#i have too many of them piling up in my sketch pile

[eydilily]

cleaned up some slabtek today

[motthe]

hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

[zepskies]

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk. 

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

 You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.” 

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely. 

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad. 

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

 And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

 “Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.   

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

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[middle-ans]

I figured this would get asked for sure, but it hasn’t yet.

Major Lewis Nurse George please!!

Will you believe me when I say I feared this one, but also waited the most? Absolutely smashed me even though I have this particular idea sketched in my head from start to end, and zero chances surviving writing it. But it scratched the itch so perfectly, so thank you very much for asking! (3478 words, I knew it’d be one of the longest)

Also - tw war, tw mentions of blood and injuries, tw air raid alarms

October, 1940, Canterbury

Amidst all the human burdens, his personal sleep being absent for the third night in a row seemed ridiculous. George leaned his elbows on the desk piled with paperwork, rubbing his red eyes and sighing with fatigue. Another night shift, understaffed and they had exhausted the tea supply, waiting now for the next shipment by the end of next month, if they were so lucky. So far the wing had been uneventful, he sat at his post in the main hall, the hospital building looked like a separate battlefield with large rooms occupied by rows of beds and soldiers constantly arriving. No private wards for even a few people, they couldn't afford such a rarity.

The lamp on his desk blinked faintly before fading out entirely, and George held his breath, quickly shifting his clear gaze to the window. Quietly, even too much so, his lips fell open, moving soundlessly in an outline of counting - four, three, two, one. The hum of aircraft and the howl of the alarm siren was as always late, with the first deafening blast coming Omega was already under the table, shuddering with the entire building when a bomb was dropped a few dozen miles from the hospital. They remained almost untouched by most, a small building nearly at the edge of the city, but every so often George shrank into a ball and squirmed, wondering if this night would be an exception. He can hear the fiddling from the beds, triggered traumas screaming desperately in the throats of some of the soldiers, and as frightening as it is, Omega crawls out from under the only rickety shelter to run to their beds and offer a hand to squeeze, to claw at the faint connection to reality amidst the agony and quench the pain just a little. It's Private Peters, clutching at the bandage on his head that nurse notices will need to be changed as soon as the Luftwaffe are done with today's raid, and his old green eyes on a young twenty-year-old face one of the most striking displays of the madness they've been caught up in.

“Sh-h, it's okay Peters, you're in the hospital. I'll go over to the others for a bit and come back, alright? Don't look out the window, the flashes might annoy you.”

With a lingering warmth, George leaves him to run over to the other bunk, three further down the row from Peters, to Alan curled up in a ball and sobbing into the bend of his elbow.

“Now, now, no worries, I worked so hard to heal your arm and you ruined all the bandages by crumpling it under you.”

They must have thought he was resistant to such things, had developed an iron rod and shut off the heart, leaving only the head, but that was too far from the truth. George was trembling as much as they were, but having controlled his voice he was at least seemingly calmer, confidently promising them what was forbidden by any wartime ethic - safety.

“We've got warbirds coming in, lots of them,” Alex slipped past him in the aisle, darting off at a run. As the last German plane buzzed toward the sea, the bustle returned to the hospital in a triple storm of chaos. “They said to vacate as many bunks as we can.”

“From where?” George scolds as he tosses a stack of folders and fixes his coat. Perfectly white, not for long apparently.

“You think I asked questions? Hurry up, I need sheets, preferably clean ones.”

And Alex wasn't lying by labeling the number as 'lots', because not since George joined the volunteers in the nursing society in late 1939 had he seen such an overflow of wounded in the scroll of a single night. All types of injuries he couldn't look at when he started, rips, burns, shrapnel, on his first such tour of duty with a dozen wounded after midnight he'd cried helplessly on the hallway floor, far from being able to help anyone, least of all himself. Now he clenched his teeth, holding his jaw stiffly in tension as he waltzed from one bed to another in the barely lit hall, the power having gone out as soon as the raid began. With any luck, it would be fixed by tomorrow night. Omega's breathing was infrequent and short, letting in blood odors in snatches while his head spun steadily from the density of the air, but George dared not complain. If he was given a choice of which ability to shut off while he worked, it would be hearing. Those screams would haunt him until his last day.

The sheets oozed dirt in no time, they weren't a first class hotel to have their patients complain about the quality of the fabric and its immaculate whiteness, so pushing a cart with first aid supplies and a kerosene lamp, George got the trembling in his fingers under control and kept working. Far past midnight, close to the first rays of dawn, the whole room finally fell quiet, the silence diluted by occasional quiet moans from the occasional bunks at different ends of the room, and Omegas around drifting exhaustedly from one bed frame to the next.

George sighed, straightening his gown and lowering himself into a chair next to the nearest bunk, lamp burning weakly on the bedside table where he'd placed it, and his attention followed tiredly over the soaked bandages around the arms of a man sleeping in a restless slumber. The nurse reached out to see if the soldier's fever had broken purely automatically, running his fingers under the black hair falling over the forehead. His eyebrows twitched at the touch, and George almost thought it best to leave the man alone, but his head reached up to follow the escaping warmth of Omega's fingers. The nurse blinked, returning the uncomplicated dance of the pads back to those rare patches of skin that were free of scratches and wounds. Above on the top of his head was a wisp of hair clumped together from congealed blood, the wound itself washed and sanitized, but that was probably the source of fever plaguing Alpha in his sleep. Alpha, no doubt, his scent seeped even through the deadly odor of the ward. Their job teaches them to be immune to things like weak instincts and primitive pleasures, such as sniffing a handsome man and blushing at the sight of him staring back at them. George examines his hand on the grayish sheets, the bandage applied hastily and carelessly, but the man begins to frown and flinch in his sleep so he's forced to take his fingers into the warmth of his palm and coax them there until Alpha exhales relatively calmly. Omega blinks tiredly, mindlessly rubbing his skin where it won't hurt, and Alpha's scent only flows more intensely into George's fluttering nostrils, the tartness of walnut wood and freshly cut grass in May, crisply breezy, an anomaly in their lost reality. He flinches when fingers embrace his own in return, and gently breaks their contact to attend to the bandage on his arm.

There is little pleasantness in this, he imagines, frowning sympathetically at the painful groans in the hoarse voice still unknown to him, trying to spare him what pain he can, holding the soldier's wrist and shushing him quietly while he removes the dirty bandages. He sometimes sang, barely audible, just mumbling a soft tune and it smoothed the wrinkles on the patients' faces, distracting them from what he was busying his mind with. George had to leave his bed to grab a bowl of warm water and clean gauze, blotting it and wringing it out to apply gently to the man's elbow. He protested louder, twitching in the sheets, and Omega tried desperately to quiet the agony, pressing his palm against his cheek and mumbling confused reassurances. Alpha breathed raggedly, poking his nose into his palm, and it was the only thing that allowed nurse to finish with the bandage, bent in an awkward position over the bed in the low light, fighting the man's disgruntled sighs every time Omega was forced to withdraw his palm and pick up the bandages with both hands. Just as he was finishing up with the first rays of dawn and the kerosene lamps burning out on leftover fuel, the soldier squinted his nose, fluttering eyelashes persistently and restlessly. George wasn't sure he'd be awake this early, and it could hardly be called consciousness - Alpha looked at him with a blurry stare, unaware of anything but what for some reason made the corners of his lips creep up his haggard face.

“Angel,” he wheezed, staring at George. “You're an angel.”

Omega sighed, they were all like that. Saw him in semi-conscious hot flashes and came back to fight it further in deep sleep, then sang odes to him of their love and gratitude until they were discharged, healthy and ready to return to the battlefield. He glanced at the uniform jacket hanging on the edge of the top headboard of the bed, a patch with a blood type and a rank stained with dirt that he couldn't make out, but George discerned the name - L. C. D. Hamilton.

“Sleep,” he whispers to him, adjusting the sheets over his undershirt, the cotton fabric in scarlet stains and three tiny buttons under his collarbones. “The fever should break by dinner.”

When Omega gets to the room on the second floor of the house he's rented by an old lady who sings in the church choir and occasionally helps out at the radio factory, his strength is enough to take a quick shower with the remnants of hot water and collapse onto the creaking bed in a dreamless sleep. He hears the rumble of sirens and can't make out if it's a scrap of his imagination or actually an alarm, but doesn't care either way, rolling over onto his other side and getting the last hour of sleep before it's time to get up and get ready for the next shift.

“Almost everyone's stabilized,” Alex jumps up from the chair at his post in the hallway as soon as he sees him pacing exhaustedly through the ward. “We're still short on blood, almost all the staff donated some more today, but I'm not going to ask you, you already look one step away from dropping dead in here. And we're short on nurses, so-”

“You're so encouraging, Alex,” Omega rolls his eyes, wrapping himself in a white coat from the closet of their small storage room, straightening the lapels and tying his belt. “Did they fix the power?”

“Yeah, but in an hour it'll be time to turn out the lights anyway - light cloaking and all that. Speaking of your looks - it still managed to catch someone's interest even in such a deplorable state. One soldier-”

“Oh, Alex,” George sighs tiredly, checking the previous shift's records. Not again.

“Called for you all the time in his sleep.”

“How do you even know it was me?”

“Angel,” Alex shrugs. “You're always Angel, darling, and he mumbled incessantly. Almost knocked poor Logan's eye out when he came over to change his bandages.”

George shakes his head stubbornly, but can't help but drift his thoughts to the man. Apparently the fourth night shift is working wonders on his guard.

“How is he?” the nurse asks quietly. “Has the fever gone down?”

“Go and check, it's your shift now, not mine,” Alex pushes him further down the row of bunks before rushing out towards the exit and waving goodbye.

George keeps his face emotionless as he walks through all the patients in the room, because there are no special ones, there are all of them, needing if not a bandage or injection, then at least a drop of sympathy in the middle of this pantomime theater. In the semi-darkness of the room, he doesn't notice when he walks over to the bed with a jacket on the headboard, sets down the lamp, and hops in place as his hand is grabbed, tugged insistently, something he's not quite used to in the emergency room.

“Oh for heaven's sake,” he breathes out, closing his eyes for a second to catch his breath. “Sir, you can't just-”

“Angel,” a glance, this time absolutely clear and unequivocal, lingered on him with sheer fondness and a glare of amusement, the man pulling himself up higher on the pillow. “So you weren't a vision? I thought I'd gone to heaven, since I saw you.”

George swallows, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and starting to unwind the bandages on the man's arm, slowly, and this time Alpha holds up much better, no gnashing of teeth or groans.

“Have you had the wound treated? With ointment, or just peroxide?” he asks as casually as possible while he feels the gaze of dark eyes solely on the side of his face turned toward the soldier.

“I think with ointment, too. Not as carefully as you did, of course.”

The nurse snorts, hiding a smile and blush behind the curls that have fallen over his forehead.

“You were barely here last night, with a fever and delusions. How can you remember what I did it?”

“I remember you singing,” Mr. Hamilton says, plainly and calmly, a confidence in his voice that is lacking in those brash flirtations of the younger soldiers. And they're probably a lot lower in rank than Alpha. “And if I may?”

George looks up cautiously, averting his gaze from the wound when the man takes his hand and opens his palm, pressing it against his own cheek. The tendons in Omega's neck tighten in tension, he feels a small tremor in his fingers where they are gripped between the soldier's light grasp and his cheek.

“Yes, I definitely remember that,” the man smiles, loosening his grip so George can bring his hand back to the bandages. Lost for words and lost for breath.

“Good thing you remember so much,” he flutters his eyelashes, finishing the knot on his forearm. “Strong. Means you'll be better soon.”

“Will you sit with me?” Alpha lets out brokenly, a second before the nurse would have gotten up and headed for the next bed. George opens his mouth to say he still has a lot of work to do, but the soldier grazes his fingers on the sheets with a sore hand, shivering against the warmth. “Please.”

Omega glances around the rest of the room - it's night, dark, and most are asleep, a few nurses walking past the beds to adjust pillows and bandaged limbs. He didn't really have any real reason to refuse, and hesitantly he agrees, moving to a chair to retain some modicum of willpower.

They talk until morning. Extremely negligent of George, he should've left the soldier to sleep, gone to the paperwork that littered the desk at the duty station, done something, but they just kept talking, hiding from the prying eyes of the other staff in the shadows of the dimmed lamp. George said that he had been orphaned in the first month of war after the raid on his home town, he didn't mention what it was exactly, and his sister had been able to catch the last ship to America, which he was incredibly glad about, but he was all alone and so had decided to devote himself to working at the hospital. Lewis had been in the army before the war, something to do with his father's silly insistence, and had had several successful sorties behind enemy lines in France, his careful choice of words and thoughtful narration suggesting a rank with a few badges on his epaulettes and men in his command. He was skilled at playing the piano and baking homemade bread with recipes from his mother's family. George giggled as the man described the intricacies of mixing dough, certain he'd never heard Alpha talk about cooking before. When with the peachy rays of the quiet dawn outside the window, no Luftwaffe raid this time, he yawned in the midst of his own mumblings, Omega glanced down and found Lewis sleeping peacefully, head bowed on the pillow a little uncomfortably, and mouth slightly open in quiet breathing. George leaned over, holding his neck under the bandage and correcting the dislodged fluff in the pillow, gently bringing Alpha's head back, smoothing the hair on the back of his neck.

He's discharged before George returns to the hospital the next time, fresh from a day off and having slept one normal night in what seems like months. He only nods to Alex, trying to smile as he did before, and goes on his evening rounds without long chats in the back room.

After about a week since he last saw Lewis, he finally gets the day shift. George is settling in at a table in the common room, filling out paperwork and reports as accurately as can be observed in wartime when the sunlight from the window is blocked by someone's shadow and he pulls away from files, frowning at the intrusion.

“Good afternoon, Nurse George,” a smile, almost devoid of the mesh of scratches on his face around, shines brightly to him from above, Lewis standing in the full glory of his uniform and with a cap on his head. “I was told I might find you here today, even during daylight hours.”

His hands are placed sternly behind his back, Alpha stands as steady as a ruler in the army-like poise of his posture, and George opens his mouth silently, unable to find anything to say.

“Lewis, it's good to see you're well,” he gulps, rising from a seat so as not to feel so tiny under the shoulder span of the army jacket.

“That's why I came, to thank you properly,” Alpha winds one of his hands behind his back forward, clutching the stems of a bouquet of wildflowers and holding it out for George. “I didn't know which ones you liked, figured we could start with these.”

Oh, in front of everyone, the wing will be buzzing about this forever. Omega hears the commotion and giggles behind the man's back, blushing awkwardly under his scrutiny, but Alpha takes a step closer, blocking his view of the fiddling behind. Having no idea what else he could have done, George takes the bouquet into his hands, briefly meeting the stroke of Lewis' warm fingers' touch and lowering his eyelids immediately in humble awe.

“Thank you, that's quite unnecessary. It's my job, after all. No one gives you flowers for your service, for instance.”

Alpha smiles, tilting his head to pick up the visor of his cap and pull it off, revealing black hair styled back. Out of habit, George studies the spot where the wound was with a quick glance - it all looks healed and barely bothers the man.

“I think it's very much necessary. Might ward off some of the pushy admirers? Peters, you're expected at the barracks as early as tomorrow, so don't think about taking up residence here for long,” it's a misterie how his voice jumps from softness and reserved ease to iron command, Alpha turning around for a moment to glance at the subordinate in the row of bunks. “Are you enjoying music, George?”

“Music?” Omega blinks confusedly, shaking his head in a lack of comprehension.

“The pub near City Hall is having a dance this weekend. If it doesn't interfere with work, I'd like to say I'd be happy to see you there. The wine at Bert's isn't the most exquisite, but I'll make sure a case from our stock is delivered.”

Pulse racing ahead of his heart's capabilities, George swallows thickly, not knowing where to find the answer.

“He's free this weekend,” Logan rounds on his figure, hurrying from the entrance to his turn to make rounds. “I'm on duty Friday, have you forgotten?”

No, he'd absolutely seen the schedule, and this Friday was George's, but Logan winks at him and disappears into the pile of huddled white coats, hurrying them back to work.

“Well, then,” Lewis cleared his throat, viewing him like a tangled mechanism of an armored car gears. “I'll see you there, I suppose?”

The man nods at him with his chin knowing exactly the angle and duration in which it should linger, leaving George and allowing him to finally fall back into his chair, exhaling heavily.

“A whole Major, Georgie!” Alex slams a palm on the table, scaring the hell out of him. “Bringing you flowers and claiming his rights in front of this bunch of silly young Alphas, huh? Oh, I'll lend you my tweed pants for Friday and you will undo two buttons of your shirt, you hear me?”

[buckys-little-belle]

Oh! What about hcs for Bucky and little! Reader during the fall? I get cold super easy but I love the colder months!

Fall Fun

Bucky Barnes x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks of pumpkin carving, talks of Bucky being the Winter Soldier (Very very vague), Talks of (Bucky's) memory loss, Fall Fluff

Notes - I love fall! It's my favourite season and I had genuinely so much fun writing this!

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ .

Bucky loves the fall, it's his favorite season. He's not too hot, or too cold, and he finds he enjoys seeing how beautiful change can be. But most of all he loves all the activities the two of you can do together.

Most activities are ones done outside, and he is aware that you react to the cold different than him. Sure this is his perfect weather type, but you don't have the same super soldier blood he does.

So he keeps an extra jacket and sweater in his truck for you in case you're in need of an extra layer. He's also got a flannel blanket at the ready for long drives, and when buying the truck he made sure to buy one with heated seats. He never uses them, but with how often you turn yours on, he knows it was a worthy purchase.

He loves the pumpkin patch to an annoying extent. He could truly spend days there, especially with you by his side.

He has a whole seasons pass that allows unlimited corn maze trips, as many hay rides as he wants, and a total of 10 professional photos at those cute little stands where you stick your head through and end up being a pumpkin person. Trust, he has every photo framed around the house.

He also loves picking pumpkins with you, you'll give them all names and he'll do his best to remember which one was named Frank and which one was named Jeff. And he can't say no to you, he really can't, so the front porch of his house is home to 20 pumpkins by the end of fall.

He only lets you carve three, because he know you'll get bored if he tried to get you to do more. You tell him what you want them to look like and he'll do his best to sketch and carve the pumpkin the way you like.

You'd never tell him but he's actually not very good at art things like pumpkin carving, and you think you could do a better job, but he won't let you touch the sharp carving tools so your kitty cat pumpkin is lopsided, the flower looks more like an explosion, and the classic pumpkin face carving has two very different shaped eyes.

Bucky has a Pinterest account, he does, and he always is looking for new things to do to entertain you and him. Which is how you end up in the middle of a forest collecting all types of different leaves, putting them in a small book to press and dry.

You love all the colours, and Bucky takes a bunch of photos of you playing in the leaf piles, or just photos of you walking through the pretty forest, and his favorite photo is the one of you holding two leaves up proudly with a big smile on your face. (They were the biggest leaves the two of you found that day.)

Bucky always makes you wear mittens even if you don't think you need them. You argue that they're winter accessories but Bucky won't have it. He buys you mittens with pumpkins on them, or little leaves, so they look cute. He secretly has a deal with the grandma two doors down, she knits him your mittens and he buys her copious amounts of yarn.

Also fall baking? Bucky isn't a baker, but he does his best when you suggest you two make cupcakes that look like pumpkins. They actually turn out well, but the kitchen ends up a mess! And Bucky vows to never bake again ... Which was a short lived vow because two days later you two are back at it again making chocolate chip cookies with orange coloured chocolate chips.

All in all fall goes well every year. And it's the only season Bucky actively records. You don't know this for a few years but he actually scrapbooks every fall. The books are in his office and he pulls them out when he needs to remember something good.

Pictures of you in the forest line a bunch of pages, some selfies of the two of you are tucked in there, and every picture taken at the pumpkin patch has a spot. Leaves that you two pressed are glued to the pages with care, and he makes sure to photograph what your carved pumpkins look like each year.

He finds he likes making scrapbooks. Once in his life he forgot everything important to him. And sometimes he wonders what he still doesn't remember because there's nothing to remind him. So he keeps these tucked away in case he ever forgets, he keeps them so no matter what happens he'll always have proof that he loved you, that you loved him, and that beauty can exist during change.

[truths33k3r4]

TMNT au Writing/Sketching Prompts! ~TMNTember 2024~

These are some silly, angsty, peaceful, comforting, and bizarre prompts you can use to really explore your characters in your au!

Going for a walk after being inside for a whole week

Carnival ride gone wrong

Aftermath of a scary situation

Betrayed by someone they trust

Exercising to cope

Sibling catches them cheating in schoolwork

Forced sedation

Bribing a tattle tale sibling

Sibling's voice changes over night (Piercing HIGH/drumming LOW)

Battle with siblings for the bathroom in the morning

Forced to go to doctor/hospital/medic- "I don't want to go! Don't make me go!!"

Trying to keep a secret from parent/older sibling at dinner table, while other sibling continually tries to reveal secret

Realizes they're poisoned after the battle is long over

Younger sibling uncharacteristically fighting back at older sibling

First time alone in the house

Playing pretend with siblings outside

Unexperienced medic forced to re-locate sibling's dislocated arm/leg

Knock out dart/knock out gas

Tea Party

Finding an abandoned baby

"This is going to sting. ... Like a lot."

Strapped down and experimented on

Freaky Friday- Body Swap

Fake smiles for a photo

Finding out they have a tail now

A silent, pleading prayer

Panicking as they try to turn off a scary movie

Nightmare serum injected by villain

"I'm ready. I... am READY."

Turtle Pile

Hope anyone who wants to try this has fun!! The purpose of this exercise is to really push yourself out of your writing/sketching comfort zone. Many of these prompts are vague enough where you can choose if they'll be comforting, angsty, quiet, or full-on angst. Have fun with it!!!

(Just a heads up- this challenge is just for fun! You do NOT have to do every single prompt! Do whichever one you want! :) )

And please feel free to tag me if you use this! I'm going to be doing this exercise this month to hopefully stretch my artistic/creative abilities too! And I'd love to see what you guys come up with! :)

If anyone wants, they can send me a number of a prompt and the name of a character from my au, "The Strength in Weakness", and I will either draw a sketch or write a short fic on it. :)

HERE'S WHAT I HAVE SO FAR!!

Going For a Walk After a Week of Being Inside

Carnival Ride Gone Wrong

Aftermath of a Scary Situation

Betrayed By Someone They Trust

Exercising to Cope

Sibling Catches Them Cheating in Schoolwork

Forced Sedation (comedic and angst versions)

Bribing a Tattle Tale Sibling

Sibling's Voice Changes Overnight

Battle with Siblings for the Bathroom

Forced to Go to Doctor/Medic/Hospital

Trying to keep a secret from parent/older sibling at dinner table, while other sibling continually tries to reveal secret

Realizes They're Poisoned Long After the Battle is Over

Younger sibling uncharacteristically fighting back at older sibling PART 1 and PART 2

First Time Alone in the House

Have fun creating, guys!!!

~ Melissa

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

hii :) i love ur fics & i was wondering if you could do childhood friends to lovers with friends to lovers w/ miles morales (e-1610) where they're mutually pining but think that they don't feel the same but literally EVERYONE else sees it. bonus points if there's a confession in the rain or an accidental confession while crying when one of them gets seriously injured. sorry if my ask is either too descriptive or not descriptive enough thank you for your time <33

(Hello! Of course I can, lovely! Enjoy!)

Taglist

Frontline Confessions

Your guys' crushes on each other was practically orchestrated by y'all's parents

They always knew you guys would in some way like one another

You guys were best friends growing up, never leaving each other's sides

You also forced your parents to be friends just so you guys could hang out even more

You guys were always connected by the hip

If one was near the other was following closely behind

Miles and you always shared everything, sometimes you would come home at like 6 and your parents would be like

"Whose sweater is that?"

"Miles!"

And look at each other knowingly

Rio and your mom were mostly excited, as Rio wholeheartedly approved of you as she thought of you like a bonus child

Everyone could tell you two liked one another, it was no secret

But you guys didn't even know you had feelings until you guys got older

Miles would do anything for you

And I mean anything

Constantly sketching you, you and him as a photo on his lockscreen, he was bursting at the seems trying to keep it in he was Spider-man, but you found out

You guys had those little kid marriages under the slides at recess

You and him fended off childhood bullies or one who teased you guys

Only you two needed each other honestly

You guys obviously had other friends but always were each other's number one

The one to walk with you anywhere just to hold your hand

You guys had "platonic" affection but really just acted together

So many people thought you two were dating when they saw you guys

Ganke actually thought you were dating for like 6 months

You guys denied it over and over but couldn't help but wonder if you guys would ever actually date

His mom was constantly teasing him about you

Half of your closet was really his because he knew he wasn't getting them back

You guys were always out with one another, getting food, hanging on top of rooftops, sneaking away from your parents

He sometimes swung you around on his web shooters

You guys would also hang out at Uncle Aaron's apartment

You were there with the good and the bad

And Miles really needed you in the bad

He was always outside knocking on your window, or sneaking inside or just standing in front of your apartment door

You guys had movie marathons or pulled out old photos of you two when younger

"Look at your missing tooth!"

"Well, look at this horrible ponytail! What is this?!"

"You cut off half of it!"

"Oh, right-"

You guys always were seen giggling, holding each other or laughing your heads off

Everyone would look and know

Begging to be put out their misery

Confessions didn't happen for a long, long time, until a certain time you were almost bleeding to death

"Holy- I'm so sorry, (Name)!"

Miles panicked, by your side and spitting out apologies as you bled, holding your newly adorned soon-to-be battle scar.

"Are you okay?" Miles asked, glancing behind himself as Peter fought, Gwen and the rest of your friends desperately trying to keep up without you guys.

"Are you okay to fight?" Miles asked, grimacing at you and even more so at the look you gave him.

"I think I'm dying, Miles!" You yelled, holding your side in the pain as Miles tried to help stop the bleeding.

"Don't die! You can't die!" Miles said once more, trying to convince himself more than your blood piled beneath you.

"Why not? I'm gonna anyway!" You bickered back, much less concerned for your wound than Miles.

"Because I still have something to still tell you!" Miles tried once more, his own small tears in the corners of his eyes at the thought.

He couldn't lose you.

"Tell me then! What's the point of holding it in now?!" You continued on, shaking your head as your hand was almost coated red.

"I can't!"

"Why not?!"

"Because I'm scared you won't like it." Miles revealed, shaking his head as you gave a look of disbelief.

"Who cares! I'm dying." You countered.

"I like you! I've liked you since we were kids! And I don't want you to die because I'm scared!" Miles yelled back, looking down at his hands as they both tried to stop the blood, making it better, somewhat.

Miles then noticed his mistake, not able to take back his words but instead being able to slowly look up at you, grimacing at himself.

You couldn't help but stare at Miles, barely believing your ears, much less now.

Much less with the boy you had liked since you were kids.

"...you like me?"

"...yeah."

Miles stared at you for a moment, like the world went away as he took in your face as you spoke.

And suddenly, Miles laughed.

Miles laughed hard, the tears in his eyes turned to relief as he laughed. As your best friend, and maybe now more, laughed, you couldn't help but join in.

Miles then took a moment, turning it over in his head before he launched forward, bringing you in closer to him.

You and Miles stared at each other, closer than normal, then suddenly, you couldn't help but lean in and kiss him, one you wanted to do for so long.

The kiss wasn't long, but it was waited for, dreamt about and slow and passionate, lips moving together almost like they were meant to be.

Miles pulled away, not away from you but away enough he could laugh, smiling in victory.

"Have you wanted to do that for as long as I have waited to do that?" You laughed at the both of you, and so did Miles as he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah I have." Miles shook his head, the same smile there as he hugged you, arms around your waist as he almost pulled you into his lap, but stopped.

"Ow, ow, ow!" You cried out, punching his arm, cause even if you liked each other, you were still best friends, and friends hit.

"I'm sorry! Shit! I'm sorry!" Miles cried out, wincing as he looked at the blood on his arm, wiping it away quickly.

"We gotta get you out of here." Miles said, tucking his arm under yours and starting to lift you to your feet, a bit too rough at your circumstances.

"You think I don't know that?!"

"Don't make me leave you here!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagslist:

@mushystrawberries

@sweetheartlizzie07

[sheikfangirl]

Comic con? Where and when!? 😃 And your friends must be following the Ferengi Rule of Acquisition #22: "A wise man can hear profit in the wind." 😉 Will you make them available for purchase somewhere other than your booth in case we can't get there in person?

Dearest @raurusthirdeye,

Believe me, as much as the Rules of Acquisition are valid, I don't think i'll be making profit on a print version of The Message. The production costs for 20 pages booklets are super high. I'll have to print a significant quantity of copies to make the production fees drop and figure out a reasonable price to sell the comic. My end goal with this is to make people happy and not lose money on prod costs. I also don't want to end up with useless piles of Zelink comics in my office. Printing a comic really is expensive. I'm really doing this for fun. When projects starts to be about money...i tend to lose interest. Everything i print and sell is made for fun. If people like it, cool! If not, well, too bad. But I need to be smarter with The Message.

I will definitely try to make the comic available to anyone who is interested in a physical copy. But there would additional shipping fees, obviously. Maybe I could make a survey at to know how many people would be interested and plan my production accordingly. I might sale a digital version too so that people can see the art in better resolution if they wish.

Oh and as for my tabling event, I always attend Montreal Comic Con, my local event. 2025's edition is on July 4-5-6.

There. I'm in a good mood, have some sketches. They are panels for page 7. Link needs courage to face page 8 gasp!

Cheers Rauru's Third Eye! Thank you very much for your interest in The Message, my ultimate Zelink project 🤗

[star-spacer]

Peace and All Else

Part of my Heart Pirates x Reader series: The Sanctity of Sacred Spaces

With a life as chaotic as yours, you preferred quietness where you could find it.

You were someone who valued your peace. Not just as a personal preference, but for your job as well, as any interruption could result in an errant stitch, ruining the clothing, or a needle through the finger.

This need for quietness was ironic, considering you were on a crew of pirates, whose lives were marked by nothing but unending chaos. 

Paradoxical. Peculiar. But when you were a pirate crew who had a doctor at the helm, it didn’t seem that strange. You were simply one oddball amongst a crew full of them. Which lent to many, many escapades that echoed throughout the Tang. It was never silent, whether it be the noise of her machines humming away, or the sound of the galley’s mealtime preparations, there was always life in her halls. 

You wouldn’t trade it for any other thing, but sometimes everyone’s antics were a little overwhelming, and you had to slip away to seek out a moment of peace. Innevitably, you’d always end up in a few places. Namely: your storage-room-turned-workshop. 

After your welcoming into the folds of the Heart Pirates, they were kind enough to clear out an empty broom closet and convert it into a mini workspace for you. You had initially protested that it was too much, but Shachi had quickly shushed you by saying you’d pay it back by repairing everyone’s stuff and fixing up the infirmary’s linens. 

Eventually, those bolted shelves were filled until with rolls and rolls of fabrics, projects finished and not set in marked piles on your desk. Your walls filled with papers, ideas and sketches (both yours and not) displayed proudly. An almost-too-big-couch crammed right into the last unoccupied corner of the room, with a lopsided mannequin that Ikkaku fixed up for you standing proudly right next to it.

A home away from home.

Well, just a home now. You didn’t have any other place except with the Heart Pirates.

And in this peace, you could relax, and unwind. Pick up a thread and needle and weave your love into every fold and stitch of the fabric in your hands. Love that you hoped your nakama could feel.

Your hands jolted as the door to your workshop slammed open with a cry of your name. You grabbed the nearest object, a spare pincushion, and lobbed it with deadly accuracy at the intruder. Penguin yelped as the item beaned him right on the forehead, the brim of his hat barely protected him against your wrath. “What was that for?!?!”

“HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK BEFORE YOU ENTER?! AND TO NOT SLAM MY DOOR?!”

“Sorry, sorry! But can I hide in here for a bit?”

You squinted at him, anger giving way to suspicion. “Why…?”

“Please!” The man clasped his hands in front of him, stepping into the room. “I’ll do anything!!”

An idea sparked in your head. “If you take my dish duty tonight… You can stay for as long as you want and I won’t rat you out if anybody comes asking.”

Not that you particularly hated doing the dishes, you knew the importance of equal distributions of chores (Law drilled that into every members’ head on the daily), but just this once, you had something pressing you’ve been wanting to do, so the extra time gained from Penguin taking on your duty was exactly what you needed.

Penguin didn’t even flinch. “I’ll take it!”

You grinned and let out a little ‘yos’. “You can hide behind the couch, There’s space there, and the floor’s padded.”

He was full of thanks as he dove behind the furniture, shuffling coming from it as he settled there. To complete the look, you walked over, grabbing the blanket on there, and draping it over the back of the couch, making it look natural.

Just as you were patting out the last of the wrinkles, slow, steady footsteps approached your workshop. A knock announced Uni’s presence before he stuck his head in through the open door.

“Hello, Uni. Can I help you with anything?”

A drone of your name. “Have you seen Penguin anywhere?”

You had to resist a smile. “No. Are you looking for him?”

A nod. Slow eyes tracked across your workshop but ultimately landed back on you again, standing next to the couch. “He used my gloves and didn’t clean off the grease.”

Wincing at that, you wondered why the hatted man thought that was smart in the first place. Uni’s gloves were far bigger than Penguin’s, but they were also slimmer, so shoving his mitts into those could’ve popped a few stitches. “If you want, you can bring them here, and I’ll fix and clean them up for you,” you offered.

Uni shook his head. “No need. I have spares. But I’m going to find Penguin to make him clean off the ones he used.”

“Okay. Good luck.”

“Thank you. Sorry for bothering you.”

“You’re fine, Uni. See you around.”

You waited until his footsteps were out of earshot before cracking a smile. Penguin shot you a grateful thumbs up and a grin when you peeked your head over to look at him. “It’s pretty comfy down here,” he said, wiggling his shoulders a bit. “Mind if I sleep here a bit?”

“Be my guest,” you drawled, wandering back to your desk and picking up your pencil. “I’m sure the dust bunnies appreciate the company.”

I appreciate your company, was left unsaid, but you hoped Penguin understood.

Peace returned to the room, only interrupted by the sound of your pencil and paper as you sketched your way through clothing patterns. Then, the quiet whistles of Penguin’s snores began to fill the air. You paused your work, before shaking your head with a fond smile.

You didn’t know how long you worked before there was a small flash of blue and Penguin’s snores being cut off for something to hit the floor where he was. Knowing that it could only be Law’s fruit, you got up to investigate what was Shambled into your room to swap with Penguin. 

A note, attached to one of your missing pincushions by a pin.

“That bastard,” you muttered, reaching down to grab everything from the floor.

‘Stop hiding people in your workshop’ the messy scrawl of his handwriting read. 

You snickered, sitting back down at your work desk and depositing the pincushion in its rightful place on your table. Your lamp flickered on, and you moved it so it shone over the drawing on your table, a revised boiler suit for Bepo that had more ventilation, so the poor Mink wouldn’t feel the heat as much when things inevitably got hot in the Polar Tang.

Yes, you valued your peace. But your workshop was a sanctuary, too. Not just for you, but every single one of your nakama that wanted to wander through your doors, in search of help, repairs, or just plain comfort. Peace came in many forms, and your nakama’s peace was yours.

[quillsandblades]

Shades of Another World

Based on the art by @catyypss

Levi has a way with colors and paints that is unlike anything Hange has ever seen before. The moment he sets up his canvas and arranges his equipment, she knows that he’s just a paintbrush’s stroke away from capturing the whole universe and translating it on his canvas in streaks and splashes of color. 

It’s beautiful to watch, and she feels quite privileged to be able to see him paint. Best friend or not, Levi has always been secretive about his art. He stores his pieces in his workroom, letting only a few of them be seen by anyone (Which kind of makes sense because they’re the reflection of his innermost self). And Hange’s sure that no one in the entire world has ever been allowed to watch Levi Ackerman paint. So it’s only natural to feel absolutely giddy and warm when Levi finally allows her to see him while he worked—but only after years of insistence. 

Hange Zoe marvels at her friend’s command over the shades of the world, the way his slender fingers move the brush, and guide the reds and blues and greens. At first it looks like haphazard colors strewn over the white surface, but then they take shape and arrange themselves, and Hange realizes that each stroke had a meaning, a purpose to the bigger picture, and how the absence of even a single speck would have diminished the final effect. 

She just sits in wonder as Levi leans back on his chair, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. He has made a horse galloping in a field, with the wide sky spread above. Sunlight plays on its mane and flank, and shadows dance on its body in just the right places. The field is full of flowers, lifting their faces in the gold pouring from the sun above. 

It feels like the painting is breathing. 

She’s sure she can hear the grunts of the horse, and the telltale whistle of the breeze. 

‘You’re amazing Levi,’ she says a little breathlessly, turning to smile widely at him.

He just clicks his tongue and looks away. 

Hange giggles. When will that shorty learn to take a compliment? 

‘You know what?’ Hange leans her elbow on his desk. His eyes narrow suspiciously. ‘You should teach me how to paint this good.’

‘Fuck no,’ Levi glares. ‘I don’t teach. And especially not to morons like you.’ 

‘C’mon Levi,’ she whines. 

‘No. You’ll probably manage to break everything you touch.’

‘Hey! I’m not like that!’ she cries indignantly. ‘And besides, I do know some basics; I just need to get my hands settled on it. I know it’ll never be as good as you, but I want to learn. Pleeeease.’

She stares at him with wide pleading eyes. 

He folds his arms and glares at the window beside him. Hange pokes his shoulder hard with her finger and continues to do that repeatedly when he ignores her. 

‘C’mon you grump, don’t be selfish. Share your talents.’

He grabs her finger and glares at her as she pokes him again. Anyone else would’ve pissed themselves at his menacing expression but Hange just grins.

‘You’ll love it too! I promise it’ll be fun.’ 

He sighs and pushes her away.

‘Fine,’ he grumbles.

‘Yesss!’ She punches the air. 

*****

 

Levi has a shed in his backyard where he has set up his art studio. Next morning, Hange walks into it for the first time ever. It’s as neat as she expected, with paint tubes, canvases, sketch pads and so many other colorful things arranged in neat piles and labeled boxes in shelves. An easel and a comfortable chair are standing right next to the window, and a large work table is set beside it. A fair few of his paintings are hanging from the walls. 

Hange takes off her jacket and hangs it. Levi follows her in and closes the door behind them quietly.

‘So what will we start with?’ Hange exclaims, picking up a brush excitedly, hovering next to the canvas.

‘Not that,’ Levi pulls her by the arm towards the table. When they’re both seated, he passes her a blank sheet, a paintbrush and a tube of paint. ‘First I need to see how good you are at handling a brush. Start.’

Hange looks at him uncertainly, ‘Um, so what exactly should I do?’

‘Anything. I just need to see how you use a paintbrush.’

‘Okay . . .’

She begins with simple shapes and figures and he silently watches her work. In between he sometimes asks her to make something.

‘Your grip seems fine, on the whole,’ he says when she’s finished. ‘But there’s still a lot you need to work on.’

Hange nods eagerly.

Levi then proceeds to explain the basics of using a brush, different types of grips for various strokes, when to apply pressure and so on. Then he observes her as she follows it all and guides her in places she goes wrong. They sit there until the sun dips low in the sky and the shadows stretch out against the ground. By the time Hange gets up to leave, she’s dead tired but happy.

Their routine continues, and each day he takes her one step ahead, explaining the basics of color theory, shading and so much more. Hange finds out that she’s seen Levi talking more than she ever had, in those classes; he seems relaxed, in his element. And Hange likes to think that it’s because he’s sharing his favorite thing, a part of himself, with his closest friend (as she prefers to call herself). And of course the thought makes her pleased beyond measure.

 

 

It’s another one of those days; Levi and Hange are in his studio and outside the summer sun shines in all its glory. She’s working on a technique he showed her, blotting a paper with paint-soaked fingers, trying—and failing—to bring about the proper effect. Levi is sitting by a canvas, painting away. 

Hange drops her head on the table, and regards him over the rim of her glasses; sunlight dips over his face, slanting along his cheekbones. His brows are drawn in concentration, eyes following the constant sweep of his hand over the canvas. 

‘Levi.’

‘Hmm?’

‘What’s your favorite thing to paint?’

‘Are you done with that?’ he points at the sheet in front of her.

‘I can’t get it right, but tell me—’

‘Then finish it up.’

‘Levi,’ she complains. ‘It’s a harmless question, I’m not gonna do anything else until you answer me. What do you like to paint the most?’

He sighs and puts his brush down, then leans back on his chair, contemplating her words. Hange waits in the wake of his silence.

‘The sky,’ he says after a while. 

‘Why?’

‘Can’t you be satisfied with one answer?’ he grits out.

‘Not in my nature, shorty,’ she chuckles.

He picks up his brush and starts working again. She’s about to pester him further when he speaks softly.

‘It just . . . makes me feel free. The sky is unrestrained, limitless. I don’t know but, something about it just draws me in.’

Hange waits, knowing there’s more. She sees his fingers tighten around the brush, knuckles turning white. His next words come out fast and fumbling.

‘Every time I look up, I feel like I can breathe a little more easily—I'm so damn relieved that there’s—that there’s actually an open sky up there rather than—’

The brush slips from his finger as he stops short, eyes wide and staring into space.

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Hange gets up, rushing over to him. Levi blinks rapidly, shaking himself out of whatever is going on in his head. Hange puts a hand on his shoulder and he turns to her.

‘’M fine,’ he mutters, brushing her off. ‘How’s your progress?’ he gets up. 

‘I can’t get it right!’ Hange grouches. ‘Why do I need to paint with fingers in the first place?’

‘It’s important for some pieces. It also helps to bring out a texture that a brush can’t manage at times,’ he explains patiently. 

He dips his finger in some paint and shows her once more how to do it. They sit side by side and work on the sheet, and Levi corrects her wherever she goes wrong. But Hange has to admit that it's a boring practice and she’s seriously lacking some entertainment. So when Levi is focused on the sheet in front of them, she stealthily scoops up some red paint and smears it right on his cheek.

He freezes. 

Hange knows she has a literal second before he’s after her; she jumps out of her seat with a shriek before he can snatch her arm and bounds to the other side of the room. 

‘You. Are. So. Dead,’ he promises darkly and chases after her in a flash.

Hange sprints around the table, cackling like a madwoman, with Levi on the tail. In her chaotic scuffle she grabs onto the rest of that paint and as he gains on her, she splashes it squarely at him. With Levi dripping in red, Hange knows she’ll be dead for sure if he catches her now. She pelts out of the shed and into his backyard. Her howls of laughter echo in the silent afternoon and they both run in circles around the garden like some frisky children. 

When he almost catches her, she turns around abruptly and jumps on him, taking him by surprise as they both tumble to the ground. He’s pinned beneath her and scowling through the mess on his face. 

Everything is silent around them save for the chitter-chatter of birds and Hange’s giggles. Summer seems to be pouring on them lazily and she can see how his face shines in the warmth of the sun. She’s left him quite disheveled; he’s panting slightly; his shirt is stained and streaks of red are sliding down his forehead, cheeks and nose and—

Shrapnel is embedded in his face, blood trailing down his once flawless skin. He lays limp in her arms, dragging down her heart like an anchor to the bottom of the sea. Don’t die, her broken, wounded heart pleads, please don’t die. 

Hange’s laughter tapers off. She stares at him with wide eyes.

‘Oi,’ Levi is frowning, sensing her sudden rigidness. ‘Four-eyes.’

She shivers violently and Levi pushes her off him gently. She sits upon the grass as her head pounds and her vision swims. She sucks in heavy breaths feeling like her lungs are in a chokehold. With a long breath, she pulls herself together and looks around. Levi is nowhere and she’s sitting alone in the yard.

‘Levi!’ she shouts, irrational panic laces her voice. She stumbles to her feet, searching left and right. He was right there with her, where did he go? Where could he have—

‘Relax,’ his steady voice sounds from behind her. She whips around to see him coming out of the house, holding a glass of water in one hand and tissues in the other, with which he’s wiping his now wet and blood—paint-free face clean. Her anxiety diminishes a touch.

He hands her the water and she gulps it down shakily. The cool liquid soothes her throat and calms her jangled nerves. Levi is gazing at her apprehensively and she wants to tell him that she’s okay and it was probably just the heat, but the words are trapped in her throat and nonsensical thoughts are swirling in her head—thoughts that are screaming that he’s gonna slip out of her grasp and die any second if she doesn’t do anything right now because he’s bleeding and dying out in her arms and they’re surrounded and there’s no way out. 

‘Hange,’ she feels a cool hand on her arm, her gaze catches his, steel-blue irises watch her intensely. 

She raises her trembling fingers and softly brushes them against his cheek, pale and smooth, not cut up and bleeding. He’s still under her touch, his eyes searching. She lets her gaze flit across his features, trying to release her throat from that chokehold.

‘You’re not . . . hurt?’ her whisper is small.

He frowns and seizes her hand, squeezing her fingers firmly, ‘No four-eyes. I’m fine.’

‘But you were,’ she murmurs feverishly. ‘And I . . . I couldn’t—’ 

She drops her forehead on his shoulder and shudders ‘Don’t do anything so reckless again.’

She doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, but Levi doesn’t move and she just breathes. Maybe he thinks she’s finally gone mad, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't push her off. In truth, she can’t understand a thing herself, or the words she’s saying, but she knows that something made her feel like she was losing Levi. And the thought was terrifying. 

‘Let’s go inside, I’ll make lunch,’ he sounds indifferent as ever, but she can detect hints of worry in his voice. She presses his hand.

‘Okay.’

*****

Levi eventually gives her the spare keys so she can come to his studio and practice whenever she feels like. It’s helpful, because now she has pretty much mastered most of the things he taught her over the months and she sometimes feels the sudden urge to paint something that pops in her head, and rushes to his shed right that instant if she can. She’s still not perfect, and there are many things she struggles with, but she likes her progress.  

‘Leviii,’ Hange drawls, slumped over the chair by the window, pouting at her canvas. 

‘I can’t draw the sea foam.’

He sighs from the other end of the room where he’s arranging his new supplies, ‘Have you learnt nothing all these months?’ 

‘But it’s difficult. I can try but there’s only a sixty percent chance that I’ll get it right and I don’t wanna ruin this canvas.’

Previously she made two paintings on a canvas, only because she was confident that she’d get them right, and she’d practiced on a rough paper beforehand. One was a sunset, and the other was a sea port. Both of them are now hanging on the walls. The one she’s currently working on is of a raging sea and so far everything’s going good except for that damned sea foam. 

Levi approaches her, observing her work critically. She extends the paintbrush towards him and grins, ‘You’ll do it for me, right?’

‘No.’

‘But it’s just one tiny detail, nothing will happen if you help me out shorty!’

‘I’ll help out all right, but I won’t do it for you,’ he grumbles. 

And before she can protest, he moves at the back of her chair and clutches her hand from behind, leading it to the blue and gray strokes she has made. He positions her fingers in the right way, ‘You do it like this,’ he says softly. His breath tickles her neck and she suppresses a shiver. He’s close. Very close. 

He moves the brush lightly over the canvas and she sees the sea foam manifest before her eyes effortlessly. He guides her hand over the rest of the painting in the same way. His grip is warm and steady, whereas her own hands are trembling slightly. Hange is not averse to physical contact, especially with her friends. But Levi has never before initiated it first, and she tells herself that it’s the sole reason she feels shaken right now. 

‘You get it?’ his low voice spills over her ear. 

‘Y—yes,’ she manages, feeling breathless for reasons beyond her. 

‘Good,’ he pulls away slowly and she exhales. ‘Don’t mess it up again.’

She’s sure she wouldn’t. Not when the phantom touch of his fingers is still burning on her hand.

Hange wakes up to the morning light with a start, gasping for air. Her heart is racing in her chest and cold sweat slicks her face. She looks around and realizes that she’s at home, at her desk where she fell asleep last night. Files and documents are jumbled around her, and her muscles are sore from sleeping in an awkward position. She checks her phone; it’s eight in the morning and Sunday. 

She runs a hand over her eyes. There’s an odd restlessness in her heart, and she knows it’s got something to do with her dream. Its memory is hauntingly fresh in her mind, so much so that she can even feel all those sensations. Suddenly the room is too hot and stifling. She gets up, grabs her jacket and the spare keys Levi entrusted to her and rushes out.

His shed is empty at this hour, and she knows he won’t be surprised to see her when he’ll come in as he’s already used to finding her cooped up in there at odd hours. 

She grabs a palette, paints, brushes and fixes a suitable canvas on an easel. Then she perches on that chair beside the window and starts to work. Colors merge and dance over the blank surface, filling it with life. She works with focus this time, and yet her hands shake, but not due to nervousness. Maybe it’s anticipation, because surprisingly Hange doesn’t know herself what this will lead to. Her muscles seem to be obeying that hazy, murky part of her brain that’s ruled by the incoherent; the part that perhaps knows and remembers the dream she had today, much more vividly than her. 

Red, blue, yellow, gray. There’s a story in every stroke. She’s waiting. Waiting for it all to come together and assemble, and finally give her the answer she craves. Outside, the sun climbs higher and the day gets steadily brighter. Light streams in, shining curiously upon her as she works, unaware of the world.

When she finally concludes her painting with a last shade of swirling orange, she freezes. Everything is silent around her, sunbeams dip into the room, her heartbeats are loud in her ears. 

In her painting is a port, and giant skeletal creatures wrapped in raw muscles are marching over everything. She’s high up in the sky, zipping towards them in rage. Burning. Below, in the shadow of it all, small figures of people are rushing around a plane. 

Hange drops her brush and stares at the scene before her. She’s not sure why she made this, or what compelled her mind to come up with an image like that. She wants to brush it off as a spur-of-the-moment inspiration, but the fact remains that she wasn’t even aware of what she was drawing half the time. The image made itself. And then there’s this suffocating ache in her chest that she can’t define, it’s squeezing her in an iron grip. She leans back and throws an arm over her face, breathing deeply. 

The fire licks at her body and screams rip her throat. Pain beyond measure stabs her all over but she has to move forward, she has to finish them off, has to buy them time, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how much she wants to live. She must sacrifice herself. 

The door opens. 

‘What’re you doing this time?’ Levi’s voice pulls her out of the drifting currents of her mind.

She looks up at him with tired eyes. How long had she been sitting there, working nonstop?

‘What’ve you made?’ he comes over to her, leaning over to look at her work. Hange watches him closely.

She hears his breath hitch, sees his eyes widen and expression morph into something unguarded and open. He gazes at the scene for a long moment without saying anything. Then he raises his hand and touches the painting, the part where she is drawn in an odd suit, wielding swords and engulfed in flames. The painting’s still wet and the reddish orange color of the fire stains his fingers. 

‘You . . .’ he looks back at her, and this time Hange can see something more in his expression: pain. ‘Why did you make this?’

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘It felt like my hands had a mind of their own. I couldn’t stop.’

He straightens and lets out a heavy breath. His eyes are weighed. He grabs her hand and leads her to a door at the corner of the shed that Levi never let her open before. They enter a small room which is full of paintings of different sizes—Levi’s art, she realizes. At one side, some of them are covered with a large white sheet. He yanks it away to reveal more pieces, only these are different from the others. 

As soon as Hange looks at them, the same restlessness she felt today crashes back into her heart. There’s something achingly familiar about those pictures. They show green fields, stables and dark, stone castles. They show people sitting around fires, but their faces are hazy, as if the moments were captured from wispy dreams. She does recognize some people though: a blur of color that resembles Levi, a similar one that could be her. She even spots Erwin’s indistinct form among many others. Then there are paintings with giant distorted creatures and people zipping through the sky.

She turns to Levi, ‘What is this?’ her voice begs for answers.    

‘I don’t know,’ he mirrors her words from earlier. 

It’s something for sure, they both feel it and she knows it’s important in some way. 

Levi seizes her arm suddenly; his brows are furrowed and his fingers are digging into her skin. 

‘You’re . . . here? Right?’ and the helpless look he gives her just confirms that he’s feeling exactly as she did that day when she splattered paint over him. He needs to know that she’s okay, and he’s not going to lose her. He needs her to destroy the images in his head that are probably playing a twisted scene of her death.  

Hange laces her fingers with his and presses reassuringly, ‘I’m right here shorty. And I’m not going anywhere,’ she promises. 

He nods, but maintains the death grip on her hand. They both walk out of his shed and Hange pushes all those tangled thoughts to the back of her mind. She’ll think about it later, talk to Levi and make something of this. But for now she has to assure him that she’s with him and they’re fine. They’re okay and they’re together and they’re alive.

And there’s nothing more she can ask for. 

[anderstrevelyan]

wip wednesday

I haven't done one of these in a minute because I've been focusing on polishing and reworking rather than drafting new words (hopefully by next week I'll have some!), but you know what, let's do one anyway!

Here's the opening of my as-yet-untitled multichapter project, aka my early days of durgetash project (set about a year after they first meet):

*Valas is the son of Gorion's Ward rather than a strictly canon Dark Urge: mentioning to avoid confusion since it's relevant here!

It’s dusk when they first discuss it, a desire so deep Valas has never said it aloud. Were anyone to look up at the quiet manor on a corner in Bloomridge, perhaps on their way home from selling trinkets in the Wide, or while they wander to a tavern bleeding laughter and light onto the street, they’d see them there, the pair of them. A half-drow dressed in deepest black and a human with gold on each finger, the plates laid before them picked clean, the wineglasses in their hands stained with two layers of red, lounging at either end of the settee long past when one of them should have risen to draw the curtains shut. He should do it now, Valas thinks as he turns his glass, watching the candlelight refract. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t, just as he doesn’t know how they arrived at the subject, his confessing the name of the person he most longs to kill.

He lets his voice trail off, and swallows against the dry in his throat. Tries to find his footing. He’s not one for quick words, the thoughtless flow that pours from so many like blood—he often prefers to listen. For a heartbeat, for an opportunity, for the guiding voice of his god. And Enver Gortash doesn’t seem one for silence. Not like this, chin in his hand, long gaps between the sound of his own voice—not unless he’s waiting, too, searching for a flaw. Perhaps he understands this weakness for what it is. Skie. Skie Silvershield. Skie Silvershield the second—not the same young woman said to have died at the hands of the Bhaalspawn who sired him, but Valas yearns for her blood all the same, Torlin’s daughter named for the ancestor plucked too soon. Sometimes, in Valas’s worst moments, his mind whispers that it would be right. To prove himself better than the one who raised him before he found his true Father’s embrace, who always claimed he hadn’t been the one to kill his Skie. That it would be good, further insult and honour to the man once Chosen by his god—Torlin proved unworthy the moment Valas set in motion his death, but he was a Bhaalist all the same, and there’s nothing more Bhaalist than the slaughter of one’s kin. But it’s weakness, coveting one death over all others, no matter how he twists his thoughts. He’s seen such a thing in his acolytes’ eyes, when they come to him soft and raw, his Father’s voice in their heads a mewling thing—they don’t understand, in the throes of those first few tastes of blood, what their work really means. They dwell in emotion, in grudges, in hate, longing to kill an old rival, a scorned lover, someone who did them wrong. The faith shows them: there’s no value in the personal, in passion, if it’s not needed to reach the right holy end. It’s weakness, then, too, how much he’s come to enjoy this new ally’s company. Valas turns his gaze to the window, to the motion on the street below—feet catching on cobble, glances cast over shoulders, plumes of breath climbing in the cool evening air—just as Gortash looks away, too. He must be admiring the curves of his own furniture; the works of art in their golden frames, some so new they sit still propped against the wall; the piles of papers and gadgets, their places not yet found, sketches and plans and small, delicate tools. The home he’s building, here in the Lower City’s most fashionable neighbourhood, so different from where he’d laid his head just months before. But when Valas turns back his way, he’s looking out into the dark. Toward the wall, just steps to the north, that separates them from the Upper City. Valas can almost hear him thinking. “There would be a beautiful kind of symmetry to it,” Gortash says finally, and Valas busies himself with a sip of wine. “One Bhaalspawn filled with remorse, peaceful against his nature, and then all these years later another to do it right. It’s not far from our other discussions of late.”

[greenlightbulbonawire]

Misfits (yeah like the Arcane song)

XLI.

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Summary: From the dark musty cell of Stillwater all the way to the very base of Firelights, but where to from there? Guess you'll just have to let fate lead you.

Author's note: I took a break... again... and I'm back now! But I will have to resort to posting once a week from now on, due to me not being able to write the chapters as fast as I am posting them anymore. Well anyway, have a great day!! xoxo previous chapter: Fourtieth chapter

next chapter: Fourty second chapter

Masterlist

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“I made a few sketches, I’ll show you, hang on.” You pushed yourself up off the ground and walked up to your desk quickly, swiping your sketchbook off of it and returning to Ekko, slipping onto the ground next to him again, scattering a few parts of the blown up board in the process. The book fell into his hands and you put the parts back onto the pile as the boy flipped through the pages of paper, looking at the drawing you made in the past instead of finding the sketches you told him about. “You can draw pretty good actually, I had no idea.” Your eyes tore away from fixing the pile and registered what you just put into his hands, you quickly grabbed it away from him, skimming to the page with the sketches and handing it back to him. “Don’t look at a different page than this one, please.” “Oh uh, I mean yeah, sure? Why though?”

Ekko gave you a questioning look, before returning to the drawn on paper page, looking over the sketch, his face displaying various emotions as he went through the thought process of making the sketch a reality. “There’s some stuff in there that I don’t want anyone to see.” “Okay, that’s fair.” He shrugged and closed the book with a snap, giving it back to you and then standing up. You took the sketchbook from him again and looked up at Ekko towering over you as his hand stretched towards you, offering to help you up as many times before. Without much hesitation, you accepted it and stood up too, facing him, waiting for the boy to say something and explain why you were standing now.

“Let’s get to work then.” He nodded to you and turned to the door to leave, and you went to take the sketchbook back to your table. Ekko waited for you outside of your room, and then headed towards the staircase, but starting to descend instead of going up, which surprised you. “We’re not going to your room?” “And how would something as big as that fit into my room exactly?” The boy turned his head to face you as you went down the stairs, following him a few paces behind, a smug expression painting his face, before he tripped and almost fell, catching the railing at the last second to stop himself. You laughed at him, waiting for him to regain his balance and continue walking and then answering him. “Karma’s a bitch huh?”

“Welcome to my… I actually don’t know what to call this room, uh, I make bigger things here basically.”

“Why did I have no idea a room like this was here?”

You asked and walked into the room after Ekko, taking in the many tools and almost finished projects, he really had a taste for mess huh. “Probably because you haven’t seen like eighty percent of the base yet.” “That… makes perfect sense actually.” You admitted, watching as the boy moved through the room, pulling out different parts and gathering them into a box. He mumbled something to himself and pulled the box towards a messy desk, probably the place where he worked on his inventions and stuff. “I’m missing some things here,” Ekko stated as he started to lay out the parts from the box on the desk and looked at you for a moment, quickly returning to what he was doing, before he spoke again.

“so I’ll write you a list and you’ll have to go get them, maybe take Heimerdinger with you, he’ll help.”

Metal bolts clattered as Ekko placed them onto the table, you made your way to him carefully, trying to avoid bumping into anything in the process. Ekko pulled out a piece of dirty paper from god knows where and took a pencil off the desk, scribbling down a few words, then he looked into the box again and added something to the list, repeating this a few times. You were watching with interest, before you realized you haven't answered him yet, you shook your head and blinked a few times.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Great, well here you go, that should be all I hope, and please don’t blow yourself up again okay?” The paper with the material list got swept off the table by the boys hand and he turned his attention to you, looking up from his chair, while handing you the piece of paper. “What, you’ll miss me?” You raised a brow and gave him a smug smile, swiftly taking the list from his hand, fixing your eyes on it and reading its contents.“Oh yeah very.” The boy chuckled softly as you read through the listed materials. “Who else will come and save me when I specifically told them not to?”

[e-hibiscus]

I'm just eating up @spirit-lanterns's casino AU so i made a sketch of my own bunny (don't mind the bad background, it would take too long to properly draw)

SO

Say hello to the “fun-sized” bunny Misha!! This charismatic bunny is one of the shorter workers at The Rabbit's Foot, but that doesn't mean she's got no game!! Even if she only stands at a tall 5'2, she works as one of the many casino runners to help maintain the machines while serving customers.

Even though she moves a lot during her shifts, she's often seen doing the zoomies before the doors open for the clientele, on her break, and around closing time. Her favorite part is greeting patrons new and old, bringing them onto the casino floor to have fun and lose money 🤭

art utc just incase you don't wanna see bunnysuit artwork

Fun fact: This bite-sized bunny rather spend her time in a cuddle pile with the other bunnies or with the boss instead 😏

[kozachenko]

Zanmu 100% has a very large bone collection. She seems like the type. I can perfectly imagine an interaction with someone, probably Eiki, (idk why but it fits) and she says (for some reason), "You must have a lot of skeletons in your closet" and Zanmu responds with, "Oh, how did you know about my bone collection?" and Eiki just stares for a few seconds and then says, "your what now?" and Zanmu responds by opening up a closet and low and behold, she has a bunch of them. Some human, some not. As Eiki stares in shock, horror, and confusion, Zanmu just starts rambling on about all the facts about bones she knows, where and how she finds them, and even starts sorting them into different piles as she speaks, "Of course, I organize them by species, age, condition, cause of death, and more specific categories," and when Eiki asks how many she has, Zanmu just says, "I kind of lost track after I reached 100" and poor Eiki faints.

{Artists Note}:

So I had a really neat pose idea for Zanmu and I had to draw it. I'm glad that I finally drew her again, because last time I did she looked waaaaaay too tense so this drawing serves to rectify that. Man was the actual process for the first bit of this rough, like, especially the eyes. So last time I drew Zanmu, I gave her some really nice eyeshadow, and I forgot about how big of a difference eyeshadow makes to how the eyes look, so I went through several different variations of them. Also, I'm glad that the expression turned out nicely, it's a nice break from the deadface I've been stuck with for a while now lol. Her one arm that isn't holding the skull kinda gave me some hardship because I had no idea how to show that it was resting on the rock, as the idea for the rest of the piece came to me waaaay after I did the sketch, so hey, just a thing to improve for next time. I played around with some collage elements for the trees, their foliage literally has a paper texture on it. I went for a more simplistic approach to the lighting, letting the colours more or less speak for themselves. The background also gave me a hard time, as I was getting stuck with how to make her pop out from it, and I think I found a good solution using overlay layers.

Clothes and fabrics are now my favourite things to render, it's just so satisfying to do. I also love adding that textured layer overtop of everything, it just makes everything come together y'know?

Also, another headcanon I have for her is that she's taller than Hisami, and Hisami is really tall so that means that Zanmu would be able to tower over literally everyone lol.

[blaithnne]

Early concept sketches of Midnight Giant Lauren! You can see me figuring out the style, colours, as well as Lauren’s outfits, plus a little Hilda that I wanted to include but gave up on cause I couldn’t get her to look right.

Johanna switches outfits about 3 times in this comic, so I wanted Lauren to do the same. Also, since Johanna’s deerfox outfit in the flashback is based off one of her looks in mountain king, I wanted Lauren’s to as well! So one of these outfits will be repurposed for teenaged Show!Lauren in the deerfox later down the line, which I think is fitting because she’d be around the same age in the flashback as Comic!Lauren is here

I didn’t talk much about my design process in the original post, so I’ll make a couple notes on that under the cut!

Here’s the final product for reference-

Though Johanna changes outfits about 3 times in this comic, one of these outfit changes is just the same outfit but with trousers instead of a skirt. So I wanted one of Lauren’s outfit changes to be more subtle, keeping most of the same items of clothing but only changing the jumper!

In terms of her outfits, I tried to add a little bit of a late 2000s - early 2010s vibe, which I think makes her fit in a lot more

Whilst this style still features quite noodley characters, it allowed me to bulk up Lauren much more than the troll did, so I took advantage of that and started adding in juuuust a little muscle! But she’s still kind of twig looking, so I brought back the same trick I used in the troll and gave her a big ol’ pile of logs and a heavy axe to weild in one of the sketches just to show that she’s a strong girl. I swear I tried to think of something other than an axe but it’s surprisingly hard to think of heavy objects that a character would just be. Carrying around lol

Looking back at this design a few months later, the biggest thing I’d change is I’d make her look a bit younger. It’s a little hard to design a unique character when you only have two points of reference lol, one of which is an adult and the other of which is a child, so I think I made her look a bit too much like an adult, oh well!

One thing I kept though to help her look younger is her freckles, same as Hilda! I love freckles but I swear I never use them in character designs. This design feature disappears from Hilda in the later comics, but I wanna keep them for Lauren for as long as I can tbh…

I mentioned before that I thought it would make sense for Lauren to go through a couple different hairstyles before reaching her final one in these early comics - the designs in the show are based off the ones in stone forest, which was the most recent comic to be released at the time the show came out. The style and characters designs had changed a lot from the early comics, and one of my favourite things about reading through the series is seeing how the designs changed and progressed before reaching those “final” versions, so I’m kinda reverse engineering Lauren’s design process to get that effect here, and I think one way that’d be shown is through her hair. Here her style is getting closer to the final version, her fringe has been lifted so it no longer covers her eye, and she’s got more of a curl! But her strands fall a little differently, so we’re not quite there yet…

I struggled a LOT with colouring this one, and that’s because I got the colour count wrong! One of the most overlooked ways to emulate a style is to count how many different colours appear per character - Hilda The Series generally has 6, 2 for hair and skin, and 4 for outfits, though the number can change. I miscounted here and thought the comics had 4 outfit colours like the show, but they actually only have 3. Once I realised that it made things much easier, though I still sent a little over it with some varying shades of green in her shoes. These kinds of rules generally aren’t firm, and might not even be one’s the original artist is even aware of, but when you’re trying to emulate someone’s work these little things can make all the difference

Show!Lauren probably doesn’t play guitar, I’ve mentioned before that I think she’s decent at piano and I stand by that, but I thought it was fitting for Comic!Lauren lol

That’s everything I can think of right now!

[signanothername]

Sooo... I'm back from the dead after dying from the overflow of too many positive emotions yesterday... (thanks for all the kind words 🩷)

And I'm back with another ask! Cool.

My question is not something necessarily related to the topic of the blog or anything, but rather about your artistic process?

So, personally I think many artists have those moments, or maybe specific paintings, that may just be emotionally draining. Like you're drawing a piece, and you don't like it for some reason, you try to change it, but you still don't like the painting, and you keep trying, but it's just something that's missing and you don't understand what it is and it just becomes frustrating and you start to get angry and-

Well, at least I seem to have such moments quite often (I dunno, maybe I'm just a perfectionist), and as far as I'm concerned different artists have their different ways to cope with this, so I wonder - do you have such moments sometimes and what do you usually do about it?

I'm sorry for the long ask I just can't keep things short and I'm just always curious about such things and the way different artists do stuff 😅

Hello!! Amazing to see you again! <33333 (of course!! Thank you for your kind words as well aaahh 😭❤️✨🌷)

As for your question, oooh boi, yes actually I have these moments A LOT, it’s cause i’m a perfectionist myself jdhdhdh

In fact, these kinda moments is why i sometimes give up on certain artworks or comics I make, and that’s why my wips just always seem to pile up, here are some examples of two artworks and a page of a comic I gave up on cause I just couldn’t for the life of me make them into what I wanted

And I will be lying to you if I said I have a solution for it or that I know how to deal with it

But I deal with it in two ways, I either completely delete the sketch i made and start over again

Or what I usually do is that I actually stop if i find the piece I’m working on emotionally draining, let go of the artwork and work on something else that i find fun, cause “giving up” doesn’t necessarily mean i will never get back to them, I see it as “taking a break” from the artwork till I get inspiration or motivation back to work on it again

Generally I’ve learned that in art, it’s ok to take things slow, I don’t always need to finish the artwork that I started before I start working on something else, in fact, taking things slow is how I made art much more enjoyable to me, cause it means I actually enjoy the process instead of treating it like there’s some sort of deadline above my head

To give you an example of what i mean, this artwork right here? Took me over 2 weeks to finish, not cause i couldn’t finish it quickly (in fact i can easily finish the same artwork in less than an hour) I just taught myself to take my time when making art, take things slow snd enjoy the process bit by bit, i worked on the quick sketch, closed it, then got back to it to work on cleaning it up multiple times, closed it again, then worked on coloring it and so on

And that’s also how i deal with artworks that make me frustrated, i take things slow, if i get frustrated then i simply close the artwork and work on something else till i have the motivation to work on what frustrated me again, that way i took a little break, and sometimes actually while working on something else you might get an idea on how to fix the artwork that frustrated you, but ultimately art is supposed to be fun not frustrating, so it’s ok not to finish artworks, it’s ok to abandon artworks if you don’t like them or if they emotionally drain you

That’s how i deal with it at least, but i say try to find your own path to how to deal with it, cause my way might not work for you, so i say experiment and find out :D

And nah don’t apologize i love long asks actually dychchch