LOVE that fact!” Marcus cackled. He looked, “wow you still fit in that.”

“Huh?” Kaya blinked.

Snatcher adjusted the armor and looked around, “my sword should be here isn’t it?”

“Wait--” Kaya’s mouth dropped.

“Yeah I have it upstairs though on the wall display.” Marcus explained.

Kaya looked between them confused.

“Oh, cool. That’s easy.” Snatcher looked around, “is my scabbard around too?”

“Should be upstairs as well.”

“WAIT!” Kaya gasped getting their attention. She frowned, “are you saying that’s YOUR armor??? Not random?”

“Yes? It’s a little tighter but, this was when i used to train with the guards. I wasn’t about to get hurt. Estelle kept it here at the cabin after I was engaged as I didn’t fight anymore. Same with my sword.” Snatcher laughed at the teenager who shook her head and scoffed. He sneered, “What did you think I was a laze about?”

“N-No I just thought you were all books! The whole lawyer thing!” she admitted.

“I had no magic, of course I did something to protect myself!” He cackled.

Marcus snickered, “I can fight with a bow and arrow you know.”

She turned red and huffed, “well, I knew that one, i let you use my archery range.” she scowled, “L-Look let’s just get this dragon dealt with! I don’t want it to get more annoying!”

“Right.” Snatcher scowled.

“Kaya…” he stated as she looked at him.

“You said you thought Eclipse was home?” he asked, he’d thought on it for a bit but not too much, “I thought she was working. She had left and said she’d be out of cell service.”

“I called her phone and it said she was home.” she admitted with a frown, “I’ll look into it. Maybe she’s a frog again?” she suggested.

He frowned and nodded. “Please.” he scowled as he pulled his hair from his face, “let’s go get my sword and head off then.” His stomach flipped.

-----

Her claws traced the rocks as she snarled. It’d been a few days and she was starving. Nothing lived in the area that she could hunt. Her eyes narrowed as she felt someone getting near HER territory. She slunk across the grounds. Tail lashed around as she sniffed. She smelt that annoying twig that’d entered her territory a day before. But there was a new one. Sweet. Salty. She liked it. She licked her jaws as she growled.

“So a giant black dragon with weird wings?” he stated with a frown. He sighed as he looked at the barrier and stepped inside the area. Instantly he felt eyes on him. He frowned and reached for the hilt of his sword. He saw a flash of blue and held a hand up, the wisp nudging him. He chuckled. He frowned. His eyes grew wide.

Wisps.

He turned to where he felt the eyes and began to run towards it.

The dragon blinked in shock as the man came barreling at her. She reared up in her surprise and he looked up as she emerged from the grasses. He sighed.

“Guess I don’t need Kaya to look that up.” he reached his hands up.

The dragon whined and lowered her head. She nuzzled against him, chirping.

“What did you do you silly woman,” he asked as the dragon licked him. He snickered as he pet her muzzle. She purred as he rolled his eyes. He kissed the front of her nose and she huffed a small flame.

He frowned, “well. That didn’t work.” he scowled. A kiss didn’t work. He gasped when she pushed her head against him and he laughed as he reached at her horns. He frowned as he noticed an odd line of scales.

“Eclipse…” he frowned.

She blinked. Eclipse. Was that her? Her eyes flickered.

“Eclipse?” he asked a bit more forcefully. Her head hurt. She whined and pulled away from him.

He huffed and put his hands on his hips. She looked at the knight and growled. He made her head hurt.

“Eclipse show me your head again.” he ordered.

She shook her head and sat definitely. He glared and she lowered her head with a small huff of flames escaping her lips. He walked along and reached that odd line of scales. He frowned as his fingers traced it. It felt like an edge. He scowled and gripped it. The dragon lurched. He held tightly. He wrapped an arm around one of her horns as he gripped the edge. As he held it, it seemed to lift. He grit his teeth as she bucked and shook her head. She roared and growled as he continued to work on the edge, the scaling pulling up. He gasped as there was a spark of blue flame and the dragon collapsed to the ground. He winced as he hit the earth when she slammed into it in her collapse. 

He pulled and slowly, her body shrank. The scales vanished, the sound of snapping bones as her body reworked to human form. He shifted her to his lap as he pulled the mask fully off. She laid unconscious on his lap. He sighed and looked at the mask in his hands. He lit it up in blue flames, the mask crackling as it burned to ash.

Shaking the remains from his hand and focused back on Eclipse. He brushed her hair from her face as her ragged breathing grew more steady. He felt his cheeks grow red as he realized she was naked.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked up at him.

“Snatcher?” she asked softly. She groaned and moved to sit, falling against him. He gasped moving to steady her.

“Careful… you just were a huge ass dragon.” he snickered.

She whined and buried her face against his shoulder. He sighed and shifted to carry her. He felt her cling onto him and he was doing he best to not think about the fact he was carrying a naked woman with whom he had affections for. He felt his face heat up as he left the barrier.

Kaya stared in confusion. She stared with all four eyes and sighed heavily. She removed her over coat as she winced, handing it over to him.

“Thanks.” he used it to wrap Eclipse up.

“Of course she was the one to burn the shit out of my arms.” the demoness grumbled, “sooo any ideas?”

“A mask. A dragon mask. I burned it.” He scowled, “she didn’t seem to have any recognition.”

“What did it look like?” she asked with a huff. She looked at Eclipse with a scowl.

“Dark black, had a red ribbon on the back, had gold scales on it with ruby inlaid eyes.” he explained, “it was fused to her face.”

“To my love, may your heart grow fierce until your knight can calm it.” Kaya recited with a sigh and rubbed her neck with a groan, “An engagement mask from the dragon king. How odd. There shouldn’t be one in this realm…” She scowled as her fingers tapped her chin, “there’s no Dragon king in this reality so why would one of his engagement masks be here…” she sighed, “well I’m glad you got it off her. If she had it on too long, she’d have been a dragon forever.”

Snatcher scowled. He smiled softly as she moved some more in his arms. She looked up at him tiredly.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Hungry.” she admitted with a frown, “tired… sore… where am I?”

“Near the ruins of Tir-na-Nocht.” he explained, “you were a big dragon.”

“Was I?” she frowned as she shifted how she was in his arms. She squeaked and pulled Kaya’s coat close as she realized she was naked. She groaned and rested against Snatcher, “I don’t remember… I just remember I was in some weird shop and some lady shoved something on my face then it gets blurry. I smelt something really sweet and I just wanted to be near it.”

Snatcher felt his heart race, “O-Oh?”

“It was like… calming. I felt calm so I wanted it. Then I remember pain and I’m just so hungry.” she sighed as she closed her eyes.

“Sho--- OH GODS DAMNIT!” Kaya slapped her face and whined as she hit her own burns, “Red door? Smells HORRIBLE?”

“Yes?” Eclipse turned to look at the demoness who had pulled her phone out and was angrily texting.

“Clockwork Rose” she explained, “I bet you met Belle. She’s finicky like a cat. Says she likes to help people but I swear she makes more messes than not! Stupid interdimensional space witch!” she huffed, “I prefer Briar to her cuz at least Briar only messes with shit in her own territory but nooo Belle makes paperwork EVEYWHEREEE.” she hissed and hit send with a sigh, “Seems you must have been her plaything.

Snatcher froze, “Does she have red hair, like a bright red?” he paled.

“She does.” Kaya admitted, “and eyes that are either green or blue, like gemstones.”

“I-I’ve been in her shop,” he admitted. “She gave me a weird locket! It burnt Eclipse’s hand and made me hear her heartbeat.”

“It made you hear what?!” the woman gasped, red in the face. “I-I remember the locket a few months ago b-but!”

He nodded, “Yeah, it had a weird side effect. I don’t know why.” he sighed.

Kaya frowned as she thought about it and sighed, “let’s go home. I have enough work to do, more so knowing this crosses into spacial law. Damnit I wanted to watch a new episode of Calimari Stage.” she opened a portal and waited for them to enter. She looked back at the fields that were once her home and frowned.

She raised a hand and reached out.

“Kaya?” Snatcher called.

She pulled her hand and looked back. She gave a small smile. She ran towards the portal and shoved them through. Wincing at her burns.

A wisp danced beyond the barrier, giggling before vanishing.

[kakashiswilloffire]

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

[secretly-tword-obsessed]

One Spot

Promoted by an anon!

Summary: Jared is going through a tough time, but Evan and Connor think they can help!

Set in an AU where Connor never died and he, Evan and Jared became best friends!

“Oh, uh, hi Zoe”, Evan muttered, as Zoe stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway. Zoe just smiled at him: “Hey Evan”. Being best friends with Connor meant spending quite a lot of time at the Murphy’s house, which was great in theory, but seeing Connor’s younger sister Zoe so often was rather overwhelming. Evan had a huge crush on Zoe, but he put so much effort into making sure that she wouldn’t find out that it was kind of draining.

Jared, the third member of their little friendship group, would often tease Evan about it. Of course, it was only light and friendly teasing, but sometimes it was just too much for Evan. 

But Jared was late that Thursday afternoon, so he hadn't witnessed that little interaction and therefore couldn’t tease Evan about it later.

Jared being late wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The dude often arrived a few minutes late to the boy’s little hang-sessions, wether they be at the park or at one of the boy’s houses. 

Evan knocked on the door to Connor’s room, making the long-haired teen chuckle: “You know you don’t have to knock every time you wish to enter my room, right?”. 

Evan slowly opened the door, finding Connor at his desk, drawing in his sketchpad. He paced over to where Connor was sitting and looked over his shoulder to see a beautiful pencil-drawing of a countryside landscape laid out before him. 

“Thats nice”, Evan stated. “I know”, Connor replied. He than ripped a piece of paper out of the book and handed it to Evan: “Here, you can draw something while we wait for the Kleinman to get here”. 

Evan took it and grabbed one of Connor’s heavy books to rest it on, and leaned his back against Connor’s bed and got to work.

Evan often lost track of time when he was drawing, but Connor certainly didn’t, and he started to get a bit confused when Jared still hadn’t arrived after ten minutes. 

He whipped his phone out of his jean pocket: “Jared?”. Evan jumped at the break of silence, having been completely lost in his drawing of a pine tree forest. He wasn’t a very good drawer, but he really loved drawing, so it didn’t really matter. 

“Jared, whats up, your like fifteen minutes late bro!”

Jared said something Evan couldn’t make out from the other end of the phone. 

“Wow, that’s really weird bro”, Connor said, “I guess I’ll see you in five”.

“What happened?”, Evan asked as Jared put his phone down and stood up to look at him. “Jared completely forgot that we had planned this!”, Connor exclaimed. 

That was very strange, Evan thought, Jared was always late but he was never forgetful. Something big must have happened that distracted him.

Evan and Connor seemed to be on the same page, as Connor said: “I think something must have gone wrong, we can ask him when he gets here”.

Five minutes later, Jared arrived, “WASSUP PRICK-HEADS!”. Typical Jared. 

“What we’re interested in’, Connor said, “Is whats up with you”.

“Ah”, Jared said, “I just forgot because a pretty shitty thing happened with bullies today, I got distracted”. 

Evan patted the side of Connor’s bed, gesturing for Jared to come sit there, “Oh, buddy, what happened?”.

Jared sighed, sat next to Evan, and looked down, “Ugh, those dicks. They just said some nasty stuff about - about-”.

Jared started shaking. This must have been pretty serious. Connor sat on the other side of him, and Evan wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

Jared took a deep breath in, “They said some nasty stuff about my parents’ divorce. And about how it was probably my fault and shit. And I just-”. Jared took another breath in, his eyes getting a little wet. 

Jared was the toughest guy that the other two knew. He could literally be beaten up by a whole gang and come out laughing about it smugly! But his family was something very close to his heart, and we was still struggling to get over the big split-up.

“I just, I wanted it to stop, and they kept saying things and I...”, Jared rested his head on Connor’s shoulder, “They really hurt me guys. I know it sounds pathetic but-”.

“Nononono, it doesn’t sound pathetic at all”, Connor informed the glasses-wearer, “We all have things that we hold close to our hearts”. Connor smirked and added, “Like Evan with Zoe”.

Evan blushed, “Shut up! At least I’m not the one with a crush on a Schuyler sister!”. “Hey”, Connor defended, “It’s not my fault that Lin hired such a hot actor to play Angelica!”. 

“Actress”, Jared corrected the man who his head was rested upon, “A female actor is an actress”. “Oh Jared, your so old fashioned”, Connor said teasingly. 

Jared sat up straight, “Thanks guys, for cheering me up I mean. You really make a difference”. 

Connor cracked a grin: “Oh my dog! Jared saying something nice! I thought I’d never see the day!”.

“Oh my dog! Connor making an educated insight, I thought I’d never see the- HEY!”. Connor had reached his hand under Jared’s arm and poked him there. “Wow, I thought I’d never see the ‘hey’ either”, Connor teased.

“Connor! What gives?!”, Jared complained, “You know I’m sensitive there!”. 

“Oh yes”, Evan smirked, “We are both aware that you are a little ticklish”.

“Only under my arms!”, Jared argued, “And says you Evan, your a breathing walking tickle spot!”. Evan blushed at that.

Suddenly, Jared’s eyes widened, and he started shaking again, “Spot...spot”.

Connor and Evan shared a concerned look, before looking down at Jared between them. 

“Spot...oh, I almost forgot...they called my father’s house...the perfect spot for-”

“Hey, hey”, Connor interrupted, rubbing Jared’s back, “It’s okay, you don’t have to repeat them”. Connor slipped his right hand under Jared’s am, causing him to shriek and smack it off.

“Connor! This isn’t the time!”. 

Evan smiled and scooted closer to Jared, “Why Jared, this is the perfect time. You have been hurt, so it is only our duty as your best friends to put a smile back on your fa-”.

“Hey!”, Zoe interrupted, swinging open the door, “I heard a scream, what’s going in in here?”.  Evan turned dark red, “Oh, hey Zoe”.

Connor grinned at his sister, “Oh, I just tickled my little buddy over here”.

“Asshole!”, Jared grunted. 

Zoe grinned, “Oh, I get it, we have a freakishly ticklish guy in here”.

“I am not freakishly ticklish, I only have one spot!”, Jared remarked, “Evan, he’s the one who’s freakishly tickl-AH!”.

Evan had poked under Jared’s other arm, and tackled him over. Connor smirked and pinned Jared’s arms above his head.

“Ev, don’t you fucking da-AHAHAHAH NOHOHO!”. 

Evan clawed his fingers up and down Jared’s helpless underarms, “ZOHOHOHHOEEE HEHELP!”.

Zoe smirked: “As you wish”.

“NOHOHOH WAHAIT, DOHHOHON’T HEHELP THEHEHEHEHEM!”.

Zoe just giggled as she sat beside Evan and helped with the tickling. Evan tuned a deep red with Zoe sitting next to him, her giggling as they occasionally brushed fingers together, tickling Jared out of his mind.

That giggle of Zoe’s; Evan wasn’t sure if he could take this much longer. He stood up, causing the other three to look up at him.

“Aw, are you chickening out Ev?”, Connor teased, “Are you too afraid that Jared will get you back?”.

“Well, ah...”, Evan stuttered. Zoe smiled, “You know that if you chicken out now, you’ll be my next victim”. Evan turned a darker shade of red. Zoe just chuckled and went back to tickling a helpless Jared.

“NANHAHAHAHA ZOHOHOHOHE WAHAHAHAIT! NAOHOHOHHO, EHEHEHEVAN GOHOHOHOHO AWAHAHAHAY!”.

Evan had sat on Connor’s side of Jared instead, and went back to his attack.

Evan’s fingers clawed and prodded precisely, and Zoe’s scribbled and teased lightly. The combination of the two was almost unbearable for poor Jared.

Almost.

He was actually kind of enjoying himself. After a rough afternoon, laughing his head off was almost freeing. Like locking away the door to his misery and throwing away the key. 

But that didn’t stop him from struggling.

“IHIHIHI WIHIHIHIHILL KIHIHIHIHILL YOHOHOHOHU AHAHAHAHALL AHAHAHAHAFTER THIHIHIHIS!” Jared cried, desperately jerking his torso up and down against the bed. 

The other three just smiled, happy with the madness that they were inflicting on their friend. But still, it had to end at some point, the guy needed to breathe. 

Connor unpinned Jared’s arms, and as soon as he did, Jared pounced on Evan.

“Oh, your in for it!”.

And the room erupted in laughter once more. 

Ok, so that was really short, but I’ve got a nice long once coming up! So, to quote my favourite musical, Be Prepared!