#i like the first sketch i made of her (right) but the issue with the first one being side profile is now i gotta make the front view match

[rmbunnie]

i was gonna keep adding to this but i'm kinda losing steam rn tbh. humanstuck bubbline.

[hoseoksluna]

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

@rrosiitas @KookieNooki @cristinamajadera @Chaelvrx @mimikoba

@junecat18 @deepops79 @notsevenwithyou @futuristicenemychaos @psychicjellyfish @alpaca @Kooloveys

Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last. 

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess. 

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears. 

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection,  like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore. 

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait. 

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t. 

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out. 

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic. 

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest. 

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit. 

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned. 

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth. 

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all. 

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment. 

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust. 

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him. 

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny. 

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in. 

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed. 

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again. 

And again. 

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang. 

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness. 

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight. 

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve. 

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet. 

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it. 

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion. 

You also wanted to make him feel better. 

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you. 

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won. 

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds. 

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him. 

Darkened the more you teased him. 

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time. 

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed. 

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world. 

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him. 

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed. 

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more. 

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of. 

And then the confessions began. 

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments. 

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you. 

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him. 

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had  consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it. 

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you. 

But you were a smart girl. 

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father. 

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it. 

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals. 

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you. 

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears. 

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view. 

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you. 

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside. 

The song of fate. 

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously. 

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were. 

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut. 

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt. 

You see how hard he is for you. 

Good. 

Now you can. Now it's yours. 

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all. 

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes. 

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air. 

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you. 

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up. 

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more. 

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek. 

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously? 

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive. 

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”  

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes. 

A tall candle, melting. 

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness. 

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment. 

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you. 

That he can’t stay mad at you. 

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you. 

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.” 

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew. 

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it. 

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you. 

He’s safe with you. 

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting. 

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt. 

He’s going to make that little girl stay. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[dollwrites]

ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ɪᴅᴇɴᴛɪᴛʏ ! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ʀᴀғᴀʏᴇʟ

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!bff!reader, sex toys mentioned but not used, noise control, dub con technically ( for him… kinda TRUST THE PROCESS ) prank gone wrong for reader lol, creampie, has absolutely no spoilers or deep lore, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. HAPPY 4/20! i was gonna do some dizzy drabbles but i couldn’t get this out of my head. not proofread ( and written when i was in the clouds ) so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

what had started out as a fun prank on your best friend for revenge ended with you completely at his mercy, unbeknownst to him.

picking up around the studio wasn’t something you did too often, considering it a breach of Rafayel’s privacy, but when you got there and he wasn’t home, you let yourself inside like you usually did. you were about an hour early, anyways. you hadn’t taken two steps when you stumble over a pile of crumpled sketch paper. you scrunched your brows as you gazed around your environment. scattered brushes, broken pencils, and a canvas half-painted in the middle of the floor. you sighed; perhaps Rafayel had hit a wall with his muse and had gone for a walk on the beach. the least you could do for him, you’d decided, was to clean up a bit. after all, a clean space is a productive space, right?

that was when you came across it, left carelessly on his bed, swaddled in a sea of white sheets and the comforter. you’d never seen one in real life until this moment, and at first you mistook it for a woman asleep in his bed with her butt sticking out of the blankets— but, it was fake. a plump, nearly life sized ass sitting atop the mattress.

does Rafayel really use something like this?

you found your cheeks heated up with embarrassment when you pictured him mounting it, both of his smooth palm against the cheeks, svelte digits digging into the silicone to spread it open wide enough for him to push inside…

shaking your head to snap yourself out of the fantasy, you look around, making sure no one was around to see you get lost in your own desire for him. “S—stupid.” you muttered to yourself, stepping closer to touch the fleshiest part of it. surprisingly soft, as soft as your own skin. your brow quirks, fingers sliding to the waistband of a pair of cerulean, lace panties that adorned the faux lower body. it seemed so strange to have clothes on something that was meant to stay hidden and used in private, as if the silicone slab had been laid out meticulously…

no, Rafayel didn’t use this for his own pleasure, you decided. this was a prank. an elaborate one, but one meant to fluster you when you came over.

he was such an ass!

“Oh yeah?” you challenge under your breath, grasping the panties and tugging them off of the toy, “You want to play games? I can play, too.” determined to outprank Rafayel, you toss the panties on the bed and stash the toy beneath the bed. it was surprisingly heavy, and made a splat when it hit the surface of the floor, you had to stifle a chuckle as just hilarious this was. you didn’t want him to win, even if he wasn’t there to see it. quickly unbuttoning your pants, you discard them and the panties you were wearing, kicking them under the bed, too. then, you grab the cerulean lace and pull them on— perfect fit! you took a moment to glance in a nearby mirror, turning slightly. your ass had a similar curve and complexion, and you hoped it was enough to fool him, at least long enough for you to scare him when he least expected it. then, you climb into the bed, scrupulous as you nest your top half under a pile of blankets, the pillows resting on the top of your shoulders to hide your head. there was also the issue with your legs. it took a great amount of wrapping sheets around your thighs as you kick and squirm, before you’re finally perfectly positioned— identical to the way he’d left the fake ass, your own sticks out as if inviting him, as you wait for him to return.

at first, it had been difficult to keep yourself from jittering, too excited to see the look on his face when you jump out, effectively one-upping his lewd joke. but, as the minutes ticked on, with your entire body hidden within his bedding, you’d started to sweat, breathing in the dense air trapped under the pillows with you, and you had to readjust several times. it took so long that you were just about to give up on the prank and unbury yourself, before you heard the door open.

showtime.

you felt knots of excitement tying themselves together in your belly as you willed yourself to be as still as possible, and appear as the lifeless, silicone toy.

you could hear him moving about the studio, sighing, and your heart was starting to beat faster in your ears— you hoped that he would hurry to his room, so you could reveal yourself soon, and you could get out from under this suffocating duvet.

when he’d stepped into the bedroom, you hear the door close behind him, and you have to physically keep yourself from kicking your feet in excitement. it was almost time to scare the living daylights out of your best friend. your muscles tighten, ready to jump up, but a sound abruptly stops you.

a zipper.

you freeze, listening silently to the sound of rusting fabric. soft thuds as he kicked out of his shoes, and a whoosh that follows towards the floor.

was he undressing?

your eyes widen only when you hear a heavy breath, followed by the click of a cap. squeezing, then a low moan coming from behind you. it was Rafayel. your eyes widen. you’d never heard such a sound from his mouth, and you had a pretty good idea of what he was doing. the subtle skin slapping that started slow, but sped up shortly after, his breath getting heavier simultaneously. you realized how wrong it was to hear Rafayel pleasuring himself, especially when he didn’t know that you were there. you should really say something, open your mouth and let him know that he wasn’t alone, but when your lips parted, you couldn’t force any sound from it. you were too stunned by these sounds to give him any kind of warning. you listen, mouth agape and eyes big, staring into the headboard of his bed as he takes a few steps towards the foot of it. your mind races, realizing that he had not placed the toy on his bed for you to find it—

this had not been a toilet-humor prank that he was putting together. he simply hadn’t had the time to hide his private toys before you stumbled upon them.

to solidify this revelation, you feel one hand tracing over the shape of your ass. his fingers were warm and slick, and you nearly gasped, sealing your lips just in time for his digits to curl around the panties and tug on them, inching down your thighs. he would definitely discover you were disguising yourself as the toy when he couldn’t take them all the way off, and that thought was equally humiliating and comforting. you didn’t exactly love the idea of him finding out now, after exposing your cunt to him, and now that you’d gotten an earful of him jerking off, but at least things wouldn’t go further. Rafayel doesn’t, however, try to pull the panties down completely. instead, he seems content to leave them around your thighs, and his fingers trace upwards, slowly and skillfully, until they trace your netherlips, slathering your sex in what had to be lube, cool and wet.

oh, god. your top teeth sink into your lower lip as his fingertips swipe full laps between your folds. the pads rub against your most sensitive nub, leaving it throbbing and begging for more attention before they drag downwards, teasing your opening. he didn’t seem to notice that your cunt spasms, attempting to clamp down on his fingers, before they run another lap. he lets out a heavy breath, the sound of his palm smacking against his abdomen as he fucks his own hand in tandem to the way he was unknowingly teasing your pussy making your head spin.

this was so wrong.

you had to tell him right now.

your tiers part once more, this time determined to stop this before—

the swollen, slippery head of Rafayel’s cock rubs against your slit. one hand covers your mouth to keep any sound, words or otherwise, from escaping as you realize that it’s too late to expose yourself now. you’d look like a total creep, taking advantage of your best friend by pretending to be his sex toy. “Huh—uhh…” Rafayel emitted a low moan as he rubbed his dick against you a few more times, before planting one palm on your ass, the other holding tight to his base as he plunged inside.

it took all you had within you to not let out a cry of surprise at the sudden entry. your free hand grips the sheet so tightly you fear your nails will rip holes in it, and your toes curl beneath the mattress. Rafayel had been under the impression that he could be as rough as he wanted, because the pussy was nothing but a silicone replica, and so his rhythm was steady, deep pumping almost immediately upon bottoming out in your guts. “Fuck,” he breathes out, hips thumping against your ass, both hands grasping at it. “F—feels good… yeah,”

he was right about that, and you wished you could vocalize it. your walls fluttered about in delight as he pounded into you, his cock was longer than you’d thought it would be, the tip bold in its deep exploration, prodding against your g-spot with every, full thrust of his hips. you fought the urge to bounce back, meet his movements with equally eager grinding. instead, your eyes began to roll and your lids flittered, and the grip on your own mouth tightened to keep any of your stifled mewls and whimpers from escaping. you couldn’t, however, keep from gushing when he hit the perfect depth with his fervent stroking, and you could only hope that his thorough drenching you in lubrication would be enough to mask this.

you could hear him panting, moaning, swearing, as he fucked you with reckless abandon. his fingers digging into your warm, satin skin, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you. it was as if you felt every, single vein as they rub your walls, autographing your insides, claiming them as his as he uses you.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…!”

he was getting louder, his hips bucking more powerfully, more erratically, and the throbbing in your core was a testament to just how close to cumming he was.

you knew how wrong this was, but all rational thinking was dissipating; you were enjoying being fucked like this; greedy, careless pounding, by your closest friend too much to ruin it, now. you didn’t want to stop it, not until he was fully satiated.

“F—fuck, yeah,” Rafayel swoons, grabbing full fists of your ass, pulling your ass back to meet his hungry hip-snapping, “more, more, more!”

you couldn’t take much more, and you push your face into the mattress to keep quiet, both hands scrambling to hold on to something, squeezing the edge of the mattress with your nails sinking in— anything to relieve the pressure he was forcing as deep into you as he could. your feet wanted to kick, your back wanted to arch, and you wanted to scream out in pure pleasure, so you clung to the bed as tightly as you could in hopes that you could ride out the orgasm he was ripping from you.

he didn’t even seem to notice your twitching and subtle squirming beneath the blankets as he made you drop off and come undone, which you were thankful for, because he was too caught up in chasing his own high. “Gonna cum, gonna cum!” Rafayel was sputtering, desperately trying to get there, pressing all of his weight against your ass as he pumps a few more, deep and hard, thrusts into you before he grunts, and releases. as if he’d been pent up for quite a while, you felt a spattering of warmth, and then it spreads as he fills your belly with his essence. you nearly lose it in this moment, and almost blow your cover, your walls clamping down on his cock as he starts to retract. it felt so good to be full of Rafayel that you didn’t want him to pull out, but he does so with a ragged moan. there’s an uncomfortable emptiness that follows his abandoning of your cunt, the feeling of being fucked deep and left there, your oblivious best friend’s cum dribbling out of your used pussy as it twitches and your muscles stay tense. you knew you were leaving a small puddle on his sheets below you, but you could hear him milling around the room instead of focusing on you, now.

“Damn,” he mutters to himself, and you his phone unlock, then the rapid-fire tapping of his fingers on the keys. was he… texting?

you were answered when you heard the faint vibrating of your phone in your pants pocket, hidden under the bed. he texted you?! at first, you think he must’ve heard it, because everything went silent, and you waited for him to start shouting, but he doesn’t.

a few moments later, the door opens, and his footsteps fade as he swaggers down the corridor, satiated, and a moment later, you hear the shower turn on.

for the first time in several minutes, your muscles relax for a moment, before you swim out from your heated prison in a hurry, scrambling under the bed to grab your phone. every move you made, you could feel his release swirling around inside you and dribbling down your thighs, and you groan at the sensation, and the trail you made before you pulled the panties up to keep any more from leaving evidence. staring at the screen, panting and fucked out, your eyes barely focusing, you read the message in disbelief.

just woke up so i’m running late. stop on the way and buy lunch or something i’m starving

liar.

but you didn’t have time to dwell on the message; you get dressed as quickly as you can, what with your legs trembling like shaken jelly and your insides sore from Rafayel’s eager plowing, and hoist the fake butt back into place on top of the bed. you had to make a stealthy exit before he got out of the shower. stuffing your own panties into your pocket, you decide the best way to avoid an even stickier mess on his floor that would certainly be noticeable, you had to wear the panties meant for the doll. you could only pray he didn’t realize they’d gone missing right away, and later today when you could sneak away to the bathroom, you’d put them back in place.

so, stumbling and trying to catch your breath, freshly fucked, you leave through the sliding back door, the one that faces the shoreside, and closes it behind you to complete your escape.

once outside, you exhale deeply, lean against his car, hidden from windows’ views, to evaluate the damage, beyond the mess of him in your panties. you groan, covering your face with both hands in belated guilt.

you could never, ever tell him about this!

[yoredoesmore]

Is it cool if I request Hoshina Soshiro x Fem reader but Hoshina saw the reader drawing him on her sketch book a place can be anywhere.

Ok bye!

a/n: what a cute little request! Thank you so much for submitting something ^^

pairing: Hoshina x fem!Reader

summary: reader draws her vice captain as a cat (=^･ｪ･^=)

genre: fluff/romance/comedy [wc: 1.1k ]

enjoy!

Vice Catnip Hoshina | Hoshina Soshiro

It was one of those days again, where peace and quiet consumed Tachikawa Base. Most of today's schedule consisted of training sessions and important battle discussions– two activities that did not demand your presence as Operations Sub Leader. Your workload consisted of finding new information on the Kaiju and Improving the suit's functions.

Therefore you sat in the cramped space of your office, mind trapped in a cloud of concentration. You normally felt nothing but joy when pursuing your job. Every little achievement, be it fixing a small issue or handing in a report, made the pride in your heart grow. But today that energy had left you.

You felt little to no joy nor motivation, the mere thought of picking up the next file caused you immense stress. All you wished for was to lie down on your bed and enjoy the beautiful spring weather. But your next break was hours away and the way things were looking right now, with the huge pile of papers that sat in front of you, you wouldn't be out of her before midnight.

“Ugh..if only I wasn't alone.” You sighed, hands reaching for your mechanical pencil. While thinking about what piece of work to tackle next, you dragged your pencil over a ripped piece of paper, scribbling whatever came to mind. You found out that this was quite therapeutic and helped you blow off some steam sometimes.

As you looked down to see what you created, you were met with an abstract doodle of a cat.

You smiled.

The cat was holding a fish in her hand and her mouth sat wide open to devour it. Your eyes moved across the drawn lines, with nothing in mind at first, until you realized that its teeth looked awfully familiar. Two sharp fangs, where have you seen those before..?

Almost immediately an image popped into your head, the very face of your beloved Vice Captain. It was quite absurd, comparing Hoshina to a cat, yet the more you thought about it the more the resemblance struck you– until you were fully convinced that the Vice Captain looked just like a cat.

In any normal situation you would have allowed yourself a quick laugh and move on with your duties but for some reason imagining Hoshina as a cat was quite hilarious, thus you entertained yourself further with the thought.

“The Vice Captain as a cat..what would he look like exactly?” Your hands reached for your pencil case where they pulled out an eraser. Now fully equipped you felt ready to bring your imagination to life. You scribbled and drew and erased, trying to create a perfect reflection of your mind. Twenty minutes went by without you realizing, this new activity having you in quite a hold. You were so deep in thought that you didn't even hear the door opening.

As you drew the final line a hum of satisfaction escaped your lips. Your gaze admired the art you had put on your notebook, pride shining in your eyes.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

You froze.

The pencil you were holding on so tightly only seconds ago fell out of your hands, connecting with the cold floor and the blood in your body turned to ice as you finally perceived the new presence behind you. Slowly turning your body around, you were met with the curious face of your Vice Captain.

“No.” Was the only response you found yourself being able to come up with.

“But it says Vice Catnip at the bottom, slightly inappropriate if I might add but I'll let it slide because it's a good drawing.”

Ten minutes ago you were giggling and laughing at the slightly inappropriate pun you came up with. You spend a good amount of time thinking of cat related words that would either match Vice or Captain– Vice Cat-tain would have almost made it on the paper but the pronunciation felt off.

If only you would have gone with that one.

You sat there in silence, neither of you saying anything. Hoshina patiently waited for you to explain yourself but the only thing you wished to do was take the paper and rip it into thousand little pieces.

“It's you..” You finally managed to admit. You mentally prepared yourself to get the scolding of your life. Hoshina was not the type of guy who took any type of mockery lightly but instead of teasing words, you were graced with a heartfelt laugh. The man reached his hand out to grab the paper and give it a more thorough examination.

“Please don't look at it!” Your protest fell on deaf ears as the Vice Captain dragged his eyes over every line, carefully analyzing your art work. You were no match for him either. Desperately you tried to snatch the paper out of his grip but every time you lifted your hands, Hoshina pulled away at the last second. After two minutes you simply gave up and accepted your fate.

“I'm not mad if that's what ya thinkin.” He suddenly said, returning the art piece.

“You are not..?” Your hands reached out to receive it.

“It's quite cute. Me as a cat, never imagine that.” His little laugh slightly eased the tension in the air, allowing you to relax. Placing the drawing down, you started to explain to the Vice Captain how you ended up in this situation, so that he wouldn't get the wrong idea. To your surprise, he showed quite a lot of consideration and even admitted that he liked it when his colleagues joked around like that with him.

You laughed and chatted for a little longer, until all humiliation was forgotten.

“Ya figured what cat I would be?” Hoshina suddenly asked, catching you off guard.

“Hm..let me think. Probably the type that meows really loud for no reason.”

The look Hoshina gave you was priceless. “I meant..the breed.”

What is wrong with me??

Hoshina broke out into another fit of laughter while you were trying your best not to drown in a sea of shame. This was your first time interacting with the Vice Captain in such casual way. Although you have done nothing but humiliate yourself so far, this was rather nice. It was a good distraction from work and definitely worked better than random scribbles.

Bonus:

“Come again?"

“Looking at someone's drawing without their permission is quite rude, so it's only fair..” Your voice became a mere whisper at the end, yet Hoshina still heard everything clearly.

“Only fair, huh?” A long sigh escaped his lips as he cleared his throat.

Is he actually going to..

“Meow.”

You gasped.

The look on the Vice Captains face was picture worthy. To think that he'd actually comply and meow for you, it made your heart jump.

“Vice Captain..” Kafka stood at the door, accompanied by Reno and Shinomiya. They had come by to ask Hoshina something important but were instead met with something horrifying.

“..Did you just..meow?”

“No.”

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 202 (Looking For Answers in Ravenwood)

When Conrad arrived in Ravenwood, he stopped first at a tavern Layne Coffin was known to frequent. The owners were a pair of strange gentlemen who eyed the outsider and his badge with suspicion., insisting they hadn't seen or heard anything to explain the concert musician's disappearance.

Odd as the men were, Conrad had experience. He trusted they were telling the truth and decided against raising the issue of their expired liquor license, in case he might need their cooperation in the future.

This was Ravenwood, after all, where most everything had expired in some way or another.

Leaving the tavern, he wandered the square at Crow's Crossing where Layne was last seen. He was exhausted. Still stunned by the news of Ximena's murder behind bars and lagging after a long flight, he and Heather hadn't slept. Instead, they'd watched the kids' rooms until sunrise. Ximena's death might comfort most, but Ash could see ghosts and they had no way to know if - or when - her ghost might come back.

Conrad needed to focus. Lavender made him promise to find Layne Coffin before he left for the investigation, and the chief was right - he couldn't disappoint her any more than he could his boss.

But for a sunny weekday just after lunch, the square was decidedly empty. No one milled about as they might elsewhere.

This place really is for the dead, he thought to himself, frowning as he took a seat at the edge of a stone fountain. Glancing toward an empty playground, he spotted a few ghostly orbs floating in circles. Squinting in the sunlight, Conrad could make out small, grinning faces in their translucent forms.

With no living sims around, this was as good a lead as any he might find in Ravenwood. He stood, walking slow to keep from scaring them off.

But these spirits were playful and friendly, as the playground where he found them might suggest. One of the trio, with a faded handlebar mustache above his mouth and a yellow bowtie beneath it, bounded up to him eagerly.

"Hello! I'm Freddy, what's your name?"

"Captain Conrad Gordon. It's nice to meet you, Freddy."

Freddy gasped and somersaulted in the air. "A detective?! Ravenwood hasn't had a detective since-"

"Freddy, be quiet!" One of the other ghosts hissed as it circled the scene from a distance.

"Since when?" Conrad pressed.

Freddy laughed. "Since they died! Everybody dies in Ravenwood. Is that why you've come here? To die?"

Conrad's eyes narrowed. "I'd rather not, if I can help it. I was hoping you three might have some knowledge about the disappearance of the concert violinist, Layne Coffin."

"Who's that?" Freddy wondered.

"Sounds like he's laying in a coffin," said another. "Did you check there?"

Conrad scowled. "You three should be in a comedy sketch."

Freddy nodded. "We were! We weren't stars of the vaudeville stage, but we opened for the stars sometimes."

"Of course you did. So you can't help me with any clues about Layne Coffin's disappearance?"

"Did he fall down the well? We can tell you about Edith's well, but we don't know anything about your missing violinist."

Exasperated, Conrad left the square. His frustrating day looked like it might push back the start of his family's trip to Sulani, until his phone beeped with an incoming text message.

I convinced her to talk to you. Here's the address.

Conrad greeted his old friend, Felix, at the home of Olive Specter in Crow's Crossing. The Black Widow invited him in, giving him a quick tour of the home before sitting down to give the detective her statement.

"I was born here in Ravenwood. My ancestors were ancient mystics from the area, and I grew up with my sister, Willow. She and I were thick as thieves until she married a fool named Creon and gave birth to my niece. Creon got himself and Willow killed and I raised Ophelia myself. She was my constant through four marriages that ended under unfortunate circumstances. I looked at her like a daughter; my son loved her as a sister. And she betrayed all of us, including Layne."

"You think Ophelia had something to do with his disappearance?"

"I've believed it in my soul ever since they both disappeared."

"How did each of your previous husbands die, Miss Specter?"

"My first love was Earl DeMise. My Earlie was an electrician, but he tripped himself up with faulty wiring on a job site three days before our wedding. Ophelia was set to be the flower girl, and she was devastated. That's when I first suspected she might hate me, if I'm honest. My second love, Hugh, was a lecherous man. I grew to hate him, but the fire was caused by his own addiction to candlelit dinners."

"You understand why it sounds suspicious, don't you, Miss Specter?"

"I do. Rigger always told me the same thing. Rigger Mortis was Ravenwood's last detective and my next husband. His death left us all devastated, but he was an old man. Nothing suspicious about it. Ichabod was my husband when our son Nyon was born. We loved each other until the day we died, and Ophelia resented me for finding so many soulmates. She never believed a person could have more than one, which is why she thought she could lay claim to my dear Layne."

"You and Mr. Coffin never argued about your niece?"

"Once or twice, but nothing serious."

"And you have no idea where your niece might have gone?"

"She would never tell me. She had a good relationship with my son, but she didn't even tell him where she was going."

"Where's your son now?"

"He's on a school trip, Captain Gordon."

"Was he a fan of your fiance, Miss Specter?"

Olive froze. "What are you implying, Captain?"

"Nyon's a good kid," Felix insisted. "San Myshuno PD haven't named him as a suspect."

"It's my job to ask questions," Conrad insisted with a smile. "I don't mean to imply anything, Miss Specter."

She frowned. "I think I've answered enough questions, Captain Gordon. Send him away, Mr. Psyded. I know he's a friend of yours, but I can't give him what he wants. I don't know where my fiance is."

Felix smiled warmly. "You have enough to write up a report, Captain Gordon. Thanks for meeting us here."

"You can go, too, Mr. Psyded. Unless charges are laid, I have nothing else to offer either of you on this."

Conrad eyed her suspiciously as Olive walked them to the front door. "If I have more questions once we track down your niece, will you take my call?"

"I'm offended, Captain Gordon. After inviting you into my home and answering your questions with honesty, you still doubt me?"

Conrad feigned a look of sincere concern. He didn't trust her yet, but he didn't want to let on too heavily and scare her off. People with money were always a flight risk. "I'm invested in finding the truth, Miss Specter. If you can help me get to the bottom of Mr. Coffin's disappearance, I'll be in touch."

Olive dismissed them with a polite smile, the heavy wood and steel doors closing behind them with a thud. To his disappointment, Conrad left without clues to Layne's disappearance, but he did come away with plenty of suspicion.

They stepped into the square and glanced at the brass ram statue towering overhead. "When do you need to head back?" Felix wondered. "Did you have time to stop by to see Lilith and meet Jaz?"

Conrad set his suspicions aside with a smile. He was anxious to solve the case and refocus on Rafa and his family, but he'd come all this way. "I'd love to, Felix." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary | Gen 2.2 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[janeyseymour]

The Artist in Me

Summary: a request from a LONG time ago. Reader is the upper grades art teacher, but when the lower grades art teacher has to leave, Reader ends up taking over the arts for the entire school.

WC: ~3.45k

By some Grace of God, Abbott Elementary has it in the budget this year to hire a second art teacher. And you, after leaving your old school due to issues with the principal, were able to snag the position to teach the upper levels of the school.

In the time that you’ve been at Abbott, you mostly keep to yourself upstairs and throw yourself into providing the best education that you can for these kids. Despite being a related arts teacher, you’re also able to integrate different core subjects into your teaching, and you love being able to help enrich students with information that they might not get otherwise.

You’ve also made yourself out to be a bit tougher- the younger elementary art teacher is all sunshine and rainbows, and you can’t find it in you to be like that. So, you’ve gotten the reputation as the hard-ass of the related arts programs. You don’t really care. Some of these kids need discipline, and as long as they’re doing what they’re supposed to (and not trying to eat the clay you have for pottery projects), you really aren’t that tough.

The other thing is… your principal isn’t all that fond of you. You can’t quite figure out why though. You’re always on time, you’re prepared, you stay professional. It is what it is, you suppose. So, you keep to yourself, and you don’t really mind it. You’ve always been a bit more introverted and quiet, yet not timid. The only times you really see any of the other teachers is if you walk past them in the hallways or during a faculty meeting.

During those faculty meetings, you tend to doodle. All of the things that Ava speaks of either don’t relate to you, or they pertain to trainings you’ve already taken care of. You look up at her and her slides every once in a while, just to give off the illusion that you’re paying attention, but after diligently listening to the first meeting, you realized you didn’t have to do that to keep your job.

So, instead… you draw. You draw still lives of the library, you doodle up little flowers and other scenes, and then you take to drawing portraits. You have about a dozen drawings of your own face before you decide that maybe you should attempt another subject. So, your eyes wander around the room. Your gaze immediately focuses in on the beautiful red hair that is sitting with the one group of teachers that Ava always seems to chat with during her free time, which is conveniently a lot.

Melissa, you think that’s her name, rolls her eyes at something ridiculous that comes out of your boss’s mouth, and then she turns to another teacher and fake yawns. You only get a glimpse of her eyes for a moment, but in that second, you’re captivated. They’re a stunning shade of green, and you could swear you could see the little specks of gold in them too. You spend the rest of this pointless faculty meeting trying to get a sketch of her eyes just right.

The next faculty meeting that you find yourself dragging yourself into, you pick a seat where you can see Melissa fully. And… damn. The second grade teacher has quite a figure, and her face is beautiful. You spend most of that meeting drawing the redhead as she props herself up with her elbow. You’re just perfecting the glasses that hang off Melissa’s nose when you hear your name.

“And since we are losing Miss Lee so suddenly, Y/N will be taking over all of the art classes until I can find a replacement,” Ava sighs.

Your eyes widen, and you can feel every other staff member’s eyes on you. “I- Ava, what?”

“You heard me,” your boss shrugs. “Miss Lee is moving away next week, so you’ll have the entire school.” She then continues on about another topic- one entirely unrelated to the absolute bomb that she just dropped on you.

You glance to your lower grades art teacher and give her a questioning look. She just frowns and shakes her head, a tear falling down her face silently.

You spend the rest of the meeting trying to wrap your head around the fact that you are now in charge of the entire art curriculum, and your doodling of the redheaded teacher’s emerald eyes is put on pause.

It feels like an eternity before that meeting is over, but as soon as it is, your coworker is apologizing profusely to you.

“Y/N,” Miss Lee sighs softly. “I’m so sorry. I- I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I just haven’t had the time while trying to prep everything and come up with a way for you to be able to teach everyone.”

“What’s going on?” you ask her quietly as the two of you make it out of the library and into the hall.

“I’m leaving,” is all she tells you. “I- It’s for the best… if I want to live.”

“Soph,” your jaw drops. 

“Just… trust me, okay?” your coworker wipes a tear away. “C’mon. I’ve already come up with a schedule for you. You’ll have two classes at a time, but they’ll all be doing relatively similar things, so… I had the rest of this year planned too, so… hopefully this won’t be too difficult for you.”

You allow yourself to drop your act of not quite caring for your coworkers and squeeze the woman’s elbow gently. You don’t miss the way she flinches- it would be hard to. You immediately know why she’s leaving with such urgency.

“Don’t worry about me,” you tell her softly. “Just… keep yourself safe, yeah?”

“I’m gonna do my best,” Sophie grimaces. “If we meet during our preps the rest of this week, I can help you prepare.”

You nod. “And- and if you need any help with anything, I know we aren’t close, but… I’m here for you.”

As you transition into teaching the entire school for art classes, Sophia helps you as much as possible. You begin to combine classes, and you’re quite thankful that every teacher is a fan of your coworker’s, because they don’t ask questions about her leaving, and they are more than supportive of this decision. Although, those that don’t usually make it to the second floor aren’t necessarily thrilled about the trek they have to take to come up to your room. They just give your coworker a sad smile as they know it will probably be one of the last times they see her before she heads out and on her own. You continue to offer your support to Sophia as the days stretch on.

But she never asks for help. Instead, she whole-heartedly throws herself into helping to prepare you the best she can- everything from lugging materials up to your room to ensuring that what you’re having the older students do at least somewhat lines up with what she was planning for her younger students to make life even the slightest bit easier on you. 

And after Friday, it’s like she never existed. She completely goes off the grid. You can only hope that she’s alright in her endeavors.

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve taken over the arts for your school. You feel like you’re up to your eyeballs in clay, paint, paper mache, and pretty much any other art supply that would be able to stick to your body. You’re exhausted, to say the least. The days where your preps used to consist of cleaning up your room and settling in with a nice book are gone, and they’ve been replaced with a preparation period of running around trying to set everything up while also grading the elders’ art essays, firing up the kiln, scrubbing down tables from glue that the kindergarten and first grade students managed to get everywhere… it’s ridiculous. While you used to leave right as the teachers’ bell rang, you’re stuck staying late, and you usually come in at least an hour early to ensure that everything is as organized as it can be before your hurricanes you call students run amuck in your space. And if you’re being honest, you’ve had enough. 

So, while you should probably be preparing for the next… what feels like ever, you take your preparation period to head down to the teachers lounge and actually relax for once. You already worked through your lunch- you deserve this. 

As it would turn out, your preparation time is when the group that your boss loves has lunch. How convenient for them to all have lunch at the same time…

You give them a small wave as you practically drag your exhausted body over to the refrigerator to grab the small lunch you packed yourself this morning. You take a seat that’s somewhat distanced from the group and begin to eat.

You don’t even realize how tired you are until your eyes begin to droop and your head begins to lull forward. You have to catch yourself with a small gasp before you smack you face on the table. Of course, that draws attention to you, and your face turns about as red as Melissa Schemmenti’s hair.

“Oi,” the woman lets out a small chuckle. “Work wearing you down lately?”

You just nod as you continue to feed yourself from the tiny bag of pretzels you packed.

“Of course she’s exhausted,” another voice pipes up- Barbara Howard’s. “Who wouldn’t be exhausted after taking over art classes for the entire school. Oh dear, have you heard from Sophia at all?”

You shake your head silently before just barely offering up, “And I doubt I will. She left pretty abruptly, and from what I could tell, her situation was pretty serious.”

“Well, we do thank you for helping our classes,” Barb tells you with a sad smile. “As much as we hated to see Miss Lee go, our students are still going to get a fine arts education because of you.”

“I’m doing my best,” you sigh quietly as you finish off the rest of your pretzels. You nod to yourself as you close your bag and take another deep breath. You go to stand from your place at the table, but you find yourself seeing a few black spots in your vision. You force yourself to sit down again.

“You alright there?” Melissa asks, clearly at least a little concerned.

You nod. “Just a little tired is all.”

The green eyes that you still haven’t gotten quite right in your sketches stare into your soul for a split second. “Is that all you had to eat today?”

You shrug. “Don’t have much around the house.”

“No wonder you’re on the verge of passing out,” she rolls her eyes. Before you know it, she has a plate in front of you and is spooning some of her meal out onto it for you.

“This is yours,” you say quietly, in protest.

She dares you to challenge her as she continues to ration out her food. “And I also don’t need you passing out today… my kids have art later.”

You look to her, as if to see if she’s testing you or something. She just looks to the food pointedly and then back to you.

With a sigh, you thank her and begin to eat. “You didn’t have to,” you tell her softly.

The redhead shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I blame it on my being Italian.”

The rest of your lunch is spent trying to subtly stare at Melissa Schemmenti’s eyes in order to perfectly capture how to draw them in your sketchbook.

When you’re finished, you sigh softly and thank her again before heading for the door.

“You should start having lunch with us if you can,” Janine tells you. “If we’re going to be working with you now, we should probably get to know you, right?”

You bite your lip nervously, thinking. Doing that would give you the perfect opportunity to observe the second grade teacher. You would probably be able to capture not only her eyes then, but different looks of hers, aside from just a standard sort of portrait. You nod. “Y-yeah. If I can fit it into my schedule, I’ll try to start coming down.”

When the redhead brings her class up to your room, she has a mug of coffee in hand too. Silently, you wish that you had a cup of coffee for yourself. The proper meal that you had helped to bring your energy up a bit, but the coffee would certainly be a nice pick me up. Maybe you can convince her to bring you one for when she picks up her-

The mug is being offered to you with the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen out of the tough teacher. “Thought you might like the pick-me-up.”

You tilt your head to the side, touched by this small but sweet gesture. “Thank you.” You take the mug gratefully, allowing the warmth of the steaming liquid to warm your cool to the touch hands.

Green eyes are rolled with a hint of a smirk dancing on her lips. 

Your days go by much nicer when you’re able to join that little crew for meals. They’re actually a lot nicer than you expected them to be. Melissa continues to bring you food, claiming that you’re actually helping her by eating some of the portions because she only knows how to cook for twelve. And when you aren’t able to make it down to the staff lounge, preoccupied with prepping new units for your classes, the second grade teacher makes her way up to you and sits with you while you continue to flit around the room and try to get everything in order. She continues to bring you cups of coffee on days where her class has art, and when her friends have art too, they usually come up with a mug and a soft, “from Melissa.”

As time goes on, you begin to show your less professional side- the side that your friends see. The Abbott crew begins to welcome it warmly, seeing that you aren’t as stuffy as you play. And in doing that, your boss begins to take more of a liking to you as well. It makes working at this school much easier. The only thing that is becoming more and more difficult as you integrate yourself into this school is the growing infatuation you have with a certain redheaded second grade teacher. She shamelessly flirts with you now, and you find yourself reciprocating quite often.

Since growing closer to the quirky little group, you have doodles of almost all of them down to a science. But there’s still one person who you can’t get quite right. Melissa Schemmenti. And for the amount of time you spend watching her and smiling with her, she should’ve been the first person you drew at the school to perfect. But you just aren’t satisfied. Or maybe you don’t want to be satisfied, because then that means you don’t really have a reason to sketch her anymore.

You’re sitting at one of the tables in the library while Ava drones on about God knows what. Your sketchbook sits in your lap as you continue to try to get her look just right- the way her eyes sparkle and her glasses sit on the tip of her nose as she clearly doesn’t pay attention to what your boss is going on about.

There’s something about this drawing that has you thinking you might just get it right this time. And because you have that feeling, you start to focus so intensely on your art that you don’t notice the meeting going on around you ends. In fact, you’re only made aware of the ending of the meeting when you feel a familiar hand on your shoulder.

“Wow,” is all she breathes softly as she looks at what you’re working on. “Is that… is that me?”

Instinctively, you try to slam your sketchbook shut. You can’t believe you got so into the zone that you didn’t realize the faculty meeting was over, and you really can’t believe you were just caught in the act of sketching your coworker.

“No,” Melissa says. “Open it back up. I want to see.”

You shake your head and try to stand.

“C’mon, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” the redhead tells you.

You just shake your head again as you head out of the library, refusing to make eye contact with her. You practically sprint up to your classroom and shut the door behind you. Your cheeks burn, and your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest.

Your coworker doesn’t try to approach you right after the meeting. Instead, she waits until her lunch period. You don’t come down, just as she predicted. So she brings you up the portion that she brought for you. As she expected, you don’t turn when she enters your room, instead focusing all of your attention on the papers in front of you and trying to grade essays.

“You ain’t coming down?” her gravelly voice asks you.

You just wave your hand as you continue to bite at the tip of your pen. “Gotta grade,” you tell her from the little corner of your room that has a bean bag.

Green eyes glance over at your desk, and right there is your sketchbook on your desk.

“I’ll just set your stuff over on your desk then,” she says slowly as she toys with the idea of peeking at it.

You just nod along, entirely forgetting that your book is sitting there and open to the page that you were working on during the meeting this morning.

You hear her heels clicking against the tile to your desk, but you don’t hear them walking away. Only then do you look up and see that she’s once again looking at your sketchbook. And then you watch her flip a page, and you’re mortified.

The previous page is quite literally just you trying to get her eyes right- something that you finally achieved last night.

“Hun, this is-“ she’s going to say incredible, but you all but tackle her to get your book back.

“Please stop looking at my things,” you say sharply as you grab the book from her clutch.

“Have you been drawing me during faculty meetings?” she asks you as she takes the book back into her hands. At this point, she’s holding it just out of your reach, and you know she’s already seen your work, so it’s futile to try to hide the sketchpad from her.

“I’ve been sketching a lot of things lately,” you sigh as she flips through.

Her eyes gaze over the still life of the library, of your classroom, of the portraits of your coworkers, but she looks at you with a furrowed brow.

“A lot of these are of me,” she notes quietly.

You worry your bottom lip through your teeth. “I’ve been trying to get your eyes right,” you manage. “They’re a bit more complicated than the others- brown eyes, green eyes, you know?”

The redhead continues to scan your sketchbook. There’s doodle after doodle.

“You’re real good,” she whispers as she allows her fingers to gently trace the pencil marks in your book. “Like… you shouldn’t be an art teacher, but an actual artist good.”

You blush. “I ain’t that good.”

“You are,” she promises you, and her green eyes look into your own. “But if you need help getting my eyes right, you can always just ask.” She looks up at you through those long lashes, and then her eyes flit down to your lips.

“M-maybe,” you whisper, your own eyes glancing down at hers, as you lick your lip subconsciously.

“I’m honored you would try this hard to get my eyes right,” the second grade teacher says softly as she moves just the slightest bit closer. 

You give her a nervous smile. “A beautiful thing deserves to be captured just right.”

“I’d say you captured my eyes nicely,” Melissa mumbles as she allows her hand to cup your cheek.

“Oh?” you raise a brow. “Can I try to capture something else of yours?”

“And what would that be?” You can practically feel Melissa’s breath on your lips.

As you give into your desire to kiss her, you mutter, “Your heart.”

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie

[angelpuns]

Kid Leo Au: Finding Home

Part 3!!

Shoutout to everyone guessing it was Carol O'Neill!! She was on a late night grocery run :)

her coloring kinda changes between the first two panels and the ones after Leo runs off because CSP decided to delete the palette I LITERALLY JUST MADE FOR HER!! and then I couldn't just eyedrop tool it because I use a gradient map layer over th color layer and coloring these pages was just a mess >:(

ANYWAY!! I really like my design for Carol and I hope everyone else does!! I spent a lot of time researching diferrent hairstyles for her but ended up going with the one that's most like her canon appearance! I also gave her a similar hair color to April ( coloring is messed up a bit in the other two panels cause again, palette issues). I also did a bit of research to get the texture right since I was giving her a slightly different hairstyle than her canon one ( v similar but not exactly the same ) so hopefully it reads well!!

I'll share the sketches I did of her before I finished lining/coloring this in a bit :)

Also hi it is in fact 3 AM im just feeling a bit silly :)))))

Kid Leo Au Masterpost | First | Next

[linksfunroadtrip]

Link's Fun Commentary - Prologue!

+ sailor design commentary. link's fun extra

Twilight Field, War of Eras...

Sailor starting in Hyrule Warriors and being dropped immediately into Shepherd's era is actually the second pitch for the beginning of the comic, the very First pitch being the first two pages of chapter 1.

More than anything we just wanted to get it done, but we didn't really know what we were doing . We cobbled together a custom font and got right to it. My Fun Facts: All the grass is the same image reused over and over except for when it isn't . Literally all of the smoke was just repeated/moved around. We didn't even really know how to use gradients effectively...

... Which can be seen in these next two panels. LOL.

The work split on this batch set a precedent for sure. @islandlobster took up lining and flat colors, and had the Hard Job of harmonizing our styles, processes, and experiments. Do you see a lot of small, long-form comics with grainy, textured line-art? Maybe no? Well we found out why.

These panels also feature the Only Two Triforces we remembered to draw !!! Oh My God!!!

As much as we struggled, things moved pretty quick from the get-go. Since the prologue is only a handful of pages we didn't really run into the issues we would with chapter 1, especially regarding our complete and utter lack of script. This went straight from thumbnailing to the final result!! (NOT A SUSTAINABLE WAY TO DO A GROUP PROJECT...!)

I wanted to mention though that when I wrote the line above, I wasn't sure if this was how you would spell it for like . a Soldier Troop or a Performance Troupe. Which I just looked up now and found out I Absolutely got them mixed up. so umm. Sorry. Sailor is not in the circus yet.

Cia was just defeated in the main campaign! I felt like such a smart cookie for this one.

She doesn't even know she wont be going home yet‼️ laughing and pointing ‼️

It was an Early idea that Sailor would conveniently miss the time portal transporting the field (with her in it!) back to its era. This was supposed to be a reoccurring bit, but we didn't commit to it too hard going forward, so who's to say if that'll be realized.

The pirate charm plays a big role in the prologue. A little funny because we were absolutely sick to death of drawing it by the end, as well as the fact that it is there in lieu of her red-gem necklace that we forgot to draw. it is Welcome and Unfortunate that it doesn't work anymore, especially because having the chance to name drop like this was very indulgent.

The era of twilight ! Including the locations and times was in the original sketches, but when we found out that our inexperience with backgrounds wasn't lending itself to establishing Where we were, it came in handy. We Agonized over placing the castle and argued* for like a week about how forested the area should be. Luckily we use noclip now, so things have improved as we've moved into chapter 2 :]

Either way, hopefully it wasn't too confusing, and as we introduce new characters the picture will be clearer. We've talked a little bit about returning to the prologue to spiff it up a bit, but we feel we aren't far enough into the comic to make it worthwhile.

and now over to Pea with the weather:

my name is pea islandlobster and you can't tell that it's me because we are writing on the same post but trust okay 🤞 I am here to talk about SAILOR!!!

Sailor has been my baby brainchild before LFRT was even a blip in our minds eye (my proof) and it has been a beautiful indulgence for me to both put her in AND have her be the first Link we meet. YAY!

I have two designs for her, for which I have helpfully made a diagram just for you..! Labeled and everything..!

A: pheww my big one that I have been sitting on forever. Sailor's necklace was constructed over the course of her adventure, initially only having her red gem (given to her by King Daphnes, from his own crown). Four pearls were later added, parting gifts from Oshus and the three spirits. Also intended to mirror the three Goddess pearls from Wind Waker..! and an extra yellow one i guess. triforce? idk

B: Sailor's chipped tooth is a funny one that I will have to make a small comic about at some point. It's not even anything from her adventure. A couple years before WW, Aryll was pretty upset about losing her first tooth, and in typical Link fashion she thought the best way of comforting her was to ALSO lose a tooth. Grandma was not happy.

C: Most Links have a triforce mark, and each one we are giving a reason towards ^.^ Sailor's mark is entirely scar tissue, specifically it is hypertrophic. She held her triforce for only a few days and got it (maybe quite literally) ripped from her by Ganondorf, so take that as you will. Tetra and her are matching yayyy..!

D: Giving her hero outfit it's own section so I can tuck it out of the way lol. A modified version of her original hero outfit, courtesy of shipmate Nudge (guy in the top left). She was a little upset over having to alter Grandma's hard work, but she preserved it where she could. Like her seashell belt! ^_^

E: SIDEBURNS! Not present in the prologue because it has been a recent development but I figured it was worth bringing up. During WoE, as she grows her hair, her sideburns resemble little lobster claws. Cute! In LFRT as grown out as it is, I thought making them swirly as a reference to pretty much every cloud/wind effect used in WW lol.

From a combination of outgrowing stuff and missing home, Sailor was christened with Lobster Shirt 2.0 as we know and love today. Who made it for her? I dunnooo..... let's sit and think about this one.

Phewww. This was a long one - and no doubt the next will be longer - but this is all for now! Feel free to send any questions you might have ^.^ Thank you for all the support! Chapter 2 part 2 soon!

[soupiestzilla]

HEH.. HEHEHEHE... HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

Alright alright I'll stop sksks BUT I CAME HERE TO BRING FOOD, EVEN IF IT'S JUST SKETCHES, MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

OKAY FIRST DISH. I like the idea of Vee needing her limbs to have oil/ink/idk what they call it exactly sksks so she always moves without any issue and I like to think that yes Veronica does it but Shelly likes doing it for her, like they sit down somewhere soft like pillows and that and I love to think that Vee feels safe enough to show her most vulnerable parts and Shelly is super careful, even using a cloth so nothing spills and that. She definitely hums as she takes her time with it too and Vee likes listening to it as she sits still sksksk.

One other thing I like to think is that Vee has these soft parts that can attach to her limbs and underneath is all the vulnerable stuff/wires basically. Like.. think of the green part on Vee's body but it's also on her limbs?? And it's soft? A kid has definitely asked for a hug from Vee before sksks and they offer at least some protection from water but not much sksks I still have the reference but imagine they have the same color as Vee's body sksk

(ik ik not the best pictures-)

I also like to think that Shelly cleans Vee with a towel and something so she can always be shiny and not to have dust on her or anything else and y'know how dust is in general for machines, Shelly really likes doing that sksksk

NOW THE SECOND DISH, HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE!!!!

I LOVE to think that Vee can hear better from her microphone tail so she likes pressing it against Shelly's upper chest, where her heart is so she can listen to her heartbeat and soft breathing, it basically calms Vee down cuz she knows it's from Shelly and AJDHAHDHAHS I'm so soft for them help me- also yes Shelly has definitely grabbed the microphone before and has whispered her love to Vee from it BAHAHAHAHA GO GO WIVES!!!

Ik ik I still struggle with anatomy skdksjs but I wanted to do something with toaster Vee (I hope I'm saying it right sksks) Shelly thinks she's absolutely adorable MUAHAHAHAHAHA look at lil Vee trying to move her lil legs as the tail is wagging sksksk

AND LASTLY (For now >:) don't think I'm done with art MUAHAHA-) but I also really adore the idea of Shelly learning how Vee's body works and even helping her with repairs or maintenance or even something that is glitchy and that. Even if my Shelly design, she has kinda sharp nails, she is SOOOOO careful with Vee oml she's such a sweetheart and she even talks while doing that for Vee so Vee wouldn't sit in silence or feel pain silently from a glitch or a wire going wrong in her body, the trust those two have with each other MMMMMMM

I came here to leave food, I can't draw hands, good day y'all, will definitely make more art of those two like I love them so much, they are my favorite (and I also simp for them hard too we got the whole ass package here-), now I will go back to procrastination 🙏🙏

(Also you are such a cool person I hope you know that- ik I rambled so hard but man I'm legit not normal about them BAHAHAHAHA, HAVE A GOOD DAY, I GOT ENOUGH OF YOUR TIME BYE BYE-)

HOLY FUCKIN MOLY

THERE IS SO MUCH TO UNPACK HERE??????

Kicks feET LIKE A LITTLE GIRL

Zilla dies beware

OK

FIRST DISH.

SHELLY MAINTAINING VEE????? LIKE A ?? WHOLE ASS MECHANIC GIRLFRIEND HYBRID???

SpINS AWAY TO SWITZERLAND.

I LOVE THE IDEA BROTHER. LITERALLY MY FAVOURITE FLAVOUR OF SHELLVISION. SHES HUMMING. BEING CAREFUL ON HER OPTIMUS PRIME OF A GF. HHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAGDUWOKD

DISH 1.5??? . WAITER. WAITER COME HERE.

VEE BEING SOFt. THE KIDDIES. THE KIDDIES WILL EAT THIS UP

Oh my word. Oh my goob. Oh my golf. Shes a whole. A whole. A whole microwave. But she becomes floofed up for the kids.

Walks out with suspiciously vee being padded up for the kids headcanon shaped bag

(random but i like how u made an arrow pointing down to draw the rest of her foot. You thoughtful lil bagel lol)(/with love)(platonically)(YOU BAGEL OF PLATONIC LOVE)

(oh shelly. You angel. You angle. You 90° angle. You fucking triangle you. YOU PRECIOUS LITTLE TRAINGLE. YOU TOWELING THE DUST OFF UR GF. YOU. CREIIIIIEWEWWSSSSWPWKEHQJ)

DisH TWO.

SHELLYS HEARTBEAT CALMING VEE DOWN? CONTAIN ME. CONTAIN ME OFFICERS. TAKE ME AWAY. (OH THIS WORLD WILL TAKE ME EARLY)(THIS IS SO SOFT)(BROTHER YOU ACTUALLY BLESSED MY ASKBOX TODAY)(WHAT THE HEl/)

AND SHELLY WHISPERING INTO THE MICCCCXXD dies for realsies i am gONE.

Ok kids cover your ears miss zilla ia about to lose it

Inhales

Hmmm

TTTTOOOOOOOAAAAAAAASSSSSTTTTTTTTTEEEEERRRRRRRRR VVVVEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

YOU DO NOT SUCK AT ANATOMY. TOASTER VEE IS SUBJECTIVE. AND I SUBJECT. YOU. TO??? FIVE. NONO SWVEN. BROTHER I SUBJECT YOU ETERNITY IN THE CORNER. THE PEAK CORNER.

(OH HER LIL LEGS. HER LIL LEGS ARE SWINGING. SHELLYS TAIL. OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHMYYY GOOB.)(people see me and send me shelly holding toaster vee)(this is exactly how i wish to be seen)(sobs like a widowed penguin)(idk)(do penguins even het widowed)

REACHES THROUGH THE SCREEN

YOU'RE TELLING ME. GIRL BASICALLY HAS CLAWS. AND VEE STILL LETS HER GO BOB THE BUILDER ON HER. oh im over. Oh its too late. Beeeeeeeeeeeeppp (me in the hospital)(no hope left for me)(i love it when)(i love when)(when)(this much trust)(im finsihed)(VEE TRUSTS HER SO MUCH)(SHELLY LEARNS HOW TO TAKE CARE OF HER GF)(THIS IS RHE EQUIVALENT OF TAKING CARE OF uR SICK LOVER NO?)(OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH THE EQUIVALENT BUT LIKE WHEN UR GF IS A TV LOL)

WE ALL SUCK AT DRAWING HANDS. HANDS DONT KNOW HOW TO DRAW THEMSELVES. DON'T WORRY.

YOURE COOL TOO. I LOVE YOUR ART BRO. I LOVE THESE HEADCANONS. PLS DONT BE SHY IF U EVER COOK LIKE THIS AGAIN. DESTROY MY INBOX LMAO. I LOVE THIS. THANK YOU

Dies

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things-Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Two: Daffodils - New Beginnings

Summary: Andrew comes back to pay you, but not before spending some much-needed time at his day job.

Word count: 2439

Author's note: thank you all so much for the positivity the first chapter!!! i cannot wait to keep working on this fic, you guys make it all worth it. i'm really fond of this chapter so hopefully you all enjoy :)

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

Andrew did not take two days to come back. He took one day.

He chalked it up to him feeling guilty. What you did for him was a very unnecessary act of kindness. What was he supposed to do? Take his time? Absolutely not.

Admittedly, a small part of it was also that he wanted to see your face again. Not that it mattered, but he wondered what the smile on your face would look like when he told you his mother loved the flowers, and that she immediately put them in her nicest vase and in direct sunlight, wanting to maintain them for as long as possible. He wanted to know more about flower language, something he had done a Google search for when he arrived at home, but he had faith you knew much more than what the internet could tell him. And most importantly, it seemed very one-sided that you had his number and he didn't have yours.

Again, not that it mattered.

It was also an issue of convenience. Andrew tried to plan out his day on the commute to work, and luckily you fit right into his schedule. Your shop was only a few minutes away from where he worked. He could walk over to you during his lunch break, pay you back, and still grab a bite to eat. If he was willing to skip lunch, he could even try to talk to you for a little bit.

Anyway, he was getting sidetracked. He had a lot to do today; he should have much more important things on his mind. This is what he thought about as he pulled into the parking lot. He only had three clients, but he could already tell one of them would be a tall order. Thankfully, that was his first appointment, so he could get that over with. Then, hopefully, he’d repay you, maybe chat, and get back to work.

Right. Work. Love wouldn’t exactly describe his feelings towards his job. Appreciation, definitely. He was grateful that he wasn’t stuck behind an office desk and had a job that could actually let him express his creativity. However, the amount of effort and concentration he had to put into his job on a daily basis was something he dreaded and others (especially his customers) overlooked. He couldn’t truly complain. It was worth it for the end result, and for the happiness on the customer’s face.

Enjoyment probably described his feelings best. Andrew enjoyed being a tattoo artist. A fitting thought to have right as he entered the shop.

He greeted his coworkers with a wave and a polite smile, as always (though seeing his best friend Alex at their shared workplace constituted a high-five instead). Attempting to start working as soon as he could, he scrolled through the photos on his phone and pulled up the sketch of what he'd be inking today: two deer lying down side by side, decomposing. Sure, drawing a decaying animal on someone else’s body wasn’t how most people would choose to start their day. It was an unorthodox choice, but he understood the appeal. It was poetic, in a gruesome way, the concept of never being able to be pulled away from the one you love, not even in death. Decomposing, but still being joyous because at least your partner was still by your side. A lyric without a melody came to him.

After the insects have made their claim, I’d be home with you.

Andrew let out a deep sigh. This would happen to him sometimes; the simple act of anything from sketching a design to reading his favorite book caused couplets to sprout in his head. It gave him this guilt, like he was cheating on his career and songwriting was the other woman, but people are allowed to be multifaceted. Besides, his ability to write songs never did evolve into something substantial. If anything, it was a hobby. Just another creative outlet — and Andrew was always itching to create.

His customer walked in a few minutes afterwards, and he got ready to get to work. He had met her before: a thin, freckled young woman with a wide smile and one small tattoo on her shoulder. They exchanged pleasantries, confirmed that she approved of the design, and made small talk as he printed the stencil. He cleansed his workspace and let his client get as comfortable as possible before he began.

He took his time inking the design, meticulously needling each detail he'd crafted. The shading, the fungi surrounding the deer, the exposed, rotting ribcage. What he was most proud of was the subtle looks on the animals’ faces, purposefully made to be filled with both solemnness of their passing, but overall content. Calmness, even. The lyric he had created before played over and over in his head, despite his multiple attempts to push it away.

By the time he’d finished up, his hand was cramping so hard he was concerned it might fall off, a pain familiar to him but one that he never fully got accustomed to. All that aching for something he wasn't even done with; he’d need to have another session to fully finish the job.

Gloves were removed, payments were accepted, and follow-up sessions were scheduled. He took a photo of his work in progress, with the consent of his client. Other artists did this often, but Andrew wasn't one for so much commemoration of his art. He felt too much of an attachment to this specific work, however, and felt he'd be letting himself down if he didn't get to at least have it in his phone. He waved the client (and his artwork) goodbye. Alex walked by, drinking a coffee that had undoubtedly gone cold. He raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking Andrew what he was doing.

“I’m going on a walk. I have to go back to the florist.”

“Weren't you literally there yesterday for your mum?”

“It's to pay them back. I… technically never paid for the bouquet,” Andrew explained as he shrugged on his jacket.

“Oh, so you stole those flowers? Have fun doing tattoos in prison!”

“I didn't steal them, the woman working there said I could take them as long as I paid her back in two days.” He stuck his hands in his pockets to make sure he had his wallet this time. A perplexed look came across Alex’s face.

“What kind of shady florist are you going to?”

“She's the furthest thing from shady. It was very bright in there, actually. And welcoming.”

“I’m sure it was. Very welcoming, indeed,” Alex commented before taking a sip from his cup.

“What are you insinuating here?”

“That you already fancy this florist woman.”

“You do know it's possible for me to have a platonic conversation with the opposite gender, right?”

“You're too much of a hopeless romantic for me to believe that's what's going on here.”

As usual, Andrew’s best friend could see right through him. He ignored Alex’s theories, becoming more annoyed than impressed.

“And with that, I’m going.”

“Bye. Have fun with your yearning,” Alex joked with a wave.

He said goodbye and stepped outside. To his surprise, he was greeted by a light drizzle, which he didn't mind. It freshened him up, something he didn't know he needed until the cool droplets hit his face. He only hoped it wouldn't worsen, as with his light jacket he would be dreadfully unprepared.

It had been a relatively slow day. Unlike yesterday, no one else forgot their wallet and needed a favor. No one else actually bothered with what you had to say about the messages of the bouquets. And unlike yesterday, no customers caught your eye. For most of your day, you were zoned out, lost in your own world when you didn't have a customer. When you were more aware of your surroundings, you found yourself always checking the doorway, subconsciously waiting for a certain someone’s arrival. Still, you were living most of your day in a daze. You didn't even notice it was pouring outside until Andrew walked in, absolutely drenched. It took you a moment to fully absorb his frazzled state; not only was he soaked, he was out of breath.

“Hello. I didn't expect you to be back so soon,” you admitted. In fact, part of you didn't expect him to return at all.

“I like,” he said, panting after every other word, “to keep my promises.”

“Are you… Did you run here?”

“I started off walking, but then it began to downpour so I tried to hurry up. Weather is a fickle thing, huh?”

“I could lend you my umbrella, if you want. For the walk back.”

“You’ve done enough for me already. I couldn't take your protection from the rain as well. I’ll just constantly try to stay under awnings.”

You chuckled at his comment. He took a few deep breaths to regain his composure before walking towards you.

“You’ll be happy to know my mum adores the bouquet. She liked the look of it first, but then after I explained your flower language, her face lit up. She put it in a vase and it's now on display on her windowsill.”

“That's great to hear,” you responded as a grin spread across your face. It always brightened your day to hear positive feedback from the people who actually received the arrangements you worked so hard on. It also satisfied you that Andrew was beaming the entire time, fueled by the joy you inspired in his mother.

“She's now expecting flowers for almost every occasion, so I hope you're open on holidays.”

“Oh, we're open year-round. Except for Valentine’s Day, when we close out of fear that boyfriends that need to seem romantic will form a stampede and storm through the place,” you joked.

“Good to know that you value the safety of your employees,” he said, continuing the discussion with a similar sarcastic tone.

“Employees? God no, it's for the safety of the flowers. I can always hire someone else year-round. I only get my lily-of-the-valley shipments the last week of January. Those things are expensive. I can't have a last-minute hoard of men trying to seem thoughtful destroying them.”

“I’ve got a cousin that's a chocolatier and she has a very similar policy.”

“What can I say? I take very serious precautions to protect my art.”

You couldn't keep a serious face for too long; after a pause, you cracked a smile and a small giggle escaped you. Andrew took this as an opportunity to change the subject, because as much as he could've stood there talking to you for the rest of the day, you both had jobs to get back to.

“I’ll stop talking your ear off. I came here for an actual reason. Let me pay you back,” he said.He took out his wallet and counted out a few dollars before placing them on the counter.

“Here. That's what I owe you.” He pulled out another banknote and held it out towards you. “And here's an extra fifty. To thank you for your kindness.”

Your eyebrows raised at his gesture, which you instantly declined, giving this extra money back to him.

“Goodness, um… thank you, but I can't accept this.”

“Sure you can. It’s my attempt at repaying you. Think of it as a tip.”

“I did it out of the goodness of my heart. I don't expect anything in return, I’m just happy I could bring a smile to your face. And to your mum’s.”

“Let me do something for you too, then. You deserve to have a smile on your face as well.”

You let out a sigh, but made no effort to counter his proposal. He paused for a moment, premeditating what he was going to say. He spoke again.

“You really helped me out, and I want to be able to do something for you. Let me buy you a coffee someday. Or a tea. Or even a croissant if you’re hungry,” he offered, his tone bordering on pleading.

There was a question on the tip of your tongue, one you were too nervous to say out loud, but couldn't help but wonder.

Are you asking me out on a date?

You kept quiet. He was just trying to be nice; there was no romantic intent. At least, that's what you told yourself. Your answer was the same as it would be if that was his intention.

“Alright. When and where?”

“There's a cafe about ten minutes from here. Want to meet there on Friday at 9 in the morning?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great! Great. I’ll… I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.”

You both stood there, frozen for a few seconds, neither of you knowing what to do. Andrew broke away first. He took a step back and walked away, glancing over his shoulder to wave goodbye before reaching for the door handle. You waved in return, a small smile breaching your lips. The minute he left, you started to count down the hours until Friday.

There was this principle in psychology that had stuck with Andrew ever since he learned of it: the more you think about something, the more likely you are to notice it in your day-to-day life. He was especially feeling this principle today because ever since he met you, he saw flowers everywhere. It was as if the cosmos had decided that he couldn't forget about you, even if he wanted to.

There were flowers on every table of the restaurant he met his mother at. When he went back to his flat that day, he noticed his landlord placed pots of marigolds on the front step of the building. They even followed him to his place of work; his next client of the day wanted line art of a daffodil on her forearm.

She had told him her reasoning was the meaning of the flower—daffodils mean new beginnings. He wondered if you could corroborate that meaning with what you knew of flower language. If this woman knew how absolutely overrun with flora the past twenty-four hours had been for him. Was she sent by the universe to tell him that what was starting with you was just blossoming? Or was she just a twenty-something that wanted a tattoo she saw on Pinterest? Andrew was okay with either option; he was a grown man, aware that not everything in life was because of fate. He was just excited that he got to start something new with you, no matter how it ended.

[thepenandthepistol]

Empty Page (Pearl x reader)

When hit with a creative block, you spend some time on the Hermitcraft server, Pearl's base being your last stop. An evening spent in her newly constructed ballroom changes your perspective, for better or for worse.

A/N: This was really fun to write, at first, it was going to be just some fluff but I can't help myself and I made it a bit sad- The next piece after this will probably be a bit longer, so here's something shorter and sweeter to keep us going in the meantime. Inspired by Empty Page from the Crane Wives. (1261 words)

Art by @/applestruda and dividers by @/cafekitsune

Summer has taken over the fields. Flapping in the wind, mills and turbines drone constantly into midday, as smaller, trilling bots harvest the countless crop circles dotted around a giant factory. Despite the sun’s place high atop the cloudless sky, your shadow casts long upon the walls of the workshop. With your easel in front of you, beside the vibrant green and blue of the land below, you are now more than ever terrified at the sight of the pure white canvas. 

You’re a tourist, not a hermit, staying briefly to gather ideas for your work. Beautiful paintings lined your halls back home, scenery and portraits, all ten cent copies of better works. This excursion of yours is the longest you’ve been away from the house. Still, the fresh air that would usually jump start your creative muscles has done little to help get you out of your rut. 

In your bag, you rifle through your sketch book. Assorted scenes line the pages, Gem’s antenna, Skizz’s pyramid, other smaller locations. None of them are interesting. Experimenting with composition has led to nowhere, which is how you know things have gotten dire. 

After years of creating and creating, maybe you’ve just run out. Used up all your best ideas, some of them in the stupidest ways, and now you’re dry. The postcard you’d sketched when first arriving calls to you from out the other belongings. A nice sunset, easy. It looks decent, but something’s missing. This isn’t as good as it could be. It’s not yours.

“Hows the painting coming along?” Pearl pops out of her workroom and you almost send your bag rolling downhill.

“Uh, not smoothly?” You say, grimacing from the slight shame. You’ve been up here since dawn with nothing to show for it except a wad of folded paper in your pocket. “Here, thanks for letting me stay with you. I wanted to make you something better, but in the meantime, I hope this’ll suffice.”

She takes the sheet from you with a curious grin and gawks when she sees the charcoal image: her dogs in a variety of poses, one jumping at the camera, another snoozing under a tree, the others doing much of the same. 

“This looks incredible.“ She points to one of the hounds, salivating on a piece of beef. “You got his face just right!” She grins and stares a little longer at the page, carefully folding it back up.

“It’s no use being a perfectionist.” She offers tentatively as you snicker and bring your knees to your chest.

“That’s rich coming from you.” You snort softly. “It’s not the issue, though.” The muscles around your throat close as you speak through gritted teeth.

“It’s alright if the juices aren’t flowing.” She wiggles her fingers at the word. “You’ll get them working, eventually.” 

“You don’t get it Pearl. I’ve been at this for weeks now! It’s not a matter of inspiration or whatever.” You ball your fists into the grass with a sharp sigh.

“It’s like every brushstroke is a part of someone else’s vision. I can paint sure, but I can’t make the important stuff, the stuff that makes my art mine.” A second passes. You consider brushing her off, making a joke and pretending you aren’t as affected as you are.

You quietly yelp as Pearl pulls you into her soft embrace, a hand on your back and another in your hair. “You will eventually. Until then, there’s not much to do but try again.”

Her marred alabaster skin feels like a fever against your own, as if the sunburn scars dotting her shoulders could return the heat that caused them.

“If you weren’t hugging me right now, I would’ve called you a callous ass.”

“Hey!” She squeezes you and even in the face of that barren canvas, you laugh along with her. 

The rest of the week goes by and once or twice you feel that maybe your spark will return, but it never does. Pearl is a constant, keeping you silent company as she works on a building just out of sight. It’s a massive construct of arches and polished stone, bricks placed one by one making up the roof. 

On your last day, you ditch the oil paints, leaving the tubes scattered at your bedside, to watch the sunset. That scorching ball of light fades into the horizon as Pearl hops down from her project, finally finished, to watch it beside you.

“It looks really good, Pearl. The arches are so detailed.” You crane your head to look at the building, trying to see through the stained glass inside. Pearl grins beside you and turns to lean against the rock dividing the terrain into terraces. 

“It’s gonna be a ballroom.” She states, crossing her arms and puffing her chest. Her eyes narrow, as if she can see the future through them, all the things that could be.

“I’m a bit sad I won’t be around to see it.” Your departure has been a topic avoided even in the days leading up to this one. Your things are packed, all that’s left is the mess of paints and pallets. 

“You can take a look at it now! Come on, I want to show you something.” She grabs your hand, dashing up the steps two at a time. Her hat almost falls as she looks back to the darkening orange sky. 

“You really outdid yourself.” Your voice echos as you take a hesitant step inside, guided tenderly by Pearl. Her hand is calloused from hauling materials and spending all her time building. They’re kind not in spite of the roughness. 

There’s something about her. Even now, her steps are passionate as she brings you to the center of that empty room. Her back and shoulders are sculpted, with skin that has seen days of work spilling slightly over an inky undershirt. 

“Here, let’s give you one happy memory before you go.” She untangles your hands, letting one fall to your waist and the other sit comfortably on your shoulder. A figure bolts just out of sight, high up in the rafters, and music pours from a jukebox. You can’t help but chuckle in disbelief. 

“You’ve given me tons of good memories.” Trying to ignore the outline of her fingertips on you, they readjust their grip as she takes the first steps of a waltz. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know, but you didn’t get what you came here for. Pretty disappointing trip, if you ask me.” She moves slowly, looking to you as your footing mirrors hers.

“I think I need to find what sets me apart.” Your grip on Pearl’s own waist firms, taking a silent breath and moving along to the music at its normal pace.

“You’ve helped with that.” The words come out of your mouth in a whisper as the music crescendos and with a palm to her back, you dip her. Dangerously close to the floor, but still safe in your hold. “So no, not disappointing at all.”

Her earnings reflect the fading crimson of the sky outside, peaking through the windows and casting your joint shadow on the wooden floor. Her hand reaches back towards your hair, fingers finding their perch on the nape of your neck, thumb ghosting the curve beside your lip.

“Come back whenever you like. I’ll be here.” Her brows knit as you pull her back up, keeping her close.

“I will, I promise. When I do, I’ll paint you and it’ll be the best thing I’ve ever made.”

[drunken-ender-art]

Good Huntress Luz

As an energetic, peppy but rather socially awkward child often in her own world full of witches and adventure, Luz was unsure where to go next after a rather unfullfilling and uneventfull highschool... in the end, attracted by its diversified program, from more othodox subjects like history and biology, to classes on occultism and astrology; and by the location itself: Salem, Massachussets, away enough from Connecticut for a change of air but not too much far to remain close to family, she signed up for the Byrgenwerth University.

She was surprise to discovered that two of the most esteemed students, two brothers, originated from her own hometown.

It was during a challenge with other students that she discovered a decrepit crypt beneath the mansion of the campus; a tomb designed to hide a flask full of a strange, dense liquid... it was another challenge that made her drink the entire thing... and thus, the nightmare begin.

"Dang kid... I saw folk going crazy over some blood but this is absurd..."

Now transported into another world and infected with the wretched blood, her only salvation is also her wildest dream come truth: an infusion of Titan Blood and a spark of magic.

Under the wing of a mysterious old magic Huntresses living in a ghostly house, she's harmed and ready to get herself more Titan Blood and finally become the witch she always dreamed of... what's the problem if she'll have to hunt, kill and drain a bunch of monstrous creatures to do so? She has issues to work through after all.

"Look kiddo, you can't learn magic, you either have it in your blood or not... lucky you, we go crazy for infusions 'round here!"

The weapons of an Huntress.

The traditional way to hunt Beasts is with a combination of cold steel and firearm, in this case: a meter long serrated bat equipped with a mechanism that release the teeth turning it into a giant serrated whip, accompanied by a shotgun loaded with quicksilver.

All made by the Clawthorne Workshop, a once famous and higly sought after workshop that is said to be around since the Scourge of Beasts ever began and set off the standard for beasts' hunting all over the Boiling Isles.

The Workshop is now in ruin and abandoned... something Luz doesn't fully understand since she lives there and it's still operational, even if run by a single individual... it's also fair to say that her own mind often seems to not work right since arriving on the Isles, especially in the few occasions where she sleep.

"Dreams? Oh sure kiddo... you could say I'm 'livin the dream' right now..."

Soft rework/repost of my first Owlborne post, now with added text, a new sketch and improved framing to help it blend in with the Amity and Belos' post.

Mostly about Luz's specific journey with a soft lore for how Eda and the Owl House itself fits in with the world.

[crow-cello]

Happy May 1st! Art has been sporadic, so I feel I need to finally expose some of those overdue concepts now that I'm focusing on another fandom at the moment. I'm not called the fandom hopper for nothing, but I enjoy each series for the duration of months before I need to stretch my mind with the next one. I always come back to the fandoms I like, eventually! There is always a time for everything, but only when the time is right.

To my Hazbin Hotel friends, I especially owe a lot of unposted wips. Now that Hellaverse is confirmed canon, I can happily say I kept the mindset of Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel characters coexisting together in the same universe. My many roleplays I have with @dashi-inu pretty much inspired a lot of these works. Some are also own personal projects. These wips span back to December 2024, to March 2025, and while they may not be finished anytime soon, these are concepts I think about a lot.

Hazbin Character Refs

Character Spotlights

Fusions

Art Wips (Michael/Lute, Alastor/Lucifer, and Adam/Lucifer) Also Solo Abel, and a Solo Lute

With that said, enjoy my thoughts in the form of sketches! Foreword: There will be casual nudity, and smut stuff.

Hazbin Character Refs

Dashi was making character refs for the characters we used the most in our Hellaverse universe and was working on one for Baxter. And my god, if you know, he always goes so hard on the lore and style of these. I was inspired to do the same.

Lute is one of my favorite characters, and someone that I did not expect to have more development for during the time I was working on a lot of Adam projects and works. Then again, these two go hand-to-hand in the Heaven Lore. And yet, Lute became so much more, that she turned out to be the baby girl of my fixations (thanks to dashi's vers. of Michael of course. <3)

Here is her full body. Yes, it looks almost complete, but I could never get her main outfit to work the way I really envision it and was too fixated on her "Descent to Hell" version more, so it became a delayed post.

Cain was also supposed to have his own fullbody. After making the realization I will have to do for Abel and Seth, I figured that would take a while.

Character Spotlights

There is a series that I love that does special focused comics for each of its characters *coughs thank you transformers* and I wanted to replicate that idea for every character of Hazbin and Helluva Boss, as most don't have current backstories, and some I had been able to imagine just a little more differently. I was particularly piqued to do for Vox and his assistant and Baxter, Velvette and Melissa, Valentino, Angel Dust, and Travis, and of course, one for Adam who would have been Issue #1 being first man and all.

The only page sample I managed out of that ambitious project. 12 pages, back-to-back if that ever becomes printed editions. You can imagine how that would take a while as well for each character!

Fusions

While the show is still ongoing, Dashi and I felt there could have been more characters. But even more selfishly, the concept of fusions had always intrigued me: To be able to explore the bond of two individuals in order to create a celestial being. Or to forcefully bond and create a monster of a force. Fusions can be a wonderful dance, or a tango lead by just one.

This was also a less pressuring way of making "love children" with my favorite ships, without slapping a fan child to them just like that. In Dashi's Michael case: his Michael has made a vow of abstinence, and Lute was more than happy to oblige with his terms!

Lute x Michael Fusion:

Modest Michael, Strong fighter Lute. She carries herself with a cunning grace, yet elegant in a dark heavenly way. Michael's comfort in letting Lute lead this fusion graces their bond together with a strong fallen angel of justice. "She's like a cat in the dark and then she is the darkness 🐈‍⬛ 🐦‍⬛"

Adam and Lute fusion would be the byproduct of a forced bond, and one that overrides Lute's confort. This is what predicts the fusion's visual identity, and the headmaster of the dance. Unstable, but one of the stronger fusions.

A rock hottie powerhouse, he has the best fighters of Heaven under his belt. His showman ways are even louder than ever, even going as far to showcase both his bits (against Lute's wants of course, Adam finds humor in showcasing the beauty of her with his confidence.) Perhaps this way, Adam can finally get the numbers of the ladies with a lady's expertise in the host body...

Art Wips

This one is self-explanatory. Fan pieces that I did not get to finish for Michael/Lute, Alastor/Lucifer, and Adam/Lucifer. (And Lute by herself, too!)

I'm sorry the Alastor/Lucifer ones have to be heavily cropped lol!

Adam/Lucifer, for a zine I had to drop out of unfortunately due to time limitations :'> But also, an Adam and Abel for an au just for indulgence.

Thank you if you made it this far! Let me know if there is a concept or art that piqued your interest, too!

[sir-kettle-of-countertop]

For the character ask: 13, 16 and 20 for Einstein please?~ 👀✨

Thank you for the ask very much, Sosa!! WALL OF TEXT INCOMING

13. Do you have a voice claim for the character? What do you imagine the character sounds like?

Hmm so I have never made any voice claims for any characters - and I'd prolly tear myself apart trying to pick one, I'm indecisive as hell :v however to try to describe how I pictured his (and general Geier) voice:

I imagined it as being a quiet (although Stein allows himself to be a bit bolder than other Geiers) but pleasant and soft baritone, a bit deeper than Adler's voice. Tends to speak quickly and goes completely silent easily if anxious. Also, he speaks with a slight accent - same as Elster, his Gestalt was Vinetan-born.

Geiers surprise unprepared Gestalts very often with how they sound: they look way more clearly robotic than other Replikas, tower over most Gestalts with their height, and look fairly intimidating when fully kitted out with their heavy chestplate and beak-like gasmask (well, at least I intended it to be intimidating) - all give a threatening impression... but then they open their mouths and the illusion shatters :D It can even cause some issues with, for example, enforcing quarantine, especially with how polite and timid Geiers are, so they either need Protektors on their side for help... or start manhandling people. They're strong enough to be able to lift and carry any Gestalt without issue :v

16. Is there any memes or running jokes associated with the character, both in- and out of universe?

Out of universe: not beating the wet cat allegations :D I also still internally giggle about the "that sadness in his eyes that you can only see in Eastern European gay porn"

Thanks to you Sosa I now also associate "haha Einstein you're banging our admin- WAIT WHAT THE FUCK" and "Jessica. DID YOU SLEEP WITH YOUR GODDAMN TEACHER!?" with him :D

In-universe: also thanks to you, I'm canonising Einstein as his other nickname :D. He actually picked his name from Friedrich von Stein - a German zoologist and botanist, and whose abbreviation - F. Stein - he first saw while working with toxic plankton. I can totally imagine somebody like Lyuda - sarcastically, in case he gets distracted yet again and makes a particularly dumb mistake while working in the lab with her - calling him "Einstein" and it just sticking with him :v

A more, *ahem*, frisky one that haunts Kurt specifically from a context that I prolly won't ever fully share publicly but from which this specific sketch is from (and which the sketch right below preceeds)

- after Kurt shushed Stein by pressing his thumb on his lips, as a tease, Stein just went. Y'kno what. I see an opportunity. And lightly bit on it.

Kurt, DEEPLY flustered and trying not to show it, jokingly asked "What, do you take anything that comes near your face into your mouth?"

To which he in the heat of the moment responded with "And what if I said yes?"

Bam. One hit KO. Now it was Kurt's turn to short-circuit. You can probably figure out what the running joke is :D

I can't live without freak I'm sorry, there's not a single pure thought in my metallic head

20. Bonus question: share any additional thoughts, art, favourite scenes, anything you've been waiting for a chance to ramble about

*heavy breathing* oughhh I already rambled so much... but FUCK I have to mention Stein's persona degradation a bit more - specifically in regards to his Gestalt memories.

Stein, initially, found quite a lot of comfort from abstract memories of his past life - specifically because his pattern donor, Emil Ning, lived before Vineta was nuked and totally flooded. Emil lived in the countryside and Stein found a sort of second-hand happiness from vaguely remembering walking in the lush fields, observing birds and being warmly greeted by "his" family after work. During rougher times that was really the only thing that made him happy - daydreaming about the life he never lived.

Then as he remembered more and memories started to feel more and more real - and that comfort suddenly turned to distress.

Arms, which "used to be" normal, soft, have turned way, way too long, too inflexible, disgustingly artificial. Phantom pain and disconnect from "how they should be". Feeling of dewy grass against the bare feet he doesn't have. Soft wind's breeze and sun's warmth against skin not feeling the same, now replaced by tough shell.

The past life, which used to be an escape, now became a new source of despair, aggravated further by wanting to be taken seriously, to be a zoologist - a collegue to Gestalts and not just an assistant machine. Him taking an exceptionally lucky opportunity to get to know Kurt - and through him more people - is pretty much what kept him from completely breaking down. His past hurts too much to think about, and future, with its looming threat of decommissioning, is too scary to ponder, but his new friends and lover made his life actually bearable. He's "stuck" at the present moment.

Well and after T-02 got affected by a mysterious and deadly disease, as well as the time itself appearing to go insane, Stein unwillingly started to recall more and more and more from Emil, getting the full context of his existence...

and coming to absolutely loathe him.

[dreamsy990]

revised my penelope design! gonna yap about the process because i did a lot with this. you dont have to read what im talking about if you just wanna see the art i will not be offended dvbvgfvg anyways putting this under a read more to be nice

so here was a sketch of my old pen design for reference. she was super simple and mostly done as a placeholder. i still like this design a bit but my biggest issue with it was that over time i ended up drawing odysseus pre-calypso with those exact bangs??? and i wanted them to look different. and ive gotten very comfortable drawing odysseus like that and i needed to redo penelope anyways to make her design more interesting so! i figured id change her. so first thing i did with her was change her hair!

doing a different thing with my design process here where i actually uh. used references. very new process for me,,,,, i normally just kinda fuck about and find out. anyways i wanted to keep her bun but i wanted to make it look different enough so i pulled up a TON of references off pinterest that i liked and wanted to mess around with.

and these are the three sketches i made based on these references! ended up mostly going with the first one (the bangs are inspired by 2 of the images in the bottom right of my reference page). i thought of complicating it but i think something simple honestly works for her! pen doesnt really give me the vibe of someone who cares all that much about doing something intricate with her hair. idk. so shes relatively simple. i shortened her bangs and called it a day! anyways and then i had to face the horrors: clothes

greek clothing is SCARY it was really hard for me to find good references originally. i started with looking at stuff from hercules since it seemed easy enough? so i grabbed a couple references of women in the movie and then asked my father to name women from the show for me to look at. i barely ended up looking at them though. i figured some live action movies might be good so i grabbed two pictures of helen in troy and a circe and pen from the odyssey (THERES ALMOST NO GOOD SHOTS OF PEN IN THE ODYSSEY MOVIE OH MY GOD). havent seen the odyssey but i hear its good? idk it looks funny as hell to me. troy was pretty bad though. anyways. i grabbed a couple drawings of gigi and wolfys penelope designs too. and then i forced myself to look into greek clothing. sighhh. so i grabbed a couple more historically accurate refs. these were actually helpful.

with that stuff in mind i threw out these three penelope concepts. i liked the color palette i had for her being mostly blue and gold, and black and white are basically free colors for me. she has an earring here i just forgot to color them thats in the final art though. anyways. i added a little pattern on whatever was blue on here to match with telemachus (thats also in the final image lol). otherwise i sort of just messed around with things i like. i sent these in the epic discord to get outsider opinions and teh general consensus (which i agree with) was that 2 was the best design, but 1 had really nice sleeves. so then i threw out a final draft.

heres my final penny! im not entirely sure this is the best i could do with her but im happy with this as her design for right now. itll probably change organically over time as most of my designs do, but im happy with this overhaul for now.

as a bonus for sticking around so long, heres a silly redraw of a sketch by my lovely mutual @asha-dasha and also a miserable little tele for when i got distracted working on this

[transformersconfessions]

This might get long. I wanna address some... things I've read in these blogposts. 1. Issues surrounding IDW: - IDW was changed, cancelled and otherwise interfered with a LOT by Hasbro. Not to mention that most of the writers did not seem to work together much for the overall story/plot. A lot of peoples' gripes with the comics come from this and I would like if fans stopped blaming the writers for all of the mistakes when it mostly came from up above. Especially JRO's writing for Lost Light, considering how rushed he was with it. - Please understand that these comics ran from 2005 to 2018 and, as such, were deeply influenced by the political landscape that existed after 9/11. A lot of it has aged poorly, but it's still important to understand the history. - Chromia/Windblade was intended by the author to be portrayed as siblings. Mairghread Scott, the author, modeled their relationship after her own with her sister. That's not to say you can't ship them, but be aware that they're not meant to be subtext or canon. 2. Issues surrounding Skybound: - The first 24 issues have been written by Daniel Warren Johnson, who also does the majority of the art (along with other artists), but he is leaving Skybound after this. The story is also, clearly, in its very first arc and as such most of the criticism regarding how bad or good a character's portrayal is comes off as very illiterate. You can't really judge a story as a whole until it has finished. You can judge individual scenes, but you must realise that anything can happen in the future and all your complaints could, potentially, be alleviated. There's no point in judging an unfinished work. Imagine if an artist got criticized for their sketch as if the sketch was the finished product, when they are going to finish the product at a later time. 3. Issues surrounding Earthspark: - Most of the complaints I see from Earthspark are from dudebro fans, who probably do not frequent this blog or the tumblr fandom space much. I don't think we have to worry much about their opinions on this website. It is, unfortunate, that this show has been scrutinized so harshly, because it does seem like one of the shows specifically targeting younger audiences. It is also important to be able to discern what audiences the different continuities target. Bayverse movies have the most amount of sexual references in them and while the writing is abyssmal, the movies seem to be targeted towards casual fans/the average movie-goer between the ages of 13 to adulthood. Rescue Bots is obviously meant for the very youngest. Earthspark is likely meant for pre-teens. Prime seemed, to me, to both try to appeal to younger audiences AND older fans - which in my opinion was a disservice to the show. Animated was meant for younger audiences and teenagers. Skybound seems to be made for the older audience. IDW seemed to be for older audience as well. And so on. I can't think of every continuity right now, lol. The media being meant for a specific demographic doesn't mean people outside of said demographics can't enjoy them, but it's important to be able to realise that certain approaches to the show are going to be specified for these demographics and will likely miss other demographic's tastes.

Anyway, sorry for the long-ass lecture. I am not trying to make anyone feel bad, but I think it's in everyone's best interest to learn how media is made rather than simply consume media as if its made in isolated ways, unaffected by the people owning the rights, the people making it, the audiences its being targeted for, and so on.

*