#hoping to try and draw more but no promises

[multipleoccupancy]

Theo stood awkwardly in the hug for a moment, adjusting for his injuries but he didn't pull away either, so used to having an orderly turn up with any such contact but when one failed to come he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her in turn and hugged her back while he sobbed some more. Wishing and praying that he would remember, that he would come back and save her. Oblivious that Mauve, who was not even called Mauve, was wishing for the total opposite.

Comforted that she would write her address, Theo thought there was some more hope, that maybe she would get to show heartland the tentacle, that the doctor would believe her and arrange to have her released and while on the outside, Theo could write to her parents and get them to act faster, to be right there and pick her up. To save her!

"I'm so pleased to have met you too," he squeaked quietly, his head still spinning in trying to come up with some idea to help.

"Come on, kid." Called the Inspector from the door way. Holding onto the drawings from his cell. The only possessions he had. "We're going to go and meet your parents." Theo held Mauve that bit tighter and dared a look to the agent, hoping that he would reassure him that she would be out of there soon too, that she could come with him even but no reassurance came and the agent just looked at his watch. "Now kid or I go without you."

With heavy limbs and an aching heart, Theo let Mauve go and reluctantly stepped towards the agent. "Goodbye, Mauve. I'll see you soon though. I promise." The agent grabbed Theo's wrist and pulled him out of the cell, not hard or forcefully but certainly a prompt to get moving. Theo didn't fight and soon enough found himself outside of the ward again and just a few moments later in the fresh air where he could see green grass, leaves, birds and the bite of a breeze on his soaked cheeks. He hoped Mauve would forgive him.

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 & 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 @multipleoccupancy

Violet leaned in to hug him. She'd wanted to hug him many times before, and never could because of the rules of the ward. But the rules were not important anymore, so she hugged him tight. "I know, I trust you," she croaked, "I know you'll come back."

She also knew that he would forget all about her. But that was for the best. Like that, he would live his life, happy and free. And she would only be a vague, distant memory. Just a drawing, kept somewhere between two pages of a book. The feeling that, even in this horrible place, he found a friend.

"I'll write my address," she promised, but she hoped she would not have the time to do it. That his parents would pick him up before she could write her home address. Because she didn't have an address in Texas, and because he would never find her there.

Yes, it was for the best if he forgot all about her. Even though it broke her heart. She was leaving another Theo behind, and he would not even remember she existed. She hoped he would grow up to adopt the Violet of this timeline. She deserved to meet him too, she deserved to have him as a dad.

"Thank you. You've been such a good friend to me, and I'm so happy I met you."

[hunter470]

My 9-1-1 RANT

Ok, I don’t normally do these types of posts, but I can’t move on until I get some things out. These are just my thoughts about the latest episodes of 9-1-1 as well as overall comments on the Buck/Tommy relationship. These opinions are mine and are based on the countless hours of TV I’ve watched in my 54 years on this planet, as well as my knowledge of writing and how Hollywood operates. I’m not confirming that any of this is true or are the real intentions of anyone involved with the show. Just my opinions. So, you can agree with me or not. I’m not trying to persuade anyone in any way. Also, I’m not going to get into endless arguments about my opinions but feel free to comment if you want, I just don’t promise I’ll reply. 

Ok, here we go. Sorry it’s so long. Like I said earlier, I just needed to get it out. So many wasted opportunities.

If you think TM cares what the fans want, you’re seriously kidding yourself. If he did, Buddie would have been canon a long time ago. The only thing he cares about is ratings and his vision for the show, which can change at a moment’s notice with no rhyme or reason as we’ve seen. 

Although I loved Buck and Tommy together, I knew the show wouldn’t do their story justice. So, no matter what TM or OS have said, the bi story was only to garner publicity, draw in new viewers, and increase ratings especially with the show moving to a new network. There was no altruistic reason behind it so don’t kid yourself. They knew there was an audience for the story because of all the Buddie shippers. Just remember, it’s called show business, not show friends for a reason.

Do you think OS really cares about bi representation? Based on his latest comments and non-apology it’s obvious he only cares about getting the stories that garner him the most screen time and press. Seriously, read his latest interviews. He’s excited to get to have fun now. So, congrats OS, Buck gets to F around. Just shows how most, if not all, actors are ego driven no matter what they say. Sorry not sorry.

TM has commented that he doesn’t owe anyone anything. In fact, I recall him saying to Buddie fans if they don’t like it, read fanfiction. If that didn’t clue you in, then you weren’t reading the room. Kinda reminds me of another show runner…for those who watched H50 you know who I’m talking about. That’s why I don’t get heavily invested in these shows. I’ll watch but I never expect anything I like to last…especially if it has to do with gay relationships.

It says a lot that the show remained completely silent about the bullying and death threats Lou received just for playing a role he was happy to play. Again, they really didn’t care because they knew he wasn’t going to be there after episode six. What a great message for all the bullies…just keep bullying and you’ll get what you want. 

Again, reread OS’s interviews. He was doing the Hollywood double speak. Says just enough to keep you hooked with hope to get you to watch even when he knew all along it wasn’t lasting. It really was as clear as day if you go back and read what he said. 

Also, if you thought Buck was going to get into a meaningful long-term relationship, then you didn’t watch the video from the You Tuber “Call Me Chato” that TM posted on his Facebook. The video was all about characters and how they should always stay fundamentally the same with minimal development - I’m paraphrasing. However, Buck is the golden retriever, heart so big it gets broken, character who will remain on a hamster wheel and unlucky in love because that’s who he is. If he changes too much it shifts the dynamic, which only happens if the show was ending. 

If you thought the writers would do justice to a bisexual story, then you haven’t been watching the show closely. There’s been minimal Buck/Tommy relationship development on screen. Taylor got more. Viewers were lucky to get crumbs in the limited screen time Buck and Tommy got. Then, a breakup out of left field? One minute Buck is saying Tommy is it for him and he wants him to move in, and then it’s over? If he truly felt deeply for Tommy, why not fight to keep him? Why give up so easily and let him walk away? What’s the point? Also, to end it on a terrible stereotype is yet another clue. Horrible writing and another sign that TM and OS had zero investment in the relationship. The whole break up was rushed and made no sense. Essentially, it was just used to draw people in and to get Buck single and sleeping around again because that’s who he is. I for one won’t care for any of Buck’s future relationships. I mean, why would I when they never last. 

Also, writers that give you a 66-year-old police sergeant and a 10 y/o boy landing a heavily damaged plane on an active freeway in LA with no prior training, and sorry playing video game flight simulators is not training, is some Sharknado level writing, which is not a compliment. Oh, and that whole story was truly the shows “jumping the shark” moment. If you don’t know what the term “jumping the shark” means, look it up and try to tell me I’m wrong. 

Not having Tommy involved in the three part premier episodes, other than a few minutes at a birthday party, was so obvious as to the show’s intent. I mean, the fake captain from Hotshots got more screen time. 

They claim they wanted someone for Buck that was connected to him and the 118 and then you don’t use the character at all. You wanted Buck off the hamster wheel? What a crock! Such a wasted opportunity.

Since it’s been confirmed episode 6 was filmed before 5, Tim’s just playing god with peoples’ feelings and crushing their hearts at this point. I mean, how do you have such a great episode (5) and a wonderful speech by Josh (6) just to break them up? Plus, having Tommy break up after six months? That man was all in, which was obvious in episode 5.

Guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that’s how TM would handle things after that horrible Tarlos breakup. At least on Lone Star we knew Rafa (Carlos) was a main cast member so there was hope. Lou was a guest star so it seems kinda final based on his interviews. Again, what was the point? They could have had Buck's bi revelation be with a random character. So, building up the Buck/Tommy relationship just to take it away was to inflict the most pain. Good job. 

Do I think the show will make Buddie canon? Who knows…one thing I do know is I wouldn’t trust them if they did. Also, even if Tommy somehow returns, I don’t trust TM with anything related to this story. Sure, hope he’s happy with ruining the show for so many people. Again, like another show runner I mentioned in item 4 above. Honestly, I can’t believe the Buddie fans have stayed for so long. That’s commitment, I guess. 

Do I think Lou should go back to 9-1-1? Hell no! He was screwed over by both TM and OS. Prove it to me otherwise. However, it’s up to him and of course, he loves acting so I wouldn’t blame him.

Finally, even though I’ve watched the show since the beginning, it no longer brings me joy. There are too many other TV shows to stick with one I no longer enjoy. So yes, I’m announcing my departure, and I don’t give an F what OS, you, or anyone else thinks about it. Not that any of this matters any way…

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Armand x reader

Synopsis: you're sitting in a pub, you start drawing the mysterious stranger sitting not far away from you. When he discovers you, you don’t realize you’ve picked the attention of a dangerous creature.

Warnings: reference to past injury, self doubt, allusion to past trauma.

A/N: reader is AFAB. They/them pronouns used.

The wind is howling outside the thick windows of the pub, dark clouds promising heavy rain and violent waves against the jagged coast not too far from the narrow road where the pub is built. The fire is roaring in the huge hearth, shadowed by too many people huddling there to nurse their drinks; the lights are dim against the old wooden panels, giving the overcrowded room a homely air.

You beer sits next to the small case full of your pencils as you draw in the dim lights of the overcrowded room.

Your head sits lightly on your free hand as the other rushes to finish the quick sketch you’re working on, before your, unintentional, muse decides to leave; you’re hoping the promise of heavy rain will convince the man to stay a little longer. Who knows if he will or he will try his luck, now that the wind has picked up even more violently.

You focus again on the black lines on the sheet of paper, finishing the outline to start working on the elegant sweater he’s wearing; you’re no expert but it looks expensive, and warm, and soft. A real nightmare to draw using only a charcoal pencil, since you are planning to add colors and you don’t want to put too many shadows that aren’t there.

“It has been a long time since anyone ever painted me. I was given the chance to pose back then, for hours, I have to admit.”

The soft voice makes you lift your head in surprise; dimly you think that there is an accent you can’t truly pinpoint, his words almost neutral in their intonation.

“It’s actually a drawing, not a painting.”

You want to drown in your own sweater at how stupid your response sounds.

“May I sit?”

You can’t see his eyes, hidden behind his wraparounds sunglasses and his expression is hard to read: you’d hate to cause a scene, not everyone appreciates being portrayed in secret.

“Please, do.”

Carefully you move your beer more on the side of the small round table, the too long sleeve of your sweater uncovering partially the black burn glove on your left hand, despite you racing to hide it again.

The man sits down, gracefully and only now you notice he has no drink with him: he must have entered the pub to escape the oncoming storm. He only lays an elegant cigarette case on the battered table, the ornate, intricate designs catch your attention from the rowdy crowd of the pub.

He is stunningly beautiful, but this you realized when you eyes had landed on him, whilst you were sipping your beer and wondering what, or who, you could sketch to pass the time; what truly draw your attention was his aura, so calm, yet it gave you the sense of someone who keeps a tight lid on their emotions, like a summer evening when you know it’s going to rain soon.

“Are you an artist?”

Again, his soft voice drags you back from your thoughts, the musicality of it makes you want to listen to him reading his grocery shop list, if that meant just hearing it.

“No, not really, it’s just a hobby.”

“You have a great deal of sketches in your book, and in your little case.”

Almost on instinct you want to grab your work and curl around it in protection; it’s the gut reaction of a second, you aren’t in that position anymore, this man will not tear your works into shreds for no reason.

“It’s something I haven’t done for a while and then I had decided to pick it up again. We can’t only work all the time, can’t we? We need to treat ourselves.” You say with a smile.

“I am acquainted with that meme.”

It surprises you that he feels the need to convey his knowledge: what a strange man.

“This is my way to treat myself.”

“By drawing unsuspecting strangers?”

There’s no heath in his words, no rage, perhaps a bit of curiosity.

“By drawing what, or who, catches my eyes.” You answer, parroting his words. “I love to hang somewhere and just let my eyes wander. I can stop sketching you, if you want, I know it’s disconcerting for some people.”

You can truly feel the weight of his gaze, still hidden by the sunglasses, even now that the pub is bathed in the dark light from outside. This stranger is not simply looking at you, you feel as if he’s taking you apart to catalog every single piece of yourself he can find, like an entomologist does with a pinned butterfly.

You know you shouldn't feel so calm under his scrutiny, that you should bid your farewell and go home, but you can’t help yourself: you want this stranger to keep looking at you like he would the pieces of a puzzle he desperately needs to put together. No matter how dangerous the consequences.

A shiver runs down the damaged nerves on your left arm, and you decide to ignore the warning.

“Why should you? You’re very talented.”

All of his nervousness now shows itself in the way his index fingers fiddles with the cigarette case, his hidden gaze fixed upon you.

“It’s a shame it’s not possible to smoke in public places such as this one anymore.”

How strange! You think. The law passed here in 2004 and he talks about it as if he had experienced how it was before. He can’t be that old!

He seems to have made his mind as his hand gently grasps the sunglasses, as if ready to remove them.

“Please, don’t!” In your haste you lift your hand, almost to stop him. “The most interesting part is to guess and imagine. Do keep wearing them.”

There’s a slew of small expressions playing on his face, all to hide his surprise and, perhaps, curiosity?

You grab the charcoal pencil in a tighter grip and go back to your work, losing yourself in the quick, almost nervous motions of your hand on the paper: you don’t know why you feel like you have to rush, to capture the fleeting essence of this nameless man, but you do.

With every ticking second you believe you’re going to lose the feeble hold you have on the ideas crowding your mind, with every stroke you fear you’re drifting far away from the first image of sadness and loneliness that lighted up in your mind, as soon as you saw him, sitting alone in the pub, under lights that enhanced his otherworldly beauty, the very thing that set him apart from all the other men present.

You only need to glance at him sparsely, to make sure to capture the texture of his hair and the folds of his sweater, the long lines of his fingers against the battered wood of the table.

Only when you’re finished, you realize you have been holding your breathe for most of the sketching and you have to force yourself to take a big gulp of air, before turning your sketchbook to him, while grabbing your beer again.

You’re learning not to be shy, when it comes to your creations, to share them with the world, to accept the criticism and the compliments; not now. Now you’re crawling out of your shell again, trying to draw while being filled with self doubts and hating every single piece you created, those past months disappearing in your mind, along with the strength you built for yourself.

His piercing gaze is now turned on your drawing, that analytical stare that cut you into layers and layers, now is doing the same to your work, and to himself: you’d do anything to know his thoughts, now that his face shows nothing.

Under the stillness a maelstrom rages. The man looking back at him from the page is a knot of everything he’s always felt and never told. Through the fast strokes of his eyes, he can see all his hardships, all he’s done and lost for centuries, pain and desperation, in a way a simple mirror would never show him: how a simple mortal like you could read him so deeply after staring at him, comes as a surprise. You’re nothing but a child, compared to him, yet you have the understanding of a much older person, as if you’ve experienced the depths of hell, only to expose it in your art, and to him.

It takes a lot of restrain for Armand to show nothing of his internal turmoil: it has been so long since someone managed to pin him down so precisely, so perfectly, he has to fight the instinct to stand up and storm out, away from you and your keen eyes; he wonders if you have done the same to other people, read them so perfectly and bluntly putting them in front of their own soul, like his fledgling had done to him. Do you know how dangerous you are? Do you have any inkling of how easily you could destroy a person’s life? Would you do that in the name of the truth?

“It’s awful, isn’t it? It’s not worth keeping.”

You reach with your good hand to slip the sketchbook away from his grasp and he stops you with elegant fingers on your wrist. His grasp is not strong, it doesn’t hurt, but holds a secret strength you can feel traveling up your arm and makes you shiver with the need for more.

“It’s beautiful.” He says, after a heartbeat, still holding you in place. “The one who painted me wasn’t as good an artist as you are, he lacked the depth you hold.”

His face is now turned back to you, his hidden, piercing stare focused on your features, analyzing you again, as if wanting to explore the hidden crevices of your soul.

“Thank you.” You stammer. “I’m glad you like it.”

Still, he says nothing, making you feel self-conscious of your own existence in this small pub on the coast.

“Would it be too forward of me to ask you to gift me this sketch?”

You’re too dazzled yourself to notice the small quiver in his soft voice.

“Oh! That’s the first time anyone has asked me that.”

Right now the people around you two don’t exist, nor is the wind beating down the old windows and stones of the building. There are no passing cars outside, nor are the waves crashing against the high cliffs, just a handful of miles from here.

“I thought I wanted to color it.”

“I think it’s perfect this way.”

He knows a finished work will incinerate him on the spot, because he will never be able not to stare at it, at himself, like Dorian Gray, to face all his centuries on this Earth.

“You’re too good to me. It’s really just a small sketch.”

“You’re selling yourself short. You have something many professional artists lack.”

When his big hand releases yours, the spell you were under breaks and all the sounds around you attack you again, adding to the fog you’re still feeling clouding your brain.

Almost through a dream, you take the sketchbook from his hand and cut the page off with the small pocket knife you keep in your pouch to sharpen some of your thicker pencils.

“It’s yours, my personal thank you for appreciating my work.”

His fingers touch yours again on the thin piece of paper and only now you notice how cold they are, despite the heath in the pub.

“Thank you.” There’s no calculation in his words, he feels real gratitude, the feeling burning brightly in the scorched desert of his soul. “I don’t even know your name.”

When you answer his question, you feel like he’s got a hold on your soul, like in the stories about the fairies.

“My name is Armand.”

A french name to someone who hasn’t a french accent, but nowadays people call their children anything, you think.

“Are you here on holiday?”

You can see the cheeky way his mouth turns when he smiles at your question.

“I thought I was simply passing through, but I am fascinated with how this area has changed, I think I am going to stay, for a while.”

You almost don’t notice the way he refers to this place as if he’s visited it years and years ago. Almost.

“Do you have somewhere to carry it? My sketch I mean. It has just started to rain.”

“Unfortunately I don’t. And I don’t wish to ruin it.”

“Here, use this!”

With much too haste, you empty the case where you carry your bigger pieces and hand it over to him.

“I can’t possibly accept it. Your other works will be destroyed by the rain.”

“I can roll them up and keep them in my bag, it’s big enough. Besides, that one is fresh, if you do the same to it, it will get ruined.”

“I still need to refund you yours.”

“There’s no need. If you’re staying, you’ll give it back whenever you can. There aren’t many meeting places here.”

The old trick always works: you are all so easy to manipulate.

“Then I shall give it back as soon is possible.”

His hands don’t tremble when they take the case from you, touching the sketch again doesn’t burn him the same way the first time did, but he knows he’s still affected, and needs to understand why.

“Regrettably, I need to go now.”

He lies, a part of him wants to stay to take your brain apart until he knows all the ways the mechanisms work there, but it’s too early for that.

“It’s raining pretty hard.”

“My car is parked nearby and your lovely sketch is safe.”

He doesn’t have a car, but he has faster means of transportation that defy such a small thing as rain.

Before you can stand up, he gracefully takes your hand to kiss the palm, ignoring the smudges of charcoal. He does it the classy way: his lips don’t touch your skin.

“Thank you again for your gift.”

“No, thank you for humoring me. I hope I’ll see you soon!”

Oh, he thinks, you have no idea how ‘soon’ can become ‘now’.

[gingerteawrites]

"I wanna be yours" - Gojo Satoru

A/N: Fellas, I have returned! Been wanting to post more often, so I'll try actually making a schedule for myself. Anyways, enjoy :)

Content: JJK sorcerer!reader, kind of canon, Gojo x reader, mostly fluff, teeny weeny angst

Gojo Satoru had always gotten everything he wanted in life. Many called him spoiled, but being a prodigy came with its perks. No one ever dared to stand in the way. And those who did never stood for long anyway.

So from the moment you were transferred to Jujutsu High and his crystal eyes laid on you, he knew he wanted you. He marveled at the way you treated your students and fellow staff members. The sweetness of your smile haunted his dreams. He had made up his mind, and nothing could get in the way.

Except you. You got in the way.

"Hey, sweetheart? Wanna grab desserts after classes are done today?" He asks, leaning against your desk as you finish grading your students' tests.

"Sorry Gojo," you look up from your paperwork, adjusting your frames on your nose. "I've got to finish up some lesson plans."

He sulked openly, lips pursed as he lifted his blindfold. Frustration gnawed at his insides. He'd been trying to go out with you one-on-one for months now. But you always found a way to turn him down.

"Can't spare me a little time?" He drew closer. You could feel the cursed energy radiate off of him. Even when he wasn't trying, the Strongest's aura was something that could not be ignored.

"Next time, okay?" Your eyes returned to your papers, and he sighed in defeat.

There was never a "next time".

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Kyoto sister-school exchange event had just concluded. Cursed energy flowed through you while you worked on healing the injured students. "Thank you ___-san." Itadori beamed at you, the worn out skin around his knuckles slowly repairing.

"You're welcome Yuuji-kun." You returned the smile, standing up to move towards Shoko who had just finished patching up Maki.

The students, fully healed started to part ways. You made sure everyone was set and after a small debrief with Yaga on the special grades' attacks, you walked outside the main building.

"Is Gojo still meeting with the higher-ups? I can't believe they managed to attack us here." You mused, sitting on one of the benches outside the classrooms with Shoko.

She took a long draw from her cigarette and lazily turned towards you.

"I promise you he would appear right this second if he could." Her smoky voice danced in the afternoon breeze. "Couldn't resist you being here." She spoke as if it was fact.

You shook your head to yourself, looking down at your lap with a chuckle. "Pfft, he's just flirty Ieiri. I don't think too much of it." The idea of having Satoru's attention was not unpleasant. His presence always made your heart beat a little faster, after all. But you would never give yourself false hopes. He could have anyone he wanted, and the prospect was more than enough to make you want to keep your distance.

Shoko just shook her head, the cloud of smoke hanging around her parting when she stood. "If thinking that is what helps you sleep at night," she waved with a turn "I'll see you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Too many things had happened. Getting attacked by multiple special grades, half of the school destroyed, the kids hurt. The balance of the Jujutsu society felt like a wreck and you knew that October 31st spelt even more trouble.

You sat in one of your empty classrooms, head on the desk with your eyes fixed outside the window. You had to prepare for Shibuya. A deep sense of anxiety gnawed at your insides, causing you to close your eyes in hope of some respite.

However, the sound of doors sliding open prompted them open, turning your head to identify the intruder. There stood Gojo with his blindfold off, a rare occurrence.

"Hello, sweetheart." He approached your desk, pulling a chair to sit beside you.

"Hi, Gojo." You replied, tired voice barely carrying through the room. His azure eyes traced your features.

His hand slowly coming up to brush against your cheek. And you didn't pull away. The soothing touch was oh so welcome. It drew you out of the anxious hole your mind was digging.

"Before we go out there." He paused, voice uncharacteristically soft. Smooth. Not putting on a show, but deeply honest. "Before the fighting starts... I need to be sure."

"Sure of what?" You couldn't help but lean into his touch. He chuckled, almost humorlessly.

"I've been trying. In not so subtle ways." He spoke quietly. "I just want to hear you say it. That you truly don't want me."

Your eyes widened, body stilling. The wind blew in through the window, the chill of the outside filling the room.

"Satoru... I..." Your mouth gaped, in a desperate search for words.

"I wanna be yours." He assured, thumb brushing across your lower lip. "Even if it's the last thing I do." He took in a deep breath, drawing closer so that there were only a few inches left between you. "Will you let me?"

Your thoughts melded together into a hazy mush, breath taken away by his words. By his closeness. You weren't sure you could formulate the correct words. To express how much you wanted it too. How much you wanted to be his. How much you reveled in his closeness, despite the parts of your mind that screamed that it was hopeless. That he was too good for you.

So you pushed all thoughts away and acted on instinct. You closed the distance, lips meeting his in a tender embrace. Your hand rested along his jaw, pulling him closer and he responded to your invitation, gently slipping a hand around your neck. Your lips moved in a soft tango, rhythm dictated by your frantic hearts. Kissing until your lips were tinted red with passion.

You finally parted and rested your foreheads against each other, and Gojo let out a chuckle, a quiet thing, teeming with joy.

"That was the first time you've called me Satoru."

You smiled. "I want to be yours too, Satoru," he pressed a tender kiss on your cheek, his lips pulled into a wide smile.

The future had never seemed more uncertain, and the balance of the jujutsu world barely hung on by a thread. But in that moment all Gojo could feel was unbridled joy.

"Thank you, my love."

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

[ograndomanimefan]

Dreaming of You: Mouthwashing Anya x Reader

erm…this is like my first time posting on Tumblr in a while…hope you guys like it >.<

no warnings, if there’s a warning i should add, please let me know >.<

i also posted this on ao3:

please enjoy!

_

Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you.

It's a cool autumn night, the wind outside whistling through the trees, accompanied by the leaves dancing through the air. Usually, you'd be excited about fall, it's your favorite season of the year, no more heatwaves, no more swarms of bugs, and you love watching the orange leaves drifting gracefully on the ground. But how can you enjoy the fall when your girlfriend is away? You've grown so accustomed to spending your evenings cuddled up on the couch, sipping hot chocolate while watching the reality shows Anya insists on watching. So used to snuggle up to Anya, her warmth helping you bear through the chilly nights. So used to dozing off in minutes, your eyelids growing heavier with each gentle strokes of her fingers on your hair. But now, without her, you find falling asleep a lot harder, a lot lonelier, and you find yourself trapped with your own gloom.

And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.

You gaze out your window, and look up at the sky. It's not easy to see the stars with the city lights, but some manage to shine through. You wonder which one Anya is near, wonder if she's eating well, wonder if she's studying the nursing books the same way she does here. But most importantly, you wonder if the time is weighing on her as much as it is on you. Does her heart ache the same way as yours? It's not her first trip, but you can never grow accustomed to the months without her, without hearing her voice, without her kisses, without her embraces. It never gets easier, and each trips feels harder than the last. You chuckle to yourself, realizing that Anya left you like a spoiled child, leaving you accustomed to her kisses and affection, leaving you wanting more and more, but now that she's away, you're left alone feeling bitter. All that's left for you is to throw a tantrum.

You sigh, pulling the blanket closer to your chin, drawing your knees to your chest, trying to block out the emptiness that fills the room. The wind outside continues to whistle, the trees' rustling almost soothing. Your eyes flutter shut, heavy from the weight of longing, and before you know it, the familiar warmth of Anya's embrace seems to envelop you.

You're on the couch again, just like every other night, the TV softly playing in the background as you lean against her. Her fingers are stroking gently through your hair, and you sigh, your body easing with every stroke. You feel safe, warm, at peace. You're watching the same reality show, and Anya is watching intently like she always does, her eyes glued to the screen. She's here. She's not on that damn spaceship millions of miles away. She's here with you.

But then you open your eyes... and the room is empty. The cold air rushes in, and the only sound is the rustling of the leaves outside.

You blink, the world around you slipping in and out of focus, the line between dream and reality blurring as you begin to wake up. The stars outside the window seem closer now, brighter, and you wonder if Anya is looking at the same ones. You imagine her voice, soft and familiar, calling your name. It was a dream, you know it was, but it felt so real—her presence, her warmth, her touch. The ache of missing her is sharp, but in this moment, it's comforting, like a memory you don't want to let go of.

And a small, steady hope rises in your chest.

She'll be back soon.

You whisper the words to yourself, it's a quiet promise, a soft reassurance. It's not the same as holding her in your arms, but it's something to hold onto—a reminder that the distance between you is only temporary. You know that when she does come back, things will feel right again, like they always do. And though you may have to bear the loneliness for a little while longer, it won't last forever.

You close your eyes again, letting the thought of her warmth fill you, pulling the blanket tighter around you. For now, it's enough. Just knowing she'll be back soon.

And when she does, the autumn nights will feel like home again.

Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight.

[your-local-simp-writers]

Valentines

Word Count: 1410

Warnings: None

Ken Sato x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The day dawned with a sense of excitement and anticipation. Valentine’s Day meant a lot this year, as it marked the first official date for Y/N and Ken since they had started seeing each other. They both had carefully thought-out plans for the day, each hoping to surprise the other with what they believed would be a perfect day together. But what started as a promising day quickly took a series of unexpected—and comically disastrous—turns.

As Y/N stepped outside, she was greeted by gray clouds rolling ominously across the sky, a sharp contrast to the clear skies promised in the forecast. She frowned slightly but waved the worry aside. After all, she had prepared for weeks, and a little cloud cover couldn’t ruin their day. As she waited on the steps, Ken pulled up in his car, looking dapper yet understated in his usual way. His faint smile greeted her, and she felt warmth rush through her. She smiled back, feeling her cheeks heat as she climbed into the car.

They exchanged shy greetings, each slightly nervous but excited for the day ahead. Ken cleared his throat as he pulled away from her house. “So, I thought we’d start with a quiet picnic by the lake,” he said, glancing at her with a look of quiet anticipation.

“That sounds wonderful!” she said with a grin, her mind already picturing the idyllic scene he must have planned. She felt a twinge of happiness at the thoughtfulness behind his plans. Around them, the city was bustling with Valentine’s Day spirit; couples were walking arm in arm along the sidewalks, vendors were selling roses and chocolates on the corners, and the sound of cheerful conversation filled the air.

They reached the lakeside park, only for the sky to grow darker and the first few drops of rain to start falling. The raindrops hit the windshield in a soft but insistent rhythm. Ken and Y/N looked at each other, trying to hold back laughter at the sudden turn of events.

“We should probably head back to the car,” Ken suggested, already holding up an umbrella he found in the back seat as they stepped out. But before they could make it back to the car, the clouds unleashed a torrential downpour, drenching them both. They sprinted back, laughing as they dodged puddles and the wind tried to wrestle the umbrella from Ken’s grip.

Once back in the car, Ken shook his head with a playful sigh. “Well, that was…unexpected.”

Y/N, still catching her breath, couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s all part of the fun, right?”

The laughter bubbling between them made it clear that despite the mishap, they were both still determined to make the best of it. With their picnic plans ruined, Ken suggested a last-minute detour to a small, elegant restaurant he’d heard about, known for its Valentine’s Day charm. As they drove through the city streets, Y/N took in the vibrant sights around them—bouquets of roses in shop windows, couples waiting in lines at cafes, and musicians serenading passersby with love songs on every other corner. A young street performer caught her eye, strumming a guitar and singing a romantic ballad, his voice drawing small crowds.

They eventually arrived at the restaurant, but their hopeful smiles quickly faded when they saw a “Closed for Private Event” sign hanging on the door.

Ken chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “I guess it’s just not our day.”

Y/N grinned, nudging his arm. “It’s fine, Ken. Honestly, this is way more fun than a boring, predictable Valentine’s Day.” Her optimism was infectious, and Ken found himself smiling, appreciating her ability to turn even the smallest setbacks into something light-hearted.

As they stood by the curb, considering what to do next, Y/N spotted a boat rental dock not far down the road. A few couples were loading onto the boats, and the sight of the gentle lake beyond, now misted with rain, seemed irresistibly romantic. Y/N’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Let’s do that!” she said, pointing toward the dock. Ken followed her gaze, a bit hesitant but unable to resist her enthusiasm. They made their way over and rented a small rowboat, bundling under a blanket they found onboard. The lake was peaceful, with mist hovering over the water and the distant sounds of laughter echoing as other couples enjoyed their rides. Y/N closed her eyes, letting the soft rocking of the boat relax her.

But the tranquility was short-lived. A large white swan glided over, initially graceful and serene, its beady eyes fixed on them. Ken and Y/N exchanged wary glances as the bird approached, its wings flaring.

“Ken…” Y/N whispered, clutching his arm as the swan got closer.

Ken grinned, trying to downplay his concern. “Maybe it just wants to say hello.”

But it quickly became clear that this swan had no friendly intentions. It honked loudly, startling them, then lunged at the boat, wings flapping wildly. Y/N yelped, leaning back as the swan tried to peck at her jacket, and in the struggle, she accidentally tipped the boat’s edge too far. With a startled cry, she fell backward and splashed into the cold lake.

Ken gasped, reaching out to pull her up. Nearby couples turned to watch, some hiding amused smiles while others looked genuinely concerned. “Oh no, is she okay?” one woman whispered to her partner, clutching his arm in concern. Another couple even took out their phones, recording the unexpected spectacle.

Ken managed to haul Y/N back into the boat, both of them drenched and now laughing uncontrollably. Y/N’s cheeks flushed red, partly from the embarrassment and partly from the chill of the lake water, but Ken’s warm smile reassured her.

“Worst Valentine’s Day yet?” he teased, his gaze soft and playful.

Y/N shook her head, her laughter barely contained. “Maybe the most memorable,” she admitted, pulling his jacket tighter around herself.

After drying off and regaining some warmth, they found a quaint little bistro nearby and decided to finish their night there. The restaurant was packed, filled with the rich aroma of Italian food and the hum of quiet conversation, clinking glasses, and soft jazz playing from a speaker in the corner. A waiter led them to a table near a cozy fireplace, where couples around them were enjoying candlelit dinners.

Just as they started to eat, they felt a slight rumbling in the air—a warning of sorts. Ken gave Y/N a confused look, and just then, the fire alarm blared, and the sprinkler system overhead burst to life, drenching them and everyone else in the restaurant.

A mix of shrieks and laughter erupted around the room, as couples either held their hands over their meals or leaned into the absurdity, chuckling with their dates. Ken and Y/N sat in stunned silence for a moment, water dripping down their faces, before breaking into laughter again. Ken grabbed a napkin, trying to shield her from the water, but she just shook her head, laughing harder. Around them, the bistro became a lively scene of soaked diners exchanging amused glances, servers rushing around with towels, and friends snapping photos to remember the chaotic evening.

As the sprinkler system finally stopped, Ken reached across the table and took her hand, his eyes softening. He let his thumb brush gently over her knuckles, and her laughter faded as she met his gaze.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “for making this day unforgettable. Even if nothing went according to plan.”

Y/N’s heart swelled as she squeezed his hand. “I wouldn’t change a single thing,” she murmured, a warm smile spreading across her face.

They walked outside into the cool night air, and as they stood beneath the city lights, Ken gently brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. Without a word, he leaned in, his hand settling softly against her jaw, his thumb brushing her skin as he closed the small gap between them.

The first kiss was soft, delicate, a gentle meeting of lips as if testing the waters. Y/N’s eyes fluttered closed as her heart raced, and the world around them seemed to blur, the noises of the bustling city fading into the background. As they pulled back, she opened her eyes to find him smiling, and for the first time all night, everything felt perfectly right.

[nebulous-rain]

stream doodles!! my blog is so dry

[animemenrock]

WHERE MY SKYSOLOS @ 🫵☝️

[okoilo]

old gumi drawing i did like a year ago

[scooterpengie]

✈️🥳 Happy Birthday Dr Flug!!! 🥳✈️

If you're thinking that Black Hat's gift is uncharacteristically nice of him, I should point out that chocolate isn't a flavour of cake that Flug really likes. Also it's not even a real cake

[blu3b3rryj4mp1r3]

I saw this really pretty redesign of g1 moondancer and got inspired so I redesigned g4 moondancer :3 💜🌙

without glasses & sweater ⭜

♡ ˢᶠʷ ᶦⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒⁿˡʸ ♡

[paranormaljones]

so i have my first official dnd character now

his name is Dusk and he's a silly little caracal-inspired tabaxi bard cowboy guy okay i have to go to sleep now bye

[starsandnoodles]

Today I did a lot of doodles so I’m going to post them now because I haven’t been posting a lot!!

First, the crossover no one asked for

Second, Taranza picking a fight and being angry because part of my soul needs more bastard Taranza content DESPERATELY. Like guys… feed my soul.

Third, Susie Haltmann but a Gijinka based more or less on my own outfit today (I cannot write T’s very well I apologize if it looks like an R)

And last but not least a drawing of Susie Haltmann I started months ago and finally finished today

[ccasey0]

Okay, i have the first five stars. this took way longer than expected lol.

@allyheart707 is the one on Casey's tail. she is the star of sleep, and her bow carries dream arrows that grant those she shoots with it the dreams they will love the most.

@onlyhereforturtles is the fox looking at the black that Casey always leaves behind when he walks. They are a kitsune with markings that were surprisingly hard to get right. i was unable to add in all the stuff they mentioned, but i hope this is still acceptable.

@kitmay05 is the one waving at Casey. She is a small farmer who harvests shinedust and gifts it in little pouches to people in need. different kinds of shinedust has different qualities. she has a hoe that can be used for farming or whacking.

@cosmocafe is the goat floating at the top left. the only thing they mentioned was for the goat to have a scarf, so i made up a few little things while i was drawing. they can float and wherever they step they leave swirls of various different temperatures depending on the season. they help make the winter cold and the summer hot.

@icequeenabby is the little owl on Casey's head. she flies around the night sky while the other farmer stars are working to harvest the shinedust. she likes to fly underneath them and catch some of the stray dust on her wings. she will then happily fly around the newer shines that are just blooming and shower then with the dust to make them glow even brighter. she also has a stick. there isn't anything special about this stick. but she will kill you if you try to take it from her.

Whew, okay. that took forever. i still have two more stars to add to this, and then i wanna make individual drawings for each star. also, im calling the characters "stars" and the actual glowing dots in the sky "shines" so as not to get them confused with each other. I also want to add that i'm sorry if the stars don't look exactly how you guys described them. i did my best, and for some of the harder ones i just gave up and simplified them. at this point i'm too tired to change anything about it. oh. the explanation for why the stars are following Casey. sometimes, Casey will be walking through the Night sky to do something. sme of the stars see him and decide "oh! it's the Night Spirit! i bet i could help him with some stuff!" and they just start following him. they usually follow him around for as long as possible until he tells them to leave or to go do something. they will even follow him outside of the nighttime. Casey acts like he despises these little guys and their persistence. but he actually adores each one of them and will take a bullet to protect his tiny star bebes. the edgelord will never admit it though.

also, fun fact: the night sky is a little world of its own! it may just look like the sky from the earth, but it is more of a vast expanse of white where all the night spirits live. and yes, i know what you are thinking. "white? shouldn't it be black?" well, It is a mix of both. Wherever the upper spirits walk, the leave black footprints that spread like markers bleeding into paper. the blackness will eventually all drip away and land on the border between the celestial realm and the mortal one. then it just stays there, making the sky look black to everyone below. the Shines are bright enough to be able to shine through the backness though, giving the look of a night sky. also, only spirits can go through the borders alone. any mortal has to have celestial help to get to the celestial realm.

it might be a bit until i work on this again since i have a ton of work to do, family staying at our house for the eclipse, a bunch of other drawings i wanna get done, and way too little sleep to function properly. so yeah, imma sleep for a bit. catch up on some stuff. and then i will likely start up on this again. ALSO!! feel free to make this digital and add your own stars to this! i'd love to see what other people can come up with for this!

info on the au can be found Here! oke, bye now. hope you like it!

[rozahline]

Have you ever drawn Mudsy from the Funky Phantom before? Just wonderin

ghost grandpapa :]

[tanicus-caesareth]

guarana drama, damage control