#got new sketchbooks and I'm obsessed

[rainofthetwilight]

did the evil artstyle challenge...there was An Attempt 👍

I suffered while doing this HELP

[goozeghost]

finally able to draw again and I'm going insane. I'm not responsible for my actions, the dam has been broken and the flood is COMING

[acid-ixx]

ch.4: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

tw: self-esteem issues, alcohol abuse, allusions to self-harm.

"baby bird, i know i haven't been talking to you much as of lately. but i just want to let you know that we miss you alright?"

not delivered.

"i really regret ignoring you, we all do. i'm-"

he hesitates, then deletes the last word of his message.

"—we're the ones in the wrong for everything, alright? you blocked me, i'm sure you did for everyone else too, i get that, but we care for you now and that won't change anytime soon. please remember that."

not delivered.

"and it pains me seeing that you're not replying to my messages at all, baby bird. but i promise i'll-"

dick bites his lips at the mistake of addressing himself only rather than that of the family, but a greedy part of him wants you to read the messages and to see only him in spite of everything rather than them, feeling a sense of... need to be the first and only one you see when you think about accepting their apologies, even if he's writing to you whilst simultaneously trying to get his family in your good graces.

dick doesn't know it. why he's suddenly obsessed with you. you? yes you, his stupidly precious sibling, the one who looked up to him, frail and wronged by the world, with so much drive behind that stare. third child of bruce, yet second youngest in the family. the one that got away, the one he has never once saw outside that one memory of glinting, awe-inspired eyes that told more stories than poets, drew more emotions than artists.

nobody saw you outside of your status as the manor's ghost— but compared to your other siblings, he knew you the most. he wants to be the only man good enough to be considered your brother, your oldest brother; an obligation he's willing to uptake just for you. he wants to be the only one with the authority to call you his baby bird. he doesn't know why, despite the thirteen and a half years, it's him wanting, no, needing to see you again.

you, just you.

every bits and pieces of you.

in his mind, it's just him and you. in your tiny little bedroom, with your dozens of sketchbooks and diaries, with only your brother, dick, to accompany you. in your own little world, as you speak to him of your dreams and passions with nothing else in your mind. you'd look up at him with sparkling eyes, look at him like he means everything in the world to you, and he'd see you as his world.

when he thinks of that, the more he hopes of the possibility of you reading his messages; his declaration of never leaving you alone anymore. and with hope comes along this dread that you'd reply with a nasty reply, or that... you'll never bat an eye him anymore.

dick doesn't take a second glance to correct his mistake again this time.

"i promise i'll be better for you baby bird. my little hatchling, my little one. i discarded you, someone so precious. you must've felt hurt, no? i get that, i'm so sorry you have to go through that because of me. but look! you have me now, we have each other now! and that might not be enough yet to mend the bridge i left to fall, but if you just, please reply to me, or anyone else, then we can fix this. i promise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"you won't ever feel hurt anymore, or sad or lonely. hell, even bruce is getting you a new bedroom fixed up, isn't that great!? i'll even convince the old man to make sure your room is close to my old one so you can visit me anytime. i'll even stay over at gotham for even longer, just for you! and i'll spend my time with you, with just the two of us, okay? nobody else can disturb us. i'm sure you'd like that too."

not delivered.

"and we can hang out anytime you want, no? sleepovers, movie nights, journalling— all the cool stuff you wanted to do with me in the past, we can do now! and it'll be fun with you, i can see it happening alrrady, i just know it. you can't convince me otherwise, baby bird."

not delivered.

"that's why i'm begging you to unblock me, little one, or to at least read all my previous messages, please? :( i'm still so sorry over how i treated you in the past. i've nothing to defend myself over how i acted towards you. i was so delusional, ignoring you when all you clearly wanted was to spend time with me, with the family."

not delivered.

"we can even have that dinner together, remember?! at that fancy restaurant you talked about, yeah? my treat, of course. you can order the entire damn menu and i'll leave you room for seconds and desserts. i can even make arrangements to get bruce to rent out the entire restaurant so it would just be the two of us plus the family, but mostly just us— that would be good! then you can sleep at my room after we get home to the manor since we're turning your old one into an atelier just for you! i'll even carry your cute little figure up any flight of stairs whenever you get tired."

not delivered.

"i promise i'll really make it up to you baby bird!!! <3"

not delivered.

"for all the times we neglected you, left you thinking you didn't deserve a spot in the manor (which you truly do, it's us to blame for never seeing it that way), made you feel negative emotions towards us— i'll take your pain and turn that into joy, i promise."

not delivered.

"and if you do manage to read through all this, please remember..."

not delivered.

"i love you so much, alright? we'll find you soon, and you'll be happier with us, i'm sure of it. i love, love, love you so much my baby bird."

not delivered.

he sighs, resigning his thoughts all to himself as he checks his phone every minute for a simple ring of notifications just from you. he prefers to leave his phone in silent mode from the multitude of other contacts bothering him, but god forbade if that means he'd scroll past to a single reply of yours, then he'd rather burn in hell.

and anything is better than the pain inflicted on him when it comes to the thought of you ignoring him.

because after all, he does mean it when he says he loves you, his baby bird, his adorable little sibling.

he'd rather hell than you seeing him any less of an older brother.

what takes longer? is it a seed growing into a bud, a bud into a bloom, or a flower to fully shrivel and die?

how long does it take for it to be considered worthy? deserving of attention and the rightful spotlight to attain its needs for life?

what takes its time? what other variable does it need for it to survive in such harsh conditions? if it's forcefully pried open as a seedling, as a bud growing in a field full of weeds sapping, draining it of its nutrition, or in a scorching, desolate desert, or pestilent lands; would it still be considered a flower?

what does a seed need to grow into a flower? beautiful, treasured, with vibrant colors reflecting off the surface of each petal, growing pollen for every pollinator to spread its bountiful success you call development?

what does it require?

everyone knows the answer, some could only be ignorant enough to turn the other way and reject the idea altogether.

it needs care, nourishment — healthy soil building a strong foundation, its home with roots carefully embedded in the ground, then it also requires water, a source of life given to it in specific times with just the right dose, and sunlight kissing its stems and petals warmly — and finally, love.

lots of love, attention, and patience from mother nature herself and its caretakers we call humans.

but how could a flower receive any, if not, all it needs, if it's raised under a marshy, overgrowth rainforest that speaks of death and cruel poachers that could step on the bloom of any moment?

how could a flower live, let alone survive, if its careless caretakers who took it away from its fertile lands neglect it of its requirements to grow and bloom into its rightful imagery?

just how?

you are a flower.

and you will wilt soon the longer you live in what you once thought was your home.

growing in cracked, dry soil, with no water nor sunlight aiding your growth.

you are a flower.

who had been loved by your creator, mother nature herself; your mother. but you've never once felt the care nor love of your cruel humans you call family, your father had never once saw your budding petals, kissed it, patiently watered or spent time outside in the sunlight with you. your brothers don't notice your dehydrated pets, shriveled leaves and bent stems, nor do they tend to it. your sisters don't decorate the pot you reside it, they don't talk to you every time you sag down in loneliness and isolation as you are forced to stay in the same place and witness the same scenarios over and over again.

not much knows it, but flowers, much like any plant, can communicate, they can feel. and when they do, they do deeply.

and you are a flower. a flower worthy of being pressed into books, storing your beauty forever. a flower worthy of being situated into a stunning arrangements of bouquets, worshipped through birthdays, dates, weddings, and even funerals.

you're a flower, and you're beautiful and deserving of praise and honor from your stages in life as a seed, from a bud, to a blooming flower. yet you're neglected the same way ignorant trespassers would step on growing blooms, uncaring for sabotaging their life completely, and oh-so easily.

you're a flower, a symbol of nature's fertility, resilience, and tranquility.

you symbolize your mother's long standing determination to care for a child whose father looked other ways but her. who raised her seedling with care, watered them with stories of fairytales: fantasies about prince charmings who take their flowers away from barren lands to spoil them with rich soil and neverending sunlight, about princesses who stop by flower shops to awe at the arrangements of bouquets, eyes glazing with fervor as they recount each and every symbolism every unique flower shares.

your mother places you in your favorite, decorated pot: your shared bedroom with her, and she kisses your cheeks, your forehead, your chubby little fingers, the same way the illuminating sunlight kisses at your flushed body whenever you two would go out for your walks.

she was your mother nature, and you were her precious flower.

you were once a blooming bud then, and you wished you would still bloom now.

how could you grow into what you're worth, when even you couldn't grow without the love that was taken from you?

what about the care, the patience, the determination she once held in her warm gaze, now cold and fading with life the last time you saw her; would it all be a waste?

how could you grow now?

and yet you don't even need to ponder for solutions. the answers were clear, clear as the water your petals used to bathe in, clear as the rain that pitters against alfred's car windows the same day you were taken away from your mother's hold—

you simply wilt.

8:31PM.

your friend said she'd pick you up quarter to nine, so you'd at least have the time to prepare and make yourself look good. but right now...

god, right now, you don't feel anything good, not even a wee bit of it at all. ever since he texted you, you feel like shit, utterly repulsed. vile, like the image of you vomiting every contents of your stomach— and now you're going out drinking with an empty one. you can already feel the bitter taste of heavy alcohol mixing in with the acids of your stomach.

you can already feel the breakdown you're having right now as you remember how fucking broke and useless you are for having to ask your friends to treat you to drinking because you have nothing left to offer beyond the fucking taxes you have to pay and the nearly due rent and bills.

you have nothing to offer. you're so shitty. you deserve to die.

the more you stare at the mirror, the more your eyebags seem to deepen, your lips began to dry, and the pit in your chest sunken.

and that makes you exhale even deeper, ignoring the way your throat constricts on itself in instinct.

your eyes flitter to your fingers, nails bitten, skin ripped at the seems with dry blood staining chipped cuticles.

when you looked back at your reflection, you want to cry even more, seeing an image of a moving pile of flesh. all puffy skin and sagging eyes.

you don't remember the last time you felt pretty about yourself.

whether it was in the manor, or back when your mother was the only one raising you— it seems like your memories are in shambles right now.

you don't remember the last time you looked in a mirror, looking healthy, fresh, and proud of yourself for dressing up in your style. in the back of your mind, there will always be hatred, resentment for how you look. and right now, you hate how you every bit of your appearance because...

because you look exactly just like an image of your mother and bruce wayne. a reminder, your punishment for your parents' beautifully tragic affair with one another. a billionaire who courted the lowly dirt-class slut of gotham.

yet you're uglier because you're not them, you couldn't be them. you're not picture-perfect brucie with slick-black hair and a face like fine-aged wine, or the image of your sultry, "man-eater" mother in her lingerie. you're just, you— you've inherited all the stupid flaws you wished you could shave off your damn body.

you remember seeing your father's face in television with your mother beside you by the couch, combing your hair and giggling when your eyes had lit up at the sight of the rich man. you haven't once took your eyes off the news channel whenever he appeared, looking at bruce, always enamored with his aesthetics, only to never notice your mother's tired eyes, or how shaky her fingers would sometimes become.

"momma, that's daddy, right?!" you asked her whilst the side of your body was pressed against hers, with all the enthusiasm a child could muster. your grin was wide, eyes peeled to the screen, enough to ignore the flinch in your mother as you had once thought it was her igniting with the same excitement as yours.

she simply leans down and kisses your cheeks, her eyes, a beautiful shade of your eyes color, albeit lighter in hue, never once left the crown of your small head, ignoring the headline for the news about 'brucie's new fling caught on camera!'.

your mother was so glad you were still illiterate at your age. she wish she could never break off the illusion that it was her who simply birthed to you, with no face for a father. maybe you would've never ask her about why he had never once came to visit your small family, why you could never meet your other siblings, or why he's seen with multiple other women by his side every time you open the television.

you ask at frequent intervals; it makes her wish to strip away the past in which she chose to tell you who your father was. you would've experienced less heartbreak, she would've never seen the way your eyes would dim at her every excuse, or the way she felt your heart crack at the seams, only further breaking hers.

yet after a while, she replies and buries her thoughts, ignoring the tears that lid her eyes. with not so much enthusiasm in her light voice, with the undertones of guilt and sorrow digging deep throat her throat, but it was enough for young, little you to jump on your springy couch with her response.

"... oh, yes, that's your papa...! isn't he so nice looking—?"

"and handsome! i'm so lucky to have such beautiful parents! i wish i was as pretty as you, momma, and daddy too!"

when you had looked up with haste, glinting eyes staring up at her with a wide grin, some baby teeth still present, others absent from your gums, yet you displayed admiration no less; your mother just as quickly wipes her red eyes and sniffling nose with the worn sleeves of her sweater and reciprocates your beaming energy with a small smile.

she wishes you'd dismiss her previous melancholic expression, replacing it with the same fond, yet tired gaze she always offers you, wishing you'd be as oblivious to the pain it brings her to see your hopes and dreams of meeting a father you could only admire through a screen or article. yet you're always so perceptive, so interlinked with her reactions that she's sure that one of the few positive traits your father had given you. she should've expected your words, yet her broken heart finds a path to heal whenever you sense her pain and soft a bandage to the cracks of her bleeding scars with your kindness.

you would always be her little flower. the one she'd nurture in a garden filled with rosy bushes and scarring thorns.

"—you're so beautiful, momma, even if you cry because daddy isn't here with us, or you're too tired taking care of me. you're beautiful because you're my mother, and i'll take you over everything in the world..."

and you tell her, an inaudible whisper to your voice, with eyes that were once wide, beaming with joy, now gazing at her with softness like the wind kissing blades of grass in a gentle dance. you look at her, and she stares back, eyeing your chubby cheeks and lips the same shape of hers, the ends of your lashes curves the same way as hers, and your voice matches her like a lullaby when you speak every vowel in a soothing lilt.

you calm the hurt in her chest, replacing it with a mellow warmth. she even forgot the tears that slowly dripped her eyes, all replaced with the comfortable softness of her precious child's palms, smooth and cozy, resting on both of her cheeks as you pepper her crying face with kisses.

she holds both your palms caging her, and allows the your hold to linger for longer. the silence ensues, yet you both embrace the unsaid assurances.

it's times like these where she realizes you encapsulate the beauty of both worlds.

it's moments like this, she sees herself in you, and maybe she could lead herself to believe that she is beautiful, because she sees her beauty through her child, her grace.

the memory only further deepens the guilt in your heart.

if there's one word to describe you now. it would be disgrace. to your father's honor, and your mother's legacy. for easily letting yourself go, for being so weak, for being the line that jumps between two polar opposites of one another; trying to traverse their path of belonging.

you're a disgrace, a mistake, and you deserve to be treated as such.

it was why you never find yourself beautiful. a person such as yourself would always find allure, worth in all things chaotic - you live in gotham after all - but never find that same value in yourself as you look at your reflection that distorts your image even more, making you uglier and uglier the longer you look.

split ends everywhere, hand tangled, reddish eyes from nearly crying again.

even if you beat at yourself, erratic and impulsive, even if your skin is colored an ashen blue and purple, rotten shades of yellow and red, you think of yourself ugly and repulsive.

no matter how much color you try to bring into your bleak, repulsive life, at the cost of hurting yourself to become pretty— every part of you will always be that ugly, little duckling in comparison of your siblings who always outshone you.

dick with his playboy body, jason and his towering one, tim with soft boyish features, damian's silky tan and smooth skin, and duke's baby face.

you couldn't even have your hair frame you as perfectly as steph's light blonde hair does, or share barbara's proportionate face, or look as gracious yet deadly like cassandra.

you're nowhere near as special, you're not like them. you have features too unique, yet out of place, and you couldn't bring yourself to be conventionally good-looking.

you hate yourself so much. you hate every little mole, every little pimple, every damn imperfection that litter your body, making you even lesser than what you already are.

your family; mother, father, brothers and sisters, god, even your fucking friends! every time you sit by them side-by-side, you'd feel insecure, imperfect, an eyesore and you just want to strip away every part of your limbs one by one if that meant replacing it with even better ones; all for the sake of at least feeling pretty.

you remember the first time you tried to find a sense of style, and damian's comment and– god fucking damn it—!

your hands found its way to your brushed hair, tangling itself through already fragile strands to rip at the seams. you don't care, you don't fucking care, you pray to any god out there to get them out of your head, pleas unheard, you're always left to hurt.

"what are you trying to achieve with that, huh? what even are you trying to think with that horrendous color combination? what are you, a clown? even that damned joker has more coordination than you think you could achieve."

in front of his friend, jon kent, with a scowl on his ever-so angry face and his hand already making a way to grip his sword; an absolute threat to dice you up shall you ever bother being in the same room as him.

he said that to you... you're older, you could've been stronger, could've at least found a semblance of fight in your bones. but no! god, no. your life was ruled with fear with damian wayne being the demon haunting you in the manor, always making living harder, making breathing a heavy task.

how could you ever fight back? not when you've conditioned yourself to tear up at the slightest bit of noise, feel goosebumps prick your skin when you hear someone raise their voice at you, and your heart rate hasten at the slide of a knife against any surface?

you! you who's so fucking weak to even make a comeback. you, who ran away with wide, traumatized eyes. because you're scared, so fucking fearful of an even bigger cut to your skin marked by damian— even if you're accustomed to cutting yourself with even deeper gashes.

because it's him that you fear, not the pain, not anymore. just him and his contempt at you for ruining his pure bloodline just by you being his half-sibling.

you don't want a repeat of your first meeting, or any meeting with him at all. not when you'd drown even deeper in a pit of fear every time you stare at his glaring, emerald eyes. one that tells you he chose to merely not kill you out of the goodness of his heart. but he will, god he will if he feels you've been too comfortable in his presence.

every damn time, everytime you feel fear, you see green. you hate green, any literal meaning of it, every implication of itx even seeing it, and fuck! your outfit has green embellishments.

you feel even uglier, yet the twinge of fear immediately overpowers any concern your had with your appearance. it's as if eyes were suddenly on you, and it's not only yours staring at you in the mirror.

your lips wobble, snot began blocking through the passage of your nose.

fuck, fuck, fuck.

why?! why can't you just forget about them all. why, why, why?!

you bite your lips harshly to conceal the pained whimpers from the back of your throat, but it doesn't work. it only makes the fear worse.

tears rim at your eyes, you merely wipe them away. your heart attempts to beat out of its gilded cage, yet you swallow your quivering chokes and proceed to continue staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a rush, with nothing to conceal your ghastly eyebags and sunken skin.

and green. you'll see it everywhere now. fuck, would dick send out damian to kill you now? you don't know, you're scared but you can't chicken out, not when your friend is already near to your apartment. god you wish you had beer in your cabinets instead, but you're broke and unprepared for life and your hair's all in a tangle and you just fucking want to die.

your hands grip at the edge of your sink, you look at your mirror and see the blood on your already bitten lips.

not even concealer can cover the damn scars all over your face all through the neck.

calm down.

you stare even deeper at yourself and ignore the green, trying to think of something else—

something less emotionally scarring, like your appearance. even if it brings you great pain, too, you'd rather that than your family. no more of them, fuck, no more. even if you stare at your eyes and see that familiar mix of colors of your mother and bruce's eyes. the shape of your face, even the curve of your brows all resembled your late mother— and you miss her, her captivating beauty that you never saw aged like fine way before she was taken away from you. you see bruce in the strands of your hair and the way it sometimes fray when too stressed. you see them in every image you wish to erase of yourself.

yet your genetics are nothing to them, not when you can't even care for your tangled hair or ashen skin.

even the dead looked more lively than you ever could.

with a pale complexion, with scars that litter all over your shoulders, wrists, and hidden parts of your body, one you're too ashamed to show anybody— it was no doubt that you looked pathetic and erased the beauty that both your parent's cultivated. and it makes you wonder; would it really be worth it?

would it be worth it if the people around you see you?

you with your melancholic eyes, trying to find an escape in a maze you call your mind? you can picture yourself drinking alcohol until you reach the domain of death, sitting in a stool, alone, as you nearly empty the contents of your stomach remembering the sole reason why you're there in the first place.

would it be worth it if all eyes suddenly were on you? they turn to you to gaze at the ugly bruises on your body, they mock your appearance, call you names, look at your sniveling, red nose and warm cheeks intoxicated from all the heavy liquor you'd down, and whisper. they'll whisper insults, slurs, and every known jab until it's all their words that pierces through your eyes, until the loud bass becomes mere background chatter for all the gossips that ensue.

are you actually going to do this right now?

you don't know, you don't know and you wish never cared as much.

all you could really focus on was your eminent goal of getting out of your stuffy apartment, to rid of the paranoia that somehow, you're being watched over in the confines of your four walls and that the familiar image of green will come attack you. the more you think, the more the hairs on your skin start to raise with every known intention to signal you of your anxiety.

eyes, they may be everywhere.

eyes, eyes, eyes. as you stare at your eyes, you try to ignore emerald eyes, they dilute even further. you gulp, yet your focus remains distorted. images flash at the mirror, and suddenly they're here, with you, with their eyes. bright blue for some, dark green for another, and they all gaze at you with contempt. one's hand claws at your throat, the other pins your wrist down on the edge of the sink. the eyes glare, and they never soften. yours merely shook, unblinking as your breathing becomes heavier; trapped in the cages of their wanton staring.

you yelp, then blink. when you did, they're gone. and you're back to looking at the same image of yourself. you grimace slowly.

ugly, with dry skin and falling hairs. the worst version of you, the normal version of yourself— there was never a best version for you.

as long as it's you, you'll never be enough.

all you wanted was to drink with your friends at a club; some working nightshifts at the location you're going to— yet you want to back down. want to take your phone by the corner of your vision and cancel your sudden plans.

but you're scared, you're so fucking scared of any new messages.

hell, even finding the contacts for your friends was a task in itself you wish to never repeat. with jittery fingers trying to type of messages and blurry eyes navigating through the screen of your slippery, glass screen protector.

you're scared, rightfully so.

you're scared to find his message once more suddenly popping up, your fingers accidentally pressing on it like the clumsy swine you are, and rereading that damn heart over and over again.

you slam your dominant hand against the tiled sink, hard and uncaring for the pain it induced all throughout your body. the tremors of the impact shook you to your core, yet you seethe in your breath and don't allow yourself respite to let the tears flow freely from your already red eyes. you feel your heart beating erratically through your chest, the shivers controlling your body, the shrieks that you contained within you— and you enchain them all with no respect for yourself.

you deserve this. you deserve to be hurt, to be punished for your actions, for your mistakes, for your sins.

even if your hand became swollen, splotched with varying shades of disgusting purples and yellows, you won't treat it with medicine. even if the sharp edges of the sink broke the fragile layer of your already scarred palm, and bled profusely with that familiar shade of red; you won't rush to wrap it with gauze or even spare a droplet of betadine. even if by the next day you'd have to write out your overdue assignments with that specific hand, then you'll force yourself to learn through the other and punish yourself again if you fail once more.

you deserve this.

and as your phone pings, lighting up to show you a notification of one of your friend's messages about being ready to pick you up by the lobby of your apartment's ground floor, you ignore your injured hand and the bruises on your knees from falling so abruptly on tiled floors just moment's ago. you dismiss the ache of your head, the soreness of your eyes and the disgusting beat of your heart.

you ignore the pain that wrecks at your entire body, in favor of destroying it even more, just as you deserve.

you don't recall how many shots you had before you're nearly passed out by the bar, sitting on its stool with your head leaning on one both your arms crossed, drool close to slipping out of the corners of your mouth and heavy eyes lidded, about to fall into the depths of sleep.

you're sure you looked wasted, absolutely drop-dead drunk with no thoughts circulating in your head other than the pleasant buzz in your ears and the flash of colors in the disco balls blanketing the entire room with its neon lights. your face must've been an unearthly shade of red, and you can already feel just how blazen it is, and how your fingertips are ice-cold to the touch (probably colder than the marble you lay your arms upon). in other words, you're actually wasted.

and it's so worth it if it means it gets you to forget. and forget you did, because you can't even dig deep into your head to even remember a single memory of whatever grief you went through earlier in your apartment. not even the throb of your head from when you pulled your hair from its roots, all to the way you slammed your dominant hand on your bathroom sink, bruising it with unnatural shades of purples and yellow.

it makes you omit every type of pain, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. it doesn't cure you of your ails, but god forbid you if you just want to savor moments where nothing but a mind numbing headache is the only feeling present in your current state.

the remix of songs were long forgotten in your mind, they all become an amalgamation of miscellaneous sounds. your body is so inclined towards the flat, rectangular cool surface of the marble glass of the bar that you can guarantee you could sleep here, especially since black behan to cloud both your vision and your mind.

everything feels so hazy, and pleasant, and straight-out peaceful that the screaming tandems of equally drunk clubbers and the occasional sobers holding up their friends who sang along with whatever remix the dj comes up with, or the forming crowd as people began to rock and dance to the bass that shakes up the entire floor to the point you can feel vibrations run along your spine— didn't register within the crevices in your mind.

all you can focus on, is the gratifying pleasure ll alcohol induces in your body. gone is the feeling of fear that emanates off of every inch within your body. your bones don't feel as if it's locking up everytime you feel eyes on you, and your throat doesn't certainly feel constricted with the lack of flow of blood anymore.

god, this is why you've never once regret drinking right after the moment you turned eighteen— not when it's positive effects outweighs all the negative emotions that rule over your body.

you couldn't even notice a man with shades (seriously, who wears that to party? isn't the club dark enough?) sitting beside your drunken form in the corner of your eyes, raptured in the thin line between focusing on reality and drifting off to dream world. you don't even bat an eye to his muffled giggles and the way he twisted his stool just to admire the view: you.

you're oblivious to the entire commotion happening within the depths of his mind because you couldn't feel any aptitude to danger right now— thanks to the effects of the hard liquor overtaking whatever fear you've felt being watched long ago.

or maybe you just felt safe beside the stranger. or, you're merely drunk. you don't know.

fuck, you're so close to passing out.

you don't know where your friends are, where they came running off to but you know you won't be getting out her sooner or later and you definitely don't have a ride home. so your only way back without getting ambushed as a completely vulnerable citizen of gotham, is by a safer, more convenient means of a ride— but that certainly wouldn't be safe if your friends are as equally drunk, or even more so, as you. but does your hazy mind care? no. not when you flip your head to rest on the other side once the other side became hotter that you notice a conveniently attractive man staring right back at you with an entertained grin.

as if your existence alone makes him happy. as much as your mind keeps blanking out, that mere implication made your heart pang just a teensy bit. of pain, or pleasure, or mere joy, you don't know. but you do know that it triggered some unknown feelings and you don't want to feel.

you want to drink some more, feeling solemn all of a sudden just from staring at him. you're sure the obvious frown on your quivering lips and the heavy, hot sigh

and it doesn't help that his face seems similar. the longer you stare, the more his grin seems to sharpen. confidently? or shyly? you can't seem to gain a clear image of him; what when rainbow lights are blazing out through the holes of the disco ball and your eyes recently just opened to your near journey to traverse through sleep.

all you can make out to be is his jet-black hair, side bangs framing the left side of his face, a faint outline of an eyebrow piercing

you also took note of his spiky jacket— yet what draws you the most to him are his sunglasses that he chose to wear conspicuously in a damn club of all places.

he's attractive, to say the least, but he triggers a set of emotions deep into the cages of your imprisoned heart that sets itself free. he gives you a sense of nostalgia, of familiarity that you can't pinpoint but feel; like you've seen him before but don't know when. your eyebrows furrow in and your eyes squint at him, unknowing to the judgement you're subjecting him in. your lips wobble, though, because his presence just makes your heart feel something, akin to pain but not quite, and makes your head buzz that you just want to cry as a reaction.

he, the stranger, don't know it, but he makes you all sad, primal emotions overtaking any drunkenness you feel as deep tremors buzzed into the confines of your chest, until all you're doing is staring at him with pouting, downturned lips and sad, puppy eyes; rimming with salty tears.

you don't know why you feel sad all of the sudden, and you can faintly see through blurry, watery vision how his face shifted from entertained to worry, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open at your sudden mood shift.

maybe you or him could've spoken up, you more so, but you're just so emotionally drained and overwhelmed today that you began sobbing silently without breaking eye contact with the man.

despite you wanting to say anything: an introduction, a question opening up as to why he's staring at you, or even a mere phrase telling him to "back off"; the only words that came out from your parched throat, all from trying to reason in your head on what a proper sentence should be, were:

"you're hot," and if you were sober enough, you would've felt sheer embarrassment and shame from eyeing the boy, but you're not— and because you're not sober, or any bit sane, the next few sentences you spewed out were all coherent, yet wonkily pronounced utterances paired with teary eyes and sniffling nose, as you can't seem to control the feelings of melancholy in your heart and the sudden emotional burst from your ramblings.

"thank you, you too, actually— but are you alright-"

"you're so hot, god, please. i don't know..." you gave him no time to speak as you hiccupped, lips wobbling even more than you can imagine. and you're trying your damn best to rid of the urge to punch at your chest as a coping mechanism through the multitude of emotions eating you up and away. but you never realized you were trying for an absolute stranger, palms fisting into itself as he stares at you worriedly all of a sudden.

"like... you're familiarly attractive, i—" the next few sentences were incoherent as your words bubbled around you like detergent soap. your fingers found itself into your face as you try to wipe off both tears and nearly dripping snot as you continued rambling drunkly.

"you just! you're hot, for me, i don't know... i'm just, we all—eughh... i don't know, i'm so sad..." and you truly are, for no reason at all other than seeing the man. poor him, must've felt so ashamed that he's the reason you're crying but at the same time... nothing can really stop you from ceasing your tears.

at least, that's what you've convinced yourself to believe in. that you're truly incurable of the ailment of being constantly depressed with nobody to aid you with your troubles. not even your friends, nor past therapists that you've consulted.

you've nothing to comfort you, and that makes you even more solemn than ever.

the simplest of emotions felt, the deeper and complex you take it out to be. sadness, or moreover depression, the horseman of apocalypse that destroys any hope you've tried to kindle with your life.

it makes you all the more burst into a wave of even more tears.

"... okay, okay, wait here for me, alright?" he suddenly stood up, hurriedly, probably unsure, or disgusted by you. you're unsure about what he's saying, too caught up crying that you simply nod to whatever he said and continued on with your episode.

as you're left alone, you allow your tears to dry only cry once more. when he left you, you weren't aware but you just felt even more lonely. at pushing away the only company you had after your friends left you in the dust, you feel depressed and regretful and all emotions related to grief and you just want to drink some more but you don't know if you can take it anymore!

god, it all returns to pain. pain you thought you could bury deep once you took multiple swigs of alcohol.

pain that makes you want to bang your head against the marble of the bar—

and you're so close to doing so, but only stopped when your blurry vision sets itself on the man returning with a handkerchief and a cold glass of ice water. at his kind gesture, you simply teared up even more, pouting when he walked your way and looked at you with a sheeping grin.

when he sat right back up on the stool seated to your right, he hesitated with his hold on the handkerchief near your face. but the moment he gathered up his pride and pressed it against the unnatural blaze of your cheeks, you merely leaned closer to his palms, eyes closing as you can feel the tears cease itself finally at the blind comfort he's unknowingly providing you.

"there, there... be careful, 'kay stranger?"

he mutters, a light chuckle accompanying him. it's only now you can finally focus on the cool churn of his voice and the , with your eyes close and the haze of your thoughts washing away, leaving you breathless in your respite— not restrictive, nor lonely, but still short of breath.

this reminds you of the times alfred had to hold you in his arms everytime you threw a tantrum at the manor.

it made you realize that the months, a near year even, after leaving the manor, made you crave physical affection. making you feel like a husk of yourself when not given. you feed off of the scraps of physical lovez to the point that even this man who's wiping away the tears from your cheeks makes your heart beat faster, in a comfortable manner.

sensations. he once told you that if you feel too deeply within, then to ground yourself you must feel beyond interior ranges of emotions.

and that's the technique you've been willing away from your head for so long. because it always requires another person in the room to comfort you, to simply touch you softly, gently like you're porcelain the same way the stranger is pressing damp fabric against your tearstained cheeks and hollowed out eyes.

the pain you've felt was because you're merely touch starved. alone, in a space where everyone has someone, and a no one can't have anyone.

but now that you do have a someone, no matter how dangerous he could've been outside of your impression of him, you feel the pain lessen, the heavy burdens become featherlight at his kind gestures of wiping all the salty tears from your face, the runny snot from your nose with no rush whatsoever.

"feel better now, hon?"

"mhm..." a long, drawled out yawn emits from your mouth, yet you're too comfortable with him to even care, suddenly feeling a wave of drowsiness after your emotional episode.

after he finished wiping your face, and felt it considerably cool down from the damp fabric, he placed it on the bar, one hand on your face keeping you stable. yet his other hand promptly went back to your cheeks.

he chose to do this of his own volitions, even leaning closer as your head finds itself slowly dropping to his clavicle (careful to avoid the spikes from his peculiar designed jacket), looking up at him and staring at his gray eyes.

the man looks down at you as you now realize he's cupping your face. at the implication of your entire ordeal with him, you might've felt flustered sober, but you're just so drunk that any spacial awareness for the proximity between your bodies just disappeared and left you with the need to sleep within the confines of the safety this man left you with.

you don't know it, but yet again the man smiles down at your adorable antics, finding the way you're absolutely trusting of a stranger both stupid, yet endearing. because he's no more stranger, and heaven bless him because he's so glad he's the person who approached you rather than anyone else because you looked so cute, and his crush on you may have lead him to stalk you occasionally just to ensure you're safe— that doesn't erase the gesture that he did it purely because gotham is too dangerous for your own good. and he's glad he trusted his human side of intuition, rationalizing with himself that today just seems to be the day you'd bump into danger if he's not there.

you're so stunning up close... how come tim never once found interest in someone as admirable as you is a mystery. but you trusting a stranger in your vulnerable state is much more.

and he's grateful he's that stranger.

because he may be a stranger to you, but a familiar one. and you feel safe, a feeling you haven't felt in so long that you simply just melt against him like clear putty; because you're transparent with what you feel right now.

and right now you feel warmth. not the uncomfortable one that blazes through your (now) cool face when you were drunk, nor the burning one whenever you thought of your family— but a pleasant one. like sitting near a fireplace as you watch the embers crackle, drinking hot cocoa whilst a quilt covers your body from the cold of the winter. you feel this way at his kindness, at his efforts to help you contain your emotions to a reasonable degree.

"what's your name, kind stranger?" you mutter on his chest (how come your head is laying on it, actually?) hearing the soft thumps of his heart. it's warm, he's warm and every bit of comfortable, as he does his best to move slightly back to remove his jacket and drape it over your body before he could reply to you, chuckling whilst doing so because you looked up at him with your eyes conveying every damn emotion that made you feel soft.

"it's conner, conner kent. call me kon, though. or yours if it's you." he purrs. it took you a minute to register his obvious flirting but what comes after is an absolute flush on your body and you recoiling from his hold as you look back at him, mouth agape. the tips of your ears were warm, and every bit of

an overexaggeration to his flirting, sure. it makes you look less appealing in your eyes, extra sure! but it's been so long since someone last attempted to flirt with you; but most were under the guise of when you were still a wayne and... and not as yourself. you! you who sports so many imperfections that—

"haha! is it strange to say that you look so cute whenever you look at me with wide eyes in the short span of time we just met?"

he slides in through your train of thoughts before you could delve even deeper through self-deprecation. and you're glad that he did because... god, he makes you want to shamelessly gloat as a reply. you've never had someone complement your eyes before, actually...

"i'm..." you look back at him after you stared down at your palms, heat overtaking your entire body. yet again it wasn't uncomfortable, and just the right temperature. you stutter your name afterwards, making sure it's your mother's last name that you highlighted implicitly and not bruce's.

he seems to grin even wider when you introduce yourself. that's when his next reply generally warranted you to nearly burst off your seat out of sheer diffidence.

"well," he says your name, tasting every syllable in his pierced tongue. "your name tastes sweet, dove. but i think your face is even sweeter now that you're not crying — not saying that isn't cute too but you're so stunning now that i look closer at you without any barriers. your eyes, especially, they're like some mix doe and siren eyes, or whatever my other friends talk about in social media. point given, you're drop-dead gorgeous in my eyes."

it all comes naturally from him that your brain merely shortcircuited and fried itself comprehending his message, forgetting you were drunk in the first place replacing it with a flush in your heart, the pit of grief and despair replaced with the lighthearted need to banter or reply meekly at his shameless flirting right after he comforted you.

this is the first time you felt something for someone's romantic gestures, instead of that wave of nausea that accompanies you.

he makes you feel... pretty about yourself. in a good way, in a way you don't feel the need to hide your insecurities for once and instead allow his eyes to flitter around your entire face, analyzing your features because... because he simply makes you feel pretty the more he stares at you.

yet all you did was take his hand on your own, a sudden burst of confidence even you couldn't explain, and played with it, as you pouted in reply before thinking— using his hand-now-turned-fidget-toy — of a good enough response.

you simply said, coughing before continuing, "i don't take back what i said moment's ago. you're hot too, even if my vision was obstructed by my tears."

"oh, really?" he smiled gently and allowed your hands autonomy to play with his. it's like telepathy, he knows it's automatic that you crave physical affection and attention and he's willing to provide you that solace.

"now that you're not crying— you think i'm even more handsome?"

you snort at his question, then took a step back with your thoughts to properly study him. neat, yet messy hair, piercing on the eyebrows and on his tongue (hot), sunglasses and spiky jacket draped upon your shoulders— goddamnit, of course he's hot! and you made it efficiently clear that he is, with your hands fiddling pattern against his soft, yet calloused hands, by squeezing it.

"yes, you are even more handsome, kon..." brief and concise, just how you like it. even if he gave you an entire essay describing you in his eyes, for you, you prefer actions; and you did so by simply being affectionate with the stranger, now acquaintance you have a slight crush on.

you'd never expected this turn of events, but it was a pleasant one and one you'd never really want to trade with anything else now that you've met kon.

so when he opened his mouth to spew something else, your ears perked up to listen and your mind, albeit slowly sobering up, prepared itself to reply to whatever flirting, conversation topics, and anything random it is that he wishes to talk about to you.

you smiled at him whilst he talked, he reciprocates as always.

yet this time, you weren't afraid to hide just how joyous you feel, for once, having a person interested in you not only physically but with your interests, too, as your conversations kept shifting to things about you.

it made inclined to learn about yourself, too. and that makes you happy, and fuzzy in the insides the more he asks you questions beyond your favorites. like in movies, he didn't simply just ask your favorites and you replied with an answer and moved on, no! you both discussed the emotional depth it impacted you with, why symbolism matters so much, and why in the near future you'd both inevitably meet up, you'll both watch it together.

that makes you feel excited.

you even forgot the main reason why you're here in the first place; to drink. now, though, it seems like you just wanted to talk to kon all night long.

fortunately for you, that's how the rest of your night went. with a pleasant buzz in the background, the sounds of remixes all drowned out in your ears as you favor the chatters of the man beside you, with the tremor of his voice a comfortable volume and his tone laced with freshly made honey.

when your friends finally ran back to the bar where you all collectively agreed to meet up at once everyone's shenanigans were finished, they giggled drunkenly whilst some sober ones whistled at seeing your hand unknowingly massaging his palms like a stresstoy and the jacket draped upon your shoulders.

the moment you returned it to him, he joked about wearing it every second now since it reminds him of you, and how it's his favorite piece of attire now beyond all his other clothing. you merely blushed and ignored the cooing of your friends behind you.

you didn't feel concerned over not seeing him anymore, as he had given you a slip of paper with his number on it in through a tissue with paracetamol pills wrapped around it (like the thoughtful gentleman he made himself out to be when he excused himself a second time to get those items, since you'd left your phone with one of your friends; you swore you felt a blush creep into your cheeks and heating the tip of your ears), you instead felt a pang of longing and furrowed your brows, looking at him as if asking if you'll see him around anytime soon as he reciprocates with a sure grin that makes you feel a wave of feather like affection.

he left shortly after, striding to you as your group recollects all your stuff and whispering a, "text you later, dove. stay safe for me, alright? don't let any other strangers get to you."

you're glad this night would end on a good note, willing away any prior doubts towards spending the night in a completely foreign street and expecting fir criminals and thugs to break in but no! you can't help but admit that your new... interest, conner, made your night a thousand times better.

and his little nickname for you... haha, you're so flustered thinking about texting him tonight. you'd neglect your assignments for now if it meant messenging him right after you get home, safely, for his sake.

when your group all came outside though, that's when things shifted.

time is a construct. it's complicated and structured like that as well. it can either be too fast, or too slow. when your friends had taken their sweet time to spend the night dancing about the dancefloor, when you'd taken the precious time to flirt and talk to kon; that's when you all collectively realized that their damn cars were stolen.

the air suddenly shifted to this thick atmosphere when you all stepped out, one that can be sliced through with a sword, and you swore—

god, you swore this night couldn't have been any better with the turn of things, but now. right after you got out the club, it all took a turn for the worse.

this is it.

you're going to die today.

you're going to die, in some dirty ditch, your friends nowhere to be found, with nobody to save you.

nasty bruises already began to form on your skin, one with harsher colors of purple, blue, and yellow on your wrists and other patches of skin; way harsher

the man in front of you was gnarly, but you've no time to judge as he kicks you in the guts.

matted brown hair lay atop his head like a bird's attempt at a near, he has an odor that reeks of sewer rats, piss, and feces, and an unruly beard that houses bits of his leftover.

he holds a weapon whose shape you couldn't make out with your hazy vision, body nearly cramping in on itself once he kicked you again.

straight in the abdomen, with brute strenght accompanied by his worn leather boots decorated with glinting spikes that sparkle under the moonlight's glow.

in the abdomen, spikes.

blood first, then curdling pain next.

no noise rips through your ears, only wringing ever present, but your mouth opens, and you can feel its tender chords crack as a scream erupts from your throat, shrill and resounding from the deepest depths of the cockpit your mouth has to offer you; uncaring for the man in front of who who suddenly covers his ears and grits his teeth, who looks at you like you're mad, yet unlike same way his two other lackeys from behind look at your like you're the creation of carnage itself.

pain shot throughout your body, most especially at the core of the holes that pierced through your clothes and right inside your skin. and as your bulging, teary eyes try to look down with an agape, whimpering mouth, his shoes still connected to your body; you could only hold off so much of that familiar taste of acidic bile paired with that lingering scent of cheap booze.

tears were a byproduct of the misery, as it began to escape from your already puffy eyes. when the man released his legs fron pinning you down, your sobs only worsened as your unpinned, shivering arm try its damned best to cover the already leaking blood.

six holes, the diameter of the more than half of your finger, was what you could make out in your line of sight. the blood that leaked from them looked black, you couldn't find where the gradient of black and red connects, your only certainty in this situation was that you'd bleed to death before help could come to you.

the spikes were as long as a toothpick, a crimson puddle lay dripping on the floor.

your legs were shaking against your will, your eyes frantically search around you yet your pinned once more, his larger body framing against your own, providing no room nor qualms for an escape.

but the only escape you wanted was one from the pain of his pressing against your injury, even more blood spilling out of its confines. your tears only hastened its descent from your shaky eyes.

when your mouth opened for the nth time to wail out, he seethed in a breathe and threatened you, with his breath as vile as his entire being, that smells like every mix of synthetic chemicals from cigarette flavors, all expired, with teeth rotting and sporting yellow and black wallpaper.

gross, so gross. you want to die when the stench hits your nose. you shrivel in yourself, you couldn't breath.

"listen here, little bitch, you quiet down or i kill you. and 'ya either give me everythin' you own in your damn possession, or i'll kick you even more until a thousand little holes will fuckin' make you bleed to death, hear me?"

hearing his statement only made the adrenaline pump even more fight of flight into your heart. but you can't do either, you can't, not when you're still hazy from the fucking alcohol and the self defense tools in your tiny pouch were thrown a few feet away from you.

you've nothing to defend yourself.

oh god, oh shit, fuck.

you want to die, you want to so fucking die than go through the same pain of nearly being abducted or held hostage again.

yet your eyes could only close, your teeth kissing your bottom lips, biting hard to drown out another pained scream. whimpers, god, they're so loud yet you can't help the whimpers and the broken faucet from your eyes. even if you beg your own body to stop, it doesn't listen to the pleas of your mind.

the only thing it can focus on is the pain. recreant, volatile pain.

a moan escapes you, shaky and prolonged. the only other emotion that you could experience after is sorrow.

you didn't expect your pleasant night to end off in such a tragic note, but as your attacker held you by your throat with one hand, a knife pointed against your face, the next that happened was your head slammed roughly against the wall; a dull, beating ache lulling the back of your head after the momentary spark of pain— you're reminded that this is reality, and you're close to losing consciousness quick.

you're going to die.

bloody, a sobbing, dissociating mess, with your thoughts spinning around the same way the stranger and his lackeys laugh — bared yellow teeth, with the smell of ichor prevalent in their clothes, predatory eyes leering at you like you're prey — at your drunken moans of pain.

you're going to die.

"well, you gonna answer me or what, bitch? you wanna die!?"

he shouts you with spit that sprays all over your face, flashing you a grin and by extension flashing you his ugly, bared teeth. some missing were in his gums, others were artificial, most rotten like him.

you're going to die.

alone, in a ditch. bloody, laying in a pool of your own crimson the same way you saw your mother drowns in a puddle of hers.

you'll die like her—

what an honor.

the more you think about the situation, the more you're led to believe that the only way to solve this was through death alone, with no restrictions, no buts or ifs. you've no fight left in your body, or any weapon to fight. you're drunk, defenseless and if you actually managed to escape, you'd still bleed to death in some unknown alleyway. if you're lucky, a stray police may find you and give you a proper burial. but you remember you're in the living incarnate of hell in america, you'll never have a proper death.

this was night in gotham. your death alone only adds to the already astounding high percentages of all the other lives lost to the same twisted fate. you were no different. and to die early than to suffer from torture is better.

i mean, who would give a shit if you die tonight, right? your family— wrong! alfred would panic at your disappearance, but he'll forget about you like he did others, you're sure of it. that's why he still chose to fucking serve the wayne's instead of fully taking your side. if he had to choose between saving you or the people he swore his loyalty onto, he wouldn't hesitate. you're sure. even if the thoughts made the doom in your heart heavier. even if you know your story would never be covered nor acknowledged, you still year

but life is unfair, everything is. that's why you're here now, in a dark fucking alleyway with men who'll more than take advantage of your dying body and leave your corpse in the dump after. life is unfair, yet it's even more cruel in gotham. you should've expected this, should've known that a turn of events could be possible. you'll feel regret in the afterlife, only for a life that could've been well-lived, but never for the choice of living through the torture you call being a wayne.

so you came to the conclusion; confident for once after living for thirteen and a half years walking on eggshells around a manor.

this is not as bad as their neglect.

you smile in response to the guy, genuine and filled with grace as your heart that once pounds against your chest now slows down to a calm pace, finally at peace. with no other intention than to rattle him even more, to the point of choosing you to kill with his own hands as brutally as he likes— so you finally take a well deserved rest from life.

you gather saliva at the center of your tongue, ignore the taste of blood that swirls, nor the soreness of your throat and the crimson dripping down your nose.

when he looks down at you, disoriented at what you're doing, you spit at him, all the beating in your heart hastened, yet slowed down as quickly as you heave in a final breath.

... you're finally going to die.

"FUCKING HELL, YOU DAMN CUNT—!"

you close your eyes, bracing yourself for the knife that would hopefully stab you in the face, or the chest, and think of your last thoughts. you thank alfred for caring for you for those thirteen years, you hope you win your mother's graces in the afterlife even if she discovered your deliberate choices for killing yourself in the spur of a moment, and you wish your old family a happy life living without you, even if they already did so for so long.

all you needed was seconds to conclude your prayers.

but they weren't answered as you wanted them to be, not when you open your wide eyes to what was supposed to be a glint of silver piercing through the middle of your face was replaced by a bullet, quick and precise, shooting through his cranium without mercy, body immediately laying limp within those seconds.

the other two behind him were good as dead, too, your savior not wasting any moment to end their lives then and there.

and as you stumbled from the grip released from your body, your torso nearly crumpling in on itself, a flash of familiar, metallic red enters your vision when you'd look up from your savior who's huge form now meticulously acts as your shield from the brutal carnage that lays upon your line of sight and a pillar of protection trying to help you stand from the pain that shot through your lower abdomen.

but you don't want to stand, you want to drop dead right now. you don't want this, you didn't want this to happen.

instead of gratitude, dread fills your lungs with water and your fingers were left to tremor.

he looks down at you, you couldn't make out his expression, but you could feel the anger coursing through his body, the same as the day you first met him when he was still newly rebirthed, like it's telling you of his unadulterated rage at witnessing the scene before him. his body shakes, heavily, and his grip on your hands tighten, a mechanical groan drawling deep from his automated voice banks that changes his voice.

yet all you feel was fear overtaking your entire body prior to the comfort at the prospect of death.

you'd rather die than this.

even you couldn't believe the whimper of his name from your wobbling lips, as your body, out of instinct despite the pain, tried to push itself against the wall, away from him.

he only moves to hold your waste protectively, like a... brother suffocating his younger sibling with blankets when they complain it's cold. overbearing, disgustingly affectionate; you don't want it.

you feel cold.

this day could've been any worse— and it took a turn to the all worse scenarios you could imagine.

"jason...?"

"angel..."

a single familiar name was spoken, yet a new nickname was introduced. angel: the same way jason swore what you looked like when he sped through his motorcycle after hearing a shriek from all across the streets, finding you, bleeding and beaten to a pulp, with your attacker almost stabbing you.

of course, who wouldn't hesitate pulling a gun against someone trying to kill your precious? jason doesn't even need to choose.

and whether he did it in the name of justice and respect to his moral code, or because finding someone with a familiar face, sharing the same hopeless, yet death-accepting expression as he did back when he died— it all doesn't matter in the heat of the moment now.

what matters is that his angel is hurt and the madness in him festers the longer you bleed out in his arms, defiant and fearful all the same.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

PLEASE READ: 11,000+ words. AND I LITERALLY HATE THIS CHAPTER (new least favorite fr) 😭 this decision is so impulsive i gonna regret it soon. chapter 5 will be released after a few days and i promise it has more action than this I SWEAR. first parts are always boring. anyways, there're so many song references in this chapter and for the next chapter. if any of you could guess what they are, i'll be rewarding all of you with something special. otherwise, please leave comments for this chapter! what motivated me to write was reading everybody's comments and inputs, about the love they have for this series as much as i do. interactions, asks, comments, they're all important and dear to me and i heavily appreciate it. so more interaction = more content. after all, i'd rather a post with little likes but with no interaction than a post with no interaction but all likes.

otherwise, i can't add anymore to my taglist so taglist requests are closed!

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[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Nurse!Reader x 141 and stickers

How I think the 141 would act if Nurse!Reader gives out stickers to all the soldiers they patch up on base: This is my first headcanon

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish absolutely fucking loves the stickers, like he's lowkey obsessed with getting one. His sketchbook is covered in the stickers you give him and if there's no more room for the stickers that's okay. He'll just buy a new one. Lowkey gets pouty and sassy if you forget to give him a sticker after patching him up.

And we are done. Good as new 

Soap wait's patiently with his hand stuck out 

What are you waiting for Soap?

Fur mah sticker. Obviously

Oh shit. Sorry, I forgot

Whit dae ye mean ye forgot? dae ye nae care aboot me anymair

Grow up you drama Queen

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick Is a bit like Soap in a way he loves the stickers. They make him happy in this fuck up world, when he get's his sticker for being a brave boy, as you say, he wears the sticker all day as a badge of honour but if he looses the stickers randomly in the day he gets kinda pouty when he asks for another one 

Can I have another sticker please?

Did you loose yours already?

I didn't mean too! I think Soap stole mine. Pretty please can I have another one

You know the rules. Unless you're injured I'm not giving you a stickers

Cue puppy dog eyes

Goddamit Kyle. Fine, here's your sticker but don't loose it

Captain John Price felt a bit silly at first when you gave him a sticker. He's grown man, he doesn't need a sticker for getting patched up but he very quickly grew to love receiving a sticker off you. He asked if you'd tare the paper the sticker is on, they're easier to save then. He doesn't stick them anywhere but has a small box in his office where he stashes them. For safe keeping.

Why don't you wear the stickers?

Because it ruins them

Ruins them?

Yeah. I like to hold onto them

Do you stick them anywhere?

Nope. I have a small box specifically for the stickers you give me 

Simon 'Ghost' Riley thought the stickers were a stupid idea, he's a grown ass man. Why would he want a sticker for getting patched up? He isn't a child. That's what he tells you but secretly he adores them. He'll moan and grumble as you slap one onto his chest but the moment he's in his room, Ghost will carefully peel it off his shirt and stick it in a scrapbook. Once got a little upset you didn't give him a sticker, he left the infirmary pretending he didn't care but 1 hour later he came back

Why didn't you give me a sticker?

Because you don't like them. You said they were stupid

Well. That's because they are. M'not a child

Then why are you asking why I didn't give you a sticker?

Ghost quietly grumbling and sticking his hand out

Can I just have my sticker please 

[elmushterri]

I filled an entire page of my sketchbook with Nori!

I love them sm!!! This has to be one of my favorite of your rewrites, I seriously did not think I could actually care abt PJ Masks past the age of 6 but now I'm obsessed 😭

On another note, just a random thing I'm curious about, before breaking off from GunnTech, did the main three basically live at the facility since they were initiated? I guess they do from what I’ve seen, but I was just wondering if they ever had to go to like. School or something, when they're not training. And if they ever got to see their family again (though I doubt both the kids and their family would want to lol)

And one more thing, totally important and necessary to ask, how does Nori acquire the kids? (..that doesnt sound right)

Like does he break in to the facility from time to time or did they just bring them with him when they left GunnTech or does he take them in when he finds them just out and about??

NORI… OUR FAVOURITE PROBLEM! The way you draw eyes scratches my brain /positive.

I think the idea is that everyone does live at GunnTech, they have rooms and go to school. GunnTech also has a prison somewhere (like, sci fi, clean, sterile white prison, a glass front-wall for cells instead of bars, and that’s where everyone gets put in Season 4. But, before that, when the main three villains (or at least, just Luna and Nori) escaped, it wasn’t totally locked down so they had to walk out suspiciously/tell the security guards reasons (you need to give reasons when leaving GunnTech so, “I’m hanging out with a friend” comes with ‘who is the friend + give us contact details’) and then probably remove a tracker (unsure as to whether the wristbands are the trackers or the trackers are put into their chest implants), and try to avoid getting caught for the rest of the time (until season 3-4 ofc). The main story probably begins with the three MCs trying to find them and bring them back. Romeo’s wanted cause he stole tech, though, he’s not a mutant.

Nori risks his life basically (not literally but he risks huge punishment) by constantly breaking into the facility to get out new kids. Kids who haven’t yet been mutated all have one room (several large rooms for many kids’ bunk beds basically, not literally one big room 😭) and he goes in and saves one or two each time. Some kids don’t *want* to come with him, thinking this is a cool superhero opportunity. He has an easier time helping kids who are scared and having second thoughts. He’s very gentle.

Also reminder that Nori had their finger prints burned off yipeeee. He’s not letting that happen to the others. (It doesn’t happen to every kid, but GunnTech probably has categories (like, heroes: animals, space, spies, drivers, healers?) and if you’re in the (name is a work in progress) Spies Category (stealth category?) like Nori, you get your finger prints burned off.

Daisy is canonically one of the only two Ninjalino names we know! I might make her into a small side character so that art isn’t 100% solid but eh!

Also he can’t really just “take them back to their parents”. If you’re a child at GunnTech, your parents either gave you away for money or you’re an orphan.

Nori’s usually a sassy ‘problem’ but they have their really serious and gentle moments.

[hansoeii]

Hello! Hope you're having a great day/night! I absolutely adore your art, you are one of my favourite artists. I love the way you shade and do backrounds. Also everytime I get into a new show I immediately see your art for it??

I was wondering if you had any advice on drawing more realistically (backrounds, anatomy etc) but still keeping a style?

Hey hey!

Thank you so much!

I have a pretty good understanding of facial structures, because before I got into drawing more semi-realisticly, I heavily focused on realistic portraits. Here are some example, these are from around 2019!

(yes, I was really into danmei and kpop back then, haha)

I just always loved drawing/painting faces and it was all I did. But at some point I realized that I wanted to do more than that because just portraits felt super restricting. So it took me around 2-3 years to somewhat find my style. Thought it would be fun to show a little timeline! Advice will follow afterwards :)

2020

I began working on my OCs in 2020 and since I didn't have an exact reference to work off of, I struggled a lot. My art from this year is super wonky.

2021

Still wonky, but the Lokius obsession was the jumpstart into finding my style! My work from this year is all over the place haha, I was experimenting a lot.

2022

This first ofmd piece is pretty much the first drawing where you can see where my style is gonna go, which I think is pretty cool! This is the year I made the biggest progress cos I was drawing SO much. These two pieces are only six months apart. The one on the right was the first time I gave drawing a background a proper go, too! It was a good year.

2023

And this is where I am now! I'm still constantly learning and improving, but I'd say I have a style you can recognize now!

Now here comes some actual advice, haha:

What I highly recommend you to do is to study your favorite artists as much as you can! I have like 5 A4 sketchbooks all from 2020 that I filled with sooooo many studies, where basically all I did was look at artists I like and copy how they draw stuff, to try and figure out how to stylize certain things. Some of my favorite artists are Ami Thompson, Velinxi and TB Choi. But I also liked to just scroll through pinterest and study all the art I came across that I liked! For example, if I saw a really great drawing of a pair of pants I would copy it many times in my sketchbook and try to learn how they stylized the folds. Doing this for a prolongued period of time will naturally improve your own work! It'll be difficult at first, but you gotta push through, it's gonna be worth it!

I also highly recommend studying unique faces to try and avoid the same-face syndrome. Find some cool looking people and try to draw them as simple as you can! Maybe even draw a little timeline where you first draw them as cartoon-y as you can, and keep going until you end up with a more detailed, realistic drawing. Maybe in the middle of it you find a step that feels the most fun to you, so you can try to build on that! It's a great way to figure out what kind of style might be the best for you.

Here are some cool faces I found on pinterest!

I have a pinterest board with many more!

One REALLY important part of learning how to draw all kinds of things is to understand forms and shapes and how to manipulate them. I have so many pages in my sketchbook filled with just shapes that I drew from all kinds of angles without any references.

This is a great video on it:

6 Ways to Draw Anything by Proko

Learning how to do this is so crucial! Young artists often think they first have to learn all kinds of detailed anatomy before doing anything else, but all that's gonna do is make you tired and hate drawing. Shapes are where it's at! Once you understand how shapes work and which ones to use for certain parts of bodies or objects, drawing is gonna get so much easier! Once you understand them, you can get into details such as muscles and bones!

And honestly the most important point is to just absolutely love what you're doing! I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the fact that I get extreme hyperfixations on certain media that turn me into some kind of beast where I can suddenly draw 10 detailed illustrations a week, haha. Just be passionate about what you do, find something you REALLY love and go crazy!

I really hope this was somewhat helpful! My inbox is always open if there's any more questions :)

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Ghostface! Ellie Williams and Ghostface! Abby Anderson with a chubby fem s/o

+ featuring some slight yandere and explicit themes (these are dating headcanons to specify)

A/n: Hi again lovelies! I didn't expect the last one to blow up so quickly so I'm back to writing, honestly every note, like and reblog encourages me to do more and do better so thank you for that. I honestly didn't expect to write something a bit gory after writing mostly fluff so this'll be interesting. Reminder English is not my first language and I'm trying my best, I hope you enjoy:)

I'll possibly add more in the future if I have ideas :3

Meet my cousin y'all: @rabblebite

Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight yandere like behavior???, violence, gore, knife kink, gun kink, stalking, suggestive themes and language. Characters may be a bit OOC (but you already know this, it's ghostface)(the chubby part is just a little add on so there's actually not that many headcanons regarding that)

If you wish to be tagged, please comment that you want to be or follow so that you'll be updated also: Rules for requests

Ellie Williams dating inspired playlist made by me

Ellie Williams

The first time you met Ellie was a bit of a blur. Let me elaborate...

You were new at the school, first day and all that cliche shit. Bell rings, you run to class. You found yourself in a seat next to a girl, auburn hair and freckles. A few times throughout the class you made eye contact and smiled a few times.

What you didn't know was that Ellie was already freaking out, can you really blame her? A pretty girl sits next to her and smiles at her, not only that but you even offered her a mechanical pencil because hers was flimsy and the led kept breaking on her. She thought you completely forgot about the pencil but did you really?

This was the start of her obsession over you.

After that day she stalked you non-stop, she knew everything. She even kept a small journal, writing down what you did and how she felt about it after.

Her sketchbooks were filled with you, aside from a few other things it was mostly you. There's at least 2-3 doodles on each page of either you or your name on her sketchbook.

May or may not have carved your initials on her guitar before you even started dating.

That mechanical pencil you gave her, she kept it, barely even used it after that so she can keep something of yours.

When she managed to get enough courage to talk to you again, she tried giving you the pencil back in guilt but you refused. You told her to keep it and did that woman worship that pencil.

You got invited to her friend group, which are Dina and Jesse and out of all of them, she hang out with you the most.

After a while, Ellie felt confident enough to ask you out and a sigh of relief for her when you said yes.

She has polaroid of you lying around everywhere in her room, you even stuck some on the edge of your mirror and locker so she'd see it.

Your pet names including: princess, bunny, sweet thing and pretty girl.

The night you found out Ellie was Ghostface was the time you were walking at the street just minding your business when you were pulled in an alleyway but some creepy 50 something year old hobo.

You kicked him off of you and tried to run and the man tried to chase after you. Only to have his mouth covered by a white cloth and stabbed in the back. Hastily running, you got pulled back by the black cloaked stranger and before you could scream, she took off her mask.

"Ellie?" You whisper in fear, you saw her drop her knife and hug you.

You were still in shock, after all you just found out your girlfriend killed someone, rather a lot of people.

"[Name]? Are you alright? He didn't touch you anywhere did he?" She asked, seemingly forgetting she was still wearing her ghostface get up. Lucky for you that you kicked him off before anything else happened.

You two talked it out and you understand her motive behind all of the killings however that doesn't take away from the fact that you're terrified of what consequences await her if she was ever to get caught.

Ellie is aware of what might happen when she gets caught so she does everything she can to make sure you are not in any way, shape or form involved if she was caught.

Even if it means for her to forever rot in prison, she'd rather keep you away than endanger you for being a witness or even a suspect.

She heard about you being flirted with and inappropriately touched by some Chad. After a few days he was spotted, gutted open at the school tree hanging by his clothes.

She'd definitely think it's adorable to see you with the ghostface get up, it's specifically tailored to her size so seeing it on you with the trim dragging on the ground makes her thing of like the ghost costumes with just a white blanket and she just thinks you're such an angel, too pure even.

I just can't stop imagining her with a knife kink, though she doesn't actually cut you with it. She loves the way you whimper and squirm when she presses the cold blade on your plush skin.

She gets off on blood, that being said once she's with you and you already know about the killings, she can't just let it slide.

Someone else's blood on your skin makes her feel all sorts of things. (You may or may have engaged in sexual things after her gutting people up)

Clean up after that is a bit of work so there's that.

Seeing you in lingerie and blood would make her lose all self control.

If you were to accidentally kill someone, she would not only help you clean up but she'll also take responsibility for the kill. She made it look like ghostface did it.

If you were to decide to join in the killings, she'd let you but with moderation.

For example she'll let you make the decision on who to kill or strategize the killings. Before you could even suggest someone who wronged you, they're already 6ft under believe me. Ellie easily picks up on how you feel about someone and it's not like you don't tell her.

She'd also let you watch the killings, either hidden or disguised but that's just how far she'll go. She doesn't want you to actually be the one to do the killing cause she's too paranoid you'll do something that'll cause you to get caught.

Abby Anderson

You met at the basketball court while you were sitting at the bleachers because let's be real here, Abby is a total jock and athlete, she seems like she'd be a gym rat too. (Without the red flags of one though)

You were sitting with your friends Dina and Jesse while you guys just catched up since the past week has been hectic, you even went so far as to gossip and think of conspiracies on who has been responsible for the reported killings by the killer they named ghostface. You looked at your phone, looking at the messages when you flinched, almost getting hit by a ball.

You open your eyes shortly to see Abby Anderson, the school's lesbian jock, who by the way is holding the ball that almost hit you. Anderson muttered an apology on behalf of her teammate who mistakenly threw the ball at your direction.

You told her it was fine and that it was and honest mistake when you know damn well you would've been far more upset if that ball actually hit you.

Abby just couldn't stop staring at you, I mean could you blame her? She felt like a knight and shinning armour when she just saved a pretty girl from a potential head injury.

She snapped back to reality when she heard her teammate say "Hey Anderson! Stop flirting with pretty girls and pass that ball back will you" Abby was a bit flustered by that comment because all and all she agreed to it.

On Abby's desk is carved your name and initials, she has gotten detention over it though I don't think the school is aware of how many desks have your name carved on them.

It took a while but Abby finally did ask you out, she approached you while you were taking a few things out of your locker. "So uhh, do you want to go out with me? On a date I mean..." She asked with her hand rubbing her neck, Abby was bracing herself for rejection.

You had to do a bit of a double take because the Abby Anderson is asking you out? You said yes obviously.

May or may not have stalked you before asking you out to find out everything you like to set up the perfect date.

Abby definitely has a polaroid of you both is her locker and gym locker. (There's one in her wallet too 🥺)

Your nicknames are: my cheerleader (because she knows damn well you've been to all her games and was there to cheer her on), baby, babe and pretty girl

You only found out that she's ghostface because she couldn't take it anymore and told you after seeing that you're scared of ghostface potentially threatening your life.

Poor baby was so worried you'd think insane if her after, let's just say she ended up loving you more for accepting the fact and understanding the reason behind the killings. (let's be real here any normal person would but not you)

When you first asked to play a part in the killings, Abby disagreed, no way in hell was she letting her girl be in danger both of the police and whatever else is out there.

She hates the idea of you going to jail more than she hates the idea of getting caught and facing the consequences.

But if you really want to then like Ellie she'd let you but with limitations. You're only ever allowed to watch when you are disguised and she'll let you stab a few every now and then.

Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink. Watch her get turn on when you flinch from the clicks whenever she pulls the trigger.

Despite Abby hating horror movies, she sure made a hell of a good killer.

[gh0st-t0wn3]

Some Lmk ss edits + Headcanons (Traffic light trio)

- He/They

- Gay

- Only wears knock off brands (doesn't know they aren't real)

- Autumn is his favorite season, purely because he likes to stomp the crunchy leaves

- Adhd

- Has dimples

- Pigsy once got him rainbow shoes for pride month before he was even out but MK didn't realize they were pride shoes because the rainbow was on the sole

- Tried to cook breakfast for Pigsy and Tang on Father's day once, somehow lit the curtains on fire

- Wants Tattoos but keeps backing down because he doesn't like needles (will probably get one in the future though)

- Has a sketchbook fully dedicated to Redson, would literally die if someone ever found it

- Smells like oranges

- Only a few inches taller than Redson, always teases him for it

- Almost killed Sun Wukong once because he was disguised as a spider

- The Monkey's on flower fruit mountain always climb on him when he's around, he doesn't try to stop them

- Had to remove the snooze option on his alarm clock because he wouldn't stop hitting it

- Chicken scratch handwriting, no one else can read it for the life of them

- Learned Spanish in high school, don't ask why it just feels right

- Covered in scars, but 83% of them are from being a dumb kid instead of battles

- Once described Redson's voice as "really warm, like a hug!" And almost got burnt for it

- Love language is physical touch

- Has those really pretty brown eyes, like the ones that look like honey when the light hits them at that one perfect angle

- Has no fashion sense whatsoever, Mei chose out most of the clothes he owns

- Phone is shattered beyond repair but he refuses to acknowledge that he needs to get a new one

- Obsessively takes personality/buzzfeed tests in the dead of night, once pulled an all nighter just taking "which drink are you?", "what kind of seafood are you?" "What type of candy are you?" Type of buzz feed quizzes, and physically couldn't do deliveries because he was so exhausted the next morning

- Has a bunch of plants but is terrible at taking care of them

- Has a chipped tooth (actually Canon, it's on his lego figurine, I'm still sad they didn't add it to the show :( )

- Once walked in on Tang and Pigsy kissing as a kid and was promptly traumatized

- Has no skin or hair care routine, uses a 3 in 1 Shampoo/conditioner/bodywash

- Has really nice curly/wavy hair but straightens it and uses an unholy amount of hair gel

- Has a wattpad account

- Sleeps in literally the most horrific positions you have ever seen, yet somehow never get cramps or neck/back pains

- Once drank dishwasher soap as a kid because he thought it was juice

- Gets sunburnt incredibly easy (if you've seen the s4 special ykwim)

- Mk once accidently threw a plastic bottle in the trash instead of the recycling bin and got lectured for an hour by Pigsy (Pigsy is a huge environmentalist)

- His bedroom is messy as all hell but he somehow knows where everything is (Pigsy and Tang have tried cleaning it themselves but it was back to being a mess just a few short hours later so they gave up)

- He/Him (FtM)

- Gay

- Shortest one in the trio (just barely though). I like to think that the removal of the samadhi fire stunted his growth and demonic development, which is also why he takes so little after his father in appearance/height. He always wears platforms though, so he looks taller than he is

- He was so quiet and sneaky as a child that his mom had to put a bell on him

- Used to wear large combat boots until someone made a "step on me" joke. He doesn't wear them in public anymore

- Smells like smoke and cinnamon, Mei once described it as a 'campfire' smell

- Has really heavy blackout curtains in his bedroom

- Hair turns black when wet or when he's burnt out

- Always has a soft glow to his body because of his fire, mouth glows faintly, hair glows faintly, the more emotional he is the stronger the glow (MK and Mei are incredibly jealous)

- Tension headaches because we all know that mf has his hair tied up in the tightest goddamn ponytail ever

- Has the samadhi fire back (I'm delusional just let me have this)

- Has a habit of stealing his friends and families clothes to wear, first started when he was really little and would constantly steal whatever clothes of DBK's he could find around the house to help him feel like his dad was still there, and the habit just stuck with him

- Doctor handwriting

- Autistic

- Identifies as male but still likes to wear skirts and dresses sometimes (he just like me fr). Likes floor length skirts the best

- Actually really good at art, mostly draws blueprints for his inventions, but can draw people and landscapes pretty decently too

- Has a childhood Bull plushie that he still sleeps with, hides it under the bed or in the closet whenever MK and Mei come over

- has a scar on his back resembling the rings of samadhi from the removal ritual, Mei once confused it for a tattoo

- Mei once called him "Zesty" and he still doesn't know what it means, she refuses to tell him

- Was homeschooled by PIF

- Has a beauty mark like his mom's

- Has the most angelic, majestic, heartlifting laugh ever, but never actually laughs (unless it's his "evil" laugh, trust me guys)

- Goes to bed at 3am, wakes up at 11am type of person

- Needs glasses because the Samadhi fire fucked up his eyes (in Journey to the West, the samadhi fire is described as a flame that, when activated, "shoots out of every hole in his face" including, of course, his eyes)

- Remember when I said he was a quiet child? Yeah, he can't do that anymore, he literally has no idea how to be quiet now that he's older, the best he can do is whisper shout

- Hopeless romantic, but convinced that any and all feelings are unrequited

- Mei and Mk found his baby pictures once, he will never recover

- Long ass skin and hair care routine, will spend at least two or more hours on it every morning, but it's worth it, his hair and skin are always so soft

- Touch starved as fuck

- Love language is gift giving and positive affirmation (WILL cry if someone compliments him, doesn't matter who it is or what the context is, he once almost burst into tears when Sandy called him a good kid and gave him a pat on the back)

- Once he's focused on something he will stay focused for at least the next ten hours

- Loves strawberry flavored things but hates actual strawberries

- Listens to really underground music and has the biggest superiority complex because of it

- Has the biggest fucking bedroom you have ever seen, with one of those really large and extravagant, super comfortable canopy beds, wakes up like a Disney princess

- Usually self-preserving but will experiment on himself without hesitation if he thinks it'll help him with a breakthrough (has almost died on several occasions)

- She/Her

- Lesbian

- Has tons of piercings: nose, ears, bellybutton, etc (her parents don't know about the bellybutton piercing and she doesn't plan on letting them know anytime soon)

- "Hey, Red boy, cool tattoo!" "... thats a scar." (She still hasn't lived it down)

- Smells like freshly cut grass

- Tallest one in the group, idc what anyone says, I just have a feeling okay?

- Adores glitter makeup but can't stand the feeling of it on her skin

- Love language is quality time

- Has a love/hate relationship with her dragon features, she thinks they look cool and she's proud of her heritage, but if her scales get too dry, which happens very easily, they get really uncomfortable and itchy as all hell

- Had a phase in high school where she'd dye her hair everything except green

- Probably also has Adhd

- Avid tennis player

- Hates the feeling of jeans, but loves denim jackets (has a whole collection, plus one that she and MK have been patching together for years)

- Always smudges her mascara somehow, MK once thought she was crying

- Super rough and rowdy as a kid, like I'm talking pushing kids off swings and down the slide rowdy, tackling people in the sandbox or on the school field, girl was a menace to society

- Snorts when she laughs

- MK tried to scare her once as a joke and her first instinct was to deck him (apologized profusely... before laughing at him)

- Most reckless driver on the planet, it's a wonder how she hasn't gotten her license taken away yet

- Doesn't really consider herself close with her family, she loves them but MK, Tang, Pigsy, and Sandy are her FAMILY, y'know? Like Rosa in b99

- Was the first person to know MK has a crush on Redson, she found out when she walked in on him drawing them together, and she will never let him forget it

- Has a normal skin and hair care routine, and constantly tells Redson that he's insane for needing 2+ hours to complete his

- Is the only one with readable handwriting

- Once stayed up for an entire week to play a new video game that came out

- Will smack her head with a brush if her hair doesn't cooperate

- Bites people (gently, its how she shows affection. Unless she doesn't like you then she'll just naw on your arm until she draws blood)

- Lives on energy drinks, her favorite is Monster Pipeline punch

- Has really soft and really thick hair

- Used to chew on her hair in middle school

- Biggest sweet tooth ever, Redson is disgusted by her eating habits

- Goes on early morning jogs every day except weekends

- Sabrina Carpenter fan

- Refuses to watch any movies or shows based on video games she likes because they'll "never have the same charm or energy as the game", but will buy the video games that a show/movie is based on if she watches them before playing

- Will eat random plants all the time. Walking through the park? She'll lean down and pick a flower to chomp on

- The type of girl to carry around a goddamn gallon water bottle everywhere

- Has a thousand fairy lights in her room, it's a fire hazard

[willoillo]

((Spoilers for Wings of Fire Book 8: Escaping Peril))  A friend convinced me to read Wings of Fire last month, and once I got through the early book awkwardness I ended up instantly hooked. I proceeded to finish the entire series over the course of February and started filling my sketchbook with dragons. This is the first (but probably not the last) fruit of those labors. Peril's interactions with her nephew were incredibly sweet so I ended up just drawing a playdate!! A totally safe one. With NO FIRE. Definitely not a burned toy. Cliff's mom would NEVER allow that. I keep on finding new media to be obsessed with and I'm going to keep drawing art for it xD Apologies in advance

If you like my work and want to support me, my commissions are open!! For prices and examples you can check out my website, or DM me for more specifics~

Posted using PostyBirb

[oddballwriter]

HEYAA. I’ve been so obsessed with ur MK stuff lately it’s insane. Wondering if I could request a little blurb with Steven? 🙏 Maybe artistic reader who uses Steven as a muse of sorts? 🎨 Maybe Steven finds reader’s sketches of him and Reader is like embarrassed 😨 that he may be uncomfortable with it? Add and change up anything you’d like!! 😽 ur my fav writer thank you 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼❤️❤️

Your Drawings Look like Heaven to Me

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Summary: Steven always enjoys your drawings and art, big or small, painting or simple sketch and doodle. But he's a bit surprised when he discovers that you have a habit of drawing a certain muse that you have. 

Warnings: There's nothing that I can actually thing of other than it's mentioned that the reader draws Steven when he's unaware, but I don't think it's that bad. Also 'Y/n' is used once. 

Author’s Snip: This was meant to be just a little blurb but I got the writing equivalent of zoomies. You asked for a cookie and I made you a cake with layers, frosting, and toppings. This is insane how did I do this. I think it's because I've been drinking a monster while writing this. I have paused the video that I was previously watching in the background because I am so focused. I'm not even joking this shit is 1517 words long and that is before I proof and grammar checked it. I think this might be the longest writing I've done thus far. Enjoy your free cake, anon.

Notes: This is written in the lens of a world where it's just Steven, so none of the actual events in the show happen.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Steven always knew you drew. You met at your jobs at the museum, at the time, you were working the front desk while he of course worked at the gift shop. The two of you weren't all too familiar with each other since you only saw each other in passing. You knew him as Steven from the gift shop, and he knew you as Y/N from the front desk. You did learn more details through others. Steven was a chatty guy who had an impressive knowledge about Egyptology and mythos. And you were the person at the front desk who did nothing but sit there and draw all day when not granting visitors entry, or in most cases, taking a second to scan a preprinted ticket and check the schedule.

Steven heard talk that you were really talented in your art. You were able to draw what were basically pictures of things you saw or even made up. He hadn't seen your actual art till one day he found you sat where he usually did for lunch, drawing the statue man that he talked at everyday. And wow, were they right about how well you could draw. Though while you talked to each other you laughed "Well of course I'm able to draw him perfectly. He doesn't move.".

That lunch break was a long time ago. You two started dating between then and now. Steven managed to leave the museum for a new one that actually let him be a tour guide. You eventually managed to find work that let you use your skills in art instead of using it to beat the boredom of your job. And you also moved in with Steven in his little flat, in which he cleared out some of this clutter to make a space for you to work and make your own.

You would draw little doodles for Steven to have. Like Gus swimming around. An Egyptian god that you made using his books as a reference. You even drew him a little alligator with a speech bubble saying "Later" on a sticky note. He still has it by the way. He laminated it using clear tape and has it in his wallet as a pick-me-up when he's upset or as a lucky charm of sorts. You always made drawings for him. But never once had he thought that you would make drawings of him. Let alone how many drawing you made of him.

Steven isn't a man who likes to snoop around regularly, feeling a massive sense of ruining someone's privacy. But you said that he could always look through your sketchbooks and art pieces if he wanted, as long as it wasn't a commission that was still being worked on, which he respected. You, like any other artist, had a plethora of sketchbooks of different sizes that served different purposes. There were your personal sketchbooks, outline and testing sketchbooks, practice sketchbooks, a lot of sketchbooks with a lot of different things they were for. It amazed him just how many you had and how you were able to remember which is which.

He knew which ones were ones he gifted you though. Steven was never confident when it came to gifting you supplies. He wasn't an artist himself so he didn't know what was perfect and what was something you would say thank you for out of courtesy. One of the things he used as a safe play were sketchbooks. The bookstore he frequented had a section of art stuff and found that the sketchbooks were not only great quality but also had various designs on their covers. So he'd get you one almost every time he went.

When he looked at them on the shelf next to your desk he realized that he had never actually seen inside of those ones. He was a bit hesitant to grab one since he didn't know if you would want him to. It's not like he could ask you right now. You were out running some important errands and he didn't want to bother you. However, they were on the part of the shelf that you put all your regular personal sketchbooks, which he was allowed to look at so he took a one random from the collection and flicked through the pages.

Out of some coincidence, it was the first sketchbook he got you, which was admittedly one he got you before he learned what pages were good for actual art. The first few pages were doodles that were likely from testing how the paper held up with the actual process of drawing which soon stopped and the rest of the art was actually taped on like they originally belonged to another sketchbook.

Steven thought of that as a clever use for the pages. You would sometimes make art you thought was nice on miscellaneous papers and would simply take the piece with the art out and stick it somewhere else. But he soon notices a theme amongst all the doodles and drawings, which then follow into all of the other sketchbooks he gifted you.

Him.

Most of the drawings in these sketchbooks were of him.

They were all different. Some were him lounging around or taking a nap. Something that would have made him unaware of you creating a drawing of him. There was one that was him asleep laying in bed from what would be your side of the bed. His face was calm, the limpness of his arms and body was captured perfectly, the sheets drawn with the most accurate wrinkles, and the lighting gave the impression of the light of the morning that came in through the curtains. It looked like you simply took a picture of him while he slept but it was clearly a sketch drawn using a pen and pencil.

There was these bust and face portraits that spanned through out the books, of course of him. The first were already so good in detail considering these had to be drawings of him from memory. But they only got more detailed as they went on. You managed to get his amount of stubble right. You had the little baby curls that lived along his hair line. The crease between his eyebrows he had since he always had a slight anxious expression. That tiny little dimple that he had next to his nose that he didn't know existed until you pointed it out one time.

Steven's mind was boggling to him to see such detailed drawings of him that looked so carefully done even when they were simply quick sketches. They were life-like. They were him. They were Steven. To be honest, how could it not? You see his face all the time. So why wouldn't you have him completely memorized. It was just the fact that you had taken time and pages to draw him and him alone.

It was a bit jarring, for the both of you, when you walked through the front door with a hand full of groceries and other things from your errands and he was seen looking at all the drawings of him. You were embarrassed that he finally saw all your drawings of him and worried that he would think it was weird. He thought that he crossed a line and breached your privacy.

You two avoided talking about it till Steven finally did during dinner later that evening.

"You, uh, draw me... a lot." Steven spoke. "Yeah. I do." you blush as you avoided eye contact in case his eyes showed that your fear of him finding your habit with drawing him was strange was correct. "Why do you draw me so much?" he questions. You sighed, "It's sort of a habit I formed." you confess. You proceeded to explain how it started,

"I first drew you as an exercise to get rid of some art block. I usually draw faces of people I know as a means to do that. So I drew you. It was okay. But when I looked at it a couple days later I thought that I could do it again to improve on detailing some more. Then I used you as a study for lighting and colors.".

"Then, sometimes, I would just draw you when I thought you looked pretty or thought of you. And that's sort of what I've been doing." you explain further. "I thought you would find it weird if you saw all the times I drew you and so I just put them in the books you got me and hoped you wouldn't see them." you say in a timid manner.

"I don't think it's strange. I think it's actually quite flattering." Steven clarifies. "I was just surprised that you think of me as something worth drawing. Especially with such detail." he remarks. You breathe a sigh of relief at that.

"If I'm entirely honest, love," Steven spoke up, "Never tell me that you're drawing me from where I am. I'll get nervous and possibly ruin the position that you're drawing me in." he remarks.

[anamoon63]

"The future only belongs to the future itself, and the future is Electric Youth".

Okay so, Time Traveler (The Crane Legacy) wasn’t a story in the beginning, it started as just gameplay about a young guy from the future, Robin Crane, a plumbot builder, who travels to the past and meets the woman of his dreams. Robin had a concern, though, in the Oasis Landing population files, no descendants of his were listed, so he became obsessed that he should start having kids right away, so much so, that he got into all the trouble that gave rise to the story.

Then, you know me, I started planning and writing a plot, taking posed photos for the characters, using special saves in both Aurora Skies and Oasis Landing to stage scenes, etc. And, since I had to follow a script, my characters’ lives were kind of on pause. But… in the original Aurora Skies save, where everything started, time and life continued to pass for the Cranes and the Shens (Juliette’s family), something that doesn’t happen in my story saves, where, due to technical reasons, life takes much longer to pass.

I've tried to keep secret what happens in the original Aurora Skies' save, so as not to spoil the story, but since Time Traveler is about, well, time traveling, lol, I thought we could do a little six-year time jump from 2017 to 2023 in order to introduce the next generation (3rd actually) of the Crane dynasty. So, without further ado, I present to you the third generation of Cranes.

From left to right: Carrie, Wanda, Rowan, Jessica, and Collin. Rowan and Jessica are the oldest with 8 (real life) years; and Collin, Carrie and Wanda are 6 (real life) years old. (Yes, they're all the same height cause I don't use height sliders in order not to mess my game).

As we already know, these five kids are all Robin's children, from three different moms, which are Juliette Shen (Rowan's mom) Kaleigh Chandelace (Collin's mom) and Ann Conners (Jessi, Carrie and Wanda's mom). Despite this, they love each other as if they were full siblings, cause they all have something in common: they have the same father, and some of them, (I am not telling which ones), also share Robin's alien genes. They are currently living their lives at the fullest, learning about their alien powers and preparing to compete among themselves to be Robin's successor. Who of them will make it? I still don't know so I can't tell, and if I knew I wouldn't tell. 😉

Sorry if this post was too long, or if it seemed like a spoiler, it's just I'm so happy with how this generation turned out that I couldn't resist, and I just can't wait for them to grow so I can tell their stories. 😋

I take this opportunity to say that Time Traveler (the actual story) is not over, it will be back, though maybe not too soon. I'm currently writing the episodes of Part Three: To the Moon and Back, where we will go to Robin's rescue after his abduction by an alien ship, and where, contrary to this post, we'll go back one generation to meet Robin's long-lost parents. It's a long way to go, but eventually we'll get there, then we'll let Robin take a rest as we move on to this brand new third generation. Of course, I want to give my endless thanks to Bee @poses-by-bee, @gabrielabenacci, @anasaquasims and Rayne's Factory and for the poses. As well as to @aroundthesims, @anzuchansims, @ifcasims, @plumdrops, lillka, blakegriplingph (MTS), and sketchbook pixels for the kids' hair and clothing. Proper credits and links here below: POSES

Child Friendship Poses, Child emotion Storytelling Poses, and Child Sit Poses by Bee. Child Posepack by Gaby's Creations. Cute Kid Poses by Rayne's Factory. Child Poses Shy by Anasaquasims.

CLOTHING, HAIR AND SHOES

Jessica: Loose top with Tulle Skirt, Cute Cardigan for Girls and Shine Leggings by Lillka; T-Bar Pointy School Shoes by Blakegriplingph (MTS). Jessica's hair: Nightcrawler Deep S3 Age Conversion by Plumbdrops. Carrie: Ruffle top with Cotton Jacket by Lillka; River (Shorts) by Sketchbook Pixels; Darte 77 Vans Old Skool by Anzuchansims. Carrie's hair is N03 Thyme, also by Anzuchansims. Wanda: Zipped Hoddie 4to3 conversion by ATS3 (Around the Sims 3), Winter Shorts by Lillka, Darte 77 Vans Old Skool by Anzuchansims. Wanda's hair is Anto - Milano by IfcaSims. Rowan: Sforzinda SP42 Hoodie, Studio-K Giruto Multi Pocket Pants and Darte 77/Pixicat Old Boots, all by Anzuchansims. Rowan's hair is Wingssims ER0914 also by Anzuchansims. Collin: Darte Coat and Hoodie, Darte 77 Jeans and Darte 77/Pixicat Old Boots, all by Anzuchansims. Collin's hair is Anto Male 75 by TTS -My Bluebook

Thank you very much to you all for making my game beautiful, interesting and fun. 🤗💗

The quote at the beginning of this post, is from Electric Youth, by Debbie Gibson, one of my all-time favorite songs. 😉✨

[yanteetle]

Hello! I am actually still new with Tumblr and I found your account and fell in love with your work! I hope you can find time to do this request! I was thinking of a Yandere Rottmnt Turtles x mutant night light reader......

(Night light is like a mix breed between a Light fury and a Night fury from the movie named How to train your dragons) So April actually introduces the reader to them since they saved her and the turtles are going bonkers for them, interested in the reader and their supernatural powers.....

Hi there! My requests are closed but since you took the time to comment on so many of my posts I decided to do this anyway 🥹❤️ thank you so much for the comments by the way, I loved each and every single one of them!

Okay so although I haven't watched httyd, (aside from the first movie) I'm going off the assumption that the reader is a human-light+night fury hyrbrid. It's a mouthful to say, but that's what I'm assuming from your request!

Okay personally, I feel Mikey would have a much easier time obsessing over y/n this way, and you can find him sketching, drawing or painting them in his sketchbook. He'd be a little violating in his artwork, and if you carefully looked through it you'd see him drawing y/n's scales very accurately... Even if they never showed him all of their scales. Makes you think about how much of y/n he's seen...

Donnie however, is a little less weird and violating, but will be pretty excited and amazed to see Y/n in action, especially seeing how they fight and he even lets y/n be his inspiration for future tech projects! He might even try to take a small sample of y/n's scales... Just in case :) it's not like he's gonna try to make a test tube baby out of y/n's dna.... Right? What would he even need that for..?

Leo would try to ride y/n and make them fly with him at first sight, I'm sorry but he would. He's just annoying like that. But try not to get all buddy-buddy with him. Next thing you know y/n's got a collar around their neck and they won't be able to fly at all.

Raph... We all know he's a little sweetie right? But we often forget he's the well-meaning but bossy older brother that is lowkey really annoying and overprotective. What I'm trying to say is.... He's going to be doing a LOT of coddling. And he won't be doing it in the baby-ish, cutesy way either. He'll micromanage and try to follow y/n's every move, and he'll panic even more if they try to fly away from their issues. (Aka him: he's the issue.) But another route you could go with this, is that y/n impresses him and they quickly become sparring partners. Although, it'll get shut down relatively quickly when he finds out what happens when he doesn't hold back his strength against y/n... Maybe seeing their crumpled body isn't so worth the sparring practices after all... Yikes.

[guillotinna]

Pov: literally anyone in 141 has a s/o obsessed with sanrio

Thought it was a joke at first but then once they saw where you live.....

Hello kitty / sanrio everything

No room to cuddle or fuck on the couch bc of the ridiculous amount of plushies

Looks so ridiculous in your hyper feminine sanrio room, you can't help but laugh

Will 1000% tease you lovingly for your obsession

You explain to them that sanrio is actually an attempt by the Japanese government to get people to forget their war crimes. That got his attention

"I'm (insert character) and I think you would be (insert character) 🥰"

"And hello kitty is technically British and shes-....babe you're not listening" "you're right, I'm not"

He acts like your love for those characters is the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard but will still buy any sanrio product he sees for you

Will wait in the hours long line for the sanrio Cafe with you because he knows it will make you happy

Let's you doodle the characters on his arm (and sketchbook if it's Johnny)

If you're crying and they don't know what to do, they'll just awkwardly hand you a plushie

*Out shopping* them: "and which one is this?" Y/n: *happily identifying each character and saying endless facts* them: *smitten*

*getting freaky on your bed* them:..... y/n:"what's wrong??" Them: they're watching us. The plushies. I don't like it"

Makes you turn the plushies away when u fuck lmaoo

Y/n: babe a new keroppi plush just dropped!!! Them:*internally screaming*

You asked them to go pick you up a product with a certain character but they got confused so they send you a picture of the selection and ask "which one of these little bitches am I supposed to get"

Again, thinks it's ridiculous but if it makes you happy, then it makes him happy bc he's so head over heels for you it's sick

Imagine ur huge beast of a man being so done with you as you drunkenly put sanrio stickers all over him. "choco goes here and purin goes....here and then melo goes right here and then-"

Free this poor man

Silently pouts when u cuddle a plushie and not him

Can't really tell the difference so they'll bring you back the most bootleg sanrio merch from deployment

[schrodingers-romy]

REVERSE AU SELFSHIP SNIPPETS

[Reverse AU: alternate universe where I am fictional and my f/os selfship with me]

Choso

✧ Was introduced to my media by Yuuji.

✧ Is immediately and startlingly enamored with me

✧ Makes his way to social media for the first time for fandom stuff

✧ Learns about selfshipping there

✧ Stays up at 3am arguing with my haters on reddit (gets banned from the subreddit).

✧ "My Wife" <- talking to a normal person about his fictional character he's obsessed with, completely straight faced

✧ Romy Shrine ™

Takashi

✧ More subtle with his affections

✧ Starts casually watching my media with his friends

✧ Sucks at using a computer, so he isn't too involved in larger fandom

✧ Has a sketchbook under his mattress marked 'DESIGN IDEAS' where he stores his gushing and his doodles

✧ Uses social media occasionally to look at gifs/news about my media

✧ Posts his own content in doodle dumps; is known for extremely detailed traditional drawings about me in various outfits

✧ Tries to hide his obsession from his friends

✧ Plays it casual when he receives my figure for his bday but I sit on his side table anyways

✧ His friends are shocked that I am his type so they bully him for his little fictional crush (lovingly)

Kakashi

✧ Usually doesn't get super attached to characters, but I'm different

✧ Keeps thinking of me for weeks, goes in search of more content

✧ Discovers fandom and stays up until dawn reading fanfiction

✧ Ao3 user Romys-Loving-Husband

✧ Is known for dropping the most stunning tens of thousands of words alternate universe reader-insert fics with romance and drama and smut and everything

✧ Writes these fics during office hours

Ryusei

✧ That one freak

✧ Will reblog fanart of me with pages of graphic tags

✧ "No lube, no protection, etc."

✧ Grainy screenshot of my hips with caption: "Look at those hips...God i want to breed them so bad unghh 🥵😈👅🍆💦🍑"

✧ Posts vent posts late at night about wishing I was real so I could hold him when he's sad and kiss him and care for him (deletes these by the morning)

✧ Does goofy little selfship doodles

✧ Has a body pillow and will NOT hide it when guests come over

Shion

✧ "Ahaha I'm not a fanboy" <- guy who rewatches my scenes while grinning and kicking his feet late at night

✧ Once punched a gangmember who said I was a lame character

✧ *sees gumwrapper on the ground* reminds me of them...yearning sigh

✧ More of a fandom consumer than a contributer

✧ Made us in the sims (yes he added on The Extension)

✧ Romy Shrine 2 Electric Boogaloo

✧ Got upset he couldn't make his hair in couple's picrews

✧ Cried with joy when he received his first selfship com

[plagalkey]

Hi! I think your art is cool and I admire your style. Recently I've been wanting to improve my own art and was wondering if you could share any tips or resources that you have used that have helped you a lot. (Sorry if you have already answered this question, I don't wanna take up too much of your time)

hi and thank u for liking my art 💙🥹

this might be a frustrating answer but it takes time to get better and I've been drawing for like... 10 years by now? and when I started I was not good LOL I think drawing often and having brainrot over something / being super passionate about something is the best way to improve. all my periods of visible growth happened when I was just super obsessed with a ship / OCs etc. that fuelled me to draw almost everyday and so I got practice and reps. and it went in ebbs and flows (like u can see I went through a random spike of klapollo art two years ago ish? and then I didn't draw much or post anything for a year or two.. and now I'm drawing lots of oikage haha...) but everytime I go through a productivity spike I learn a lot and push myself to try new things bc I want to depict the characters somehow.

I think also if ur struggling with something (ie. legs, hands, hair) just take a day here and there between drawing fun stuff to sit down and study some photo refs or look up tutorials on YouTube if that helps, even just 30 min or 1 hr of practice in a sketchbook will add up over time!

u can do it I believe in u!!!!! I'm cheering u on on ur journey

[diogxnxs]

Quack Quack!

Hey there new followers and all you people engaging with my work. Thanks for the support and I'm glad you all are enjoying what I'm making. So for this post I will share with you the very first Donald Duck I drew.

This was in October 2023, and boy was I struggling with him. The visual language was new to me and he felt clunky. I didn't know what to do with him! I was more used to drawing fairly realistic figures of people and animals.

But, I am not one to just give up on a single piece so I started sketching on my sketchbook as many of him as I can alongside the other Caballeros. I used the existing character concept art of him on the internet as reference as well as other media he has been in like comics and animations. It's safe to say that my Donald Duck actually got better.

There were a ton of messy sketches like these. Pages of them!

This one is from a little testing on November 16. There's improvement and more visually consistent. I liked the inking here so I thought of making a finished piece with him.

This one was actually sketched out and refined on the same day as the other one, November 16. I honestly just wanted to make something fun with Donald and Jose. But it took an obsessive series of sketching to get to the point where I am at least content. So that's my little struggle behind the scenes in drawing our favorite unlucky duck. Thanks for the follow, guys! - Diogenes