#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.

[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.”

[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

[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.

[maimingaffairs]

Hi, I just stumbled upon your blog and immediately fell in love with your writing (that darkling fic), so I don't know if you write for Nikolai, but I think that man is a man written by Taylor Swift, so if you could, could you write a fic based on a song “I think he knows” like maybe they're friends but Nikolai has a crush on her and Nikolai is always smug about it and shamelessly flirts with her because he loves getting her all flustered but she just shrugs him off because she believes that Nikolai is always flirty with everyone but Nikolai proved her wrong and just continued on flirting with her until one day she confessed that she also has a crush on him? I don't know if that made sense.

this is my first time writing for Nikolai, admittedly, so I apologise if it isn't the most magical thing you've ever read. I did try though! but ill stand by when I said the entire grishverse was ghostwritten by Taylor swift. there is no questions. PERIOD. btw I love u, anon <333

warnings: none

word count: 2k

I Want You, Bless my Soul

(nikolai lantsov x fem!reader)

-

“One of these days I am going to charm you into a kiss, and then you won’t be able to resist me.”

You scoffed and looked up at your best friend while he stood over the desk you sat at, sketching a bit in your notebook, “A kiss? I bet you offer kisses to all the girls you know.” You countered and glanced back down at your work. 

Nikolai simply shrugged and sat down on the other side of his desk and he crossed his arms over his chest, “Well, there aren’t many girls around here to talk to.” He argued back playfully and reached across the desk to give your nose a little tap. 

“You’re insufferable!” You gasped playfully and then you shook your head, “you should be ashamed, making all the girls around you feel so pretty and special.”

“Does that mean I make you feel pretty and special?” He asked excitedly and you simply shook your head. 

“No, because I know better, Lantsov.”

“Ah. Well. One of these days. You’ll see.” He promised and you rolled your eyes in return. 

-

You stood up on the deck of Nikolai’s ship and drummed your fingers against the hard wood rails while you watched some of the Grisha on the ship work to keep it sailing smoothly. You’d been friends with the blonde prince as long as you could remember, and when he skipped off to do his own business and sail, he’d eagerly invited you to join him. 

Meaning, you were the only person aboard the ship to know he was the Lantsov prince, a secret of which you kept at the utmost importance. You loved the boy with all of your heart- a little bit too deeply- in fact, you were one hundred percent sure that you were in love with your best friend. But the only issue was, he was a natural flirt. It seemed like every girl he spoke to, every time he opened his mouth, every word he said, had someone swooning or falling to their knees. You had accepted a long time ago that you had no shot with the prince and you had made your peace with it. 

That didn’t make it any easier when he came around just to bother you, though. 

Like right now. 

You sat down on a little bench on the deck of the ship and peered out at the water around you, and Nikolai mirthfully approached you and reached out to hand you something. You looked down into his strong hand and saw a little pearl resting in the palm of his hand.

“Look. I found it in one of the oysters we caught.” He said proudly and you gently took the shimmering pearl out of his hand and held it up to the light.

“It’s pretty. What are you gonna do with it?” You asked and placed it back in his hand. 

“Well, I was going to give it to you. Because it’s so lovely, it just reminded me of you. Plus, it sparkles like your eyes or something like that. Was that a romantic enough thing to say?” He asked and winked down at you. 

You scoffed, as you often did in his presence, and took the pearl from him again, “Oh, please. It was just about as cheesy as it gets, you brat.” You replied and he hummed. 

“Well then why are you blushing?” He asked and pointed down at you, wiggling his finger near your face. 

You gaped up at him and you brought your hand up to your face to feel your cheeks which were indeed, quite warm and you scowled at him, “I am not blushing!” You protested, which caught the attention of Tamar nearby. 

She glanced in your direction and then up at the blonde boy in front of you and she grinned, “Oh yeah. You’re blushing. Hard.” She commented and Nikolai pumped his fist in victory. You stood up from the bench and tucked the pearl away in your pocket before you shook your head and stomped off below deck. 

-

The next time the Prince flustered you had to be in front of the Sun Summoner herself, and you couldn’t remember a time where you’d been more lost for words. You stood in his office while he went over some maps with Alina and her friend Mal, who stood awkwardly to the side. You took a guess and figured he did that a lot. Standing off to the side. You were perched on the corner of Nikolai’s desk and you tapped a spot on the map. 

“We gotta be careful here. Big rocks, remember?” You pointed out and he wasted no time in making you a mess. 

He reached down and grabbed your hand off of the map and raised it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles politely, “Ah yes. Big rocks. Not much bigger than the one I’ll put on your finger one day, though.” 

You stared up at him and your jaw almost dropped. He still held your hand in his and you wanted to yank it away and go hide, but half of you wouldn’t allow you to even budge. You let out a breathy, nervous laugh and you shook your head, “Time and place.” You mumbled under your breath and looked away from him but he simply tightened his grip on your hand and grinned. 

“We’d make beautiful children too, Alina, don’t you think? Her bone structure and her eyes and my hair and smile?”

The Sun Saint stood there and let out an awkward laugh before she looked to Mal and he cleared his throat, mentioning something or other about the sea whip. You tugged your hand away from Nikolai and looked down at your lap for a long time before you slid off of the desk and you put your hands into your pockets. 

“I’m going to head to bed I think. It’s been a very long day.” You squeaked and then without another word, you dashed out of his office and went to stand at your favorite spot at the back of the ship. 

You let the brisk night’s air cool your cheeks and you let out a long, frustrated sigh. You hardly thought it was fair that he kept flirting with you, especially when it was just so casual and asinine.  No one was on deck at this time of night and you took advantage of that and leaned over the side of the boat to feel the sea spray against your cheeks. You wanted to slap the smug little smile off of Nikolai’s face every time he made you feel so… giddy. You wanted to scream at him and tell him that it wasn’t fair that he unleashed butterflies in your stomach every time he opened up his beautiful mouth. But most of all, you wanted to smack him in the middle of the chest and tell him just how in love with him you were and just how unfair it was that he teased you relentlessly for it. 

That was why he did it, right?

You wondered for a moment and then finally shook your head. There was no other explanation. You’d known the boy since you were both just children and he’d always been a shameless little flirt with everyone, especially in his teenage years. It made sense that perhaps this was how he interacted. This was just his personality, everybody knew so… right?

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a hand on your shoulder and you turned around with your hands raised, only to feel waves of relief when you saw it was only Nikolai. 

“You scared me.” You commented with a sigh and the boy shrugged and then he let out a laugh, a beautiful sound that brought a smile to your lips. 

“Yeah I can tell. You look very menacing with your hands up like that. I almost feared for my life.” He teased and you rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him back before you turned back to the water, silence settling over the two of you. 

“So,” Nikolai began and leaned up against the rails next to you, “Is this the part where we kiss? In front of the ocean, under the light of the moon?” He singsonged and sidled up closer to you. 

You turned and looked at him with a frown, “You have to stop that.” You said quietly and then bit down on your bottom lip. 

“Stop what?” He asked cluelessly.

You studied his face and then you shook your head, “Nikolai, I mean you need to stop messing with me like this. I’m not just every girl. They all swoon for you and they all giggle and blush when you talk to them but for me it’s just… so much more complex.”

He raised his eyebrow curiously as if he didn’t understand what you meant and you let out a long sigh and rubbed your face, already blushing, “Nikolai, I am in love with you. I have been for years, and I probably will be for a long time. And when you sit and flirt with me like this… make me feel special, make me feel so giddy, it makes it even harder for me because that’s how you talk to every girl!” You said, hiding your face in your hands. 

There was a long pause in which you could only hear the ocean around you along with the wind, when suddenly the boy next to you let out a loud, amused laugh. Your face turned even redder and you went to walk away before he grabbed onto your arm and he pulled you back to him and grinned down at you.

“Oh, y/n. My sweet, sweet girl. Do you ever hear me say these things to other girls? Really.” He asked and you blinked up at him. 

You knew he had a charming demeanor, but come to think of it, he’d never made comments like the ones he made to you to every other girl he ever met. You stared up at him blankly and he laughed again, a beautiful sound that made you want to melt into his arms entirely. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” He replied and then he let out a soft sigh, “I don’t mess about with other girls, I don’t tease them relentlessly like I do you. And it’s all for good reason. You’re simply the only girl I have my sights on, and saints are you a slippery little worm. I think I’ve finally got you and then you’re running off and hiding.” 

Shock was evident on your face, this much you were sure of, and you shook your head once, “You have got to be kidding me.” Was all you could manage and Nikolai laughed again and he reached down to cup your cheeks. 

“My pretty y/n. I’d never joke about such things.” He said, leaning closer to your face. 

“Oh for the love of the saints, Nikolai.” You groaned and stood up on your toes to finally greet his lips with your own. 

The kiss was met with much eagerness from the Prince and he only pulled you closer to him as he kissed you back with a sweetness unlike anything you’d ever felt. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach and when he finally pulled back, his grin was highlighted by the moon as he stared down at you as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him. 

“I do believe I told you that one day I’d charm you into a kiss.” He pointed out smugly and you grabbed the collar of his shirt and shook your head. 

“I think I’m the one that charmed you.” You remarked and pulled him down to where your noses brushed. 

“More than you’ll ever know.” He replied softly before he brought another heavenly kiss to your lips.

[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.

[aleebeesplats]

Soul bond[OUTDATED]

“An eternity alone is a cruel thing to be subjected to. To be surrounded but isolated, heard but forgotten, so powerful, yet so weak at the same time. The story is your life, but is that really all there is to it? Is that why you did it? Allowed them to exist despite the obvious growing issue? You wanted to feel understood despite not knowing who you were or where you began. You’ve crafted life at the expense of their freedom. You’ve replicated freedom through life.”

More info about this au under cut

This really started as a joke cuz I wanted to draw more Stan and Mari friendship art but as god has it it’s not so much a joke anymore(yay). This whole AU centers around Stanley and Mariella “becoming human”.

Character refs for Stan and Mari. I might change some stuff up with their colors and designs but this is the main idea for now.

In this AU Mariella now works in the same building as Stanley and her job is to attend meetings. Employee 317 did this everyday of every month of every year. She first meets Stanley while waiting for those who were supposed to attend, surprised and confused at the sudden disappearance of everyone.

Mariella and Stanley are creations of the Narrator, so they don’t look exactly human because of that.

(They have normal noses in side profiles)

I was inspired by Friday Night Funkin for their stylized faces. In terms of expression they are much more animated in comparison to the Curator or the Narrator.

Speaking of Nar-Nar, here’s the man himself. His first form is more like a “concept” than an actual “appearance” as he didn’t really care about what he looked liked and cared more about getting through with the story. His current form is much more human and he often spends time in it outside of the parable in his office. I wanted to keep his figure blocky and sharp cuz I went by squares as his main image.

Now the Parable wouldn’t be anything without the building, lo and behold “Coworker”.

I suck at drawing buildings, but for all you need to know for now is that it always expanding in the inside (where the story takes place), and also it is alive, capable of thought and emotion to some extent. Yayyy living infrastructure.

Some additional early sketches I made while trying to figure out stuff.

I thought it would be funny if Nar and Curie dated for a week before realizing they swung different ways. Things are good between them but it’s a little awkward at times. I was stuck between making Nar-Nar an eldritch creature or just an old man, but then again why can’t he do both.

Quick height chart doodle. The egotistical old man strikes once again, he really made himself so tall because he thinks it’s funny being able to see over people’s heads. In a way they look like Kirby to him.

That’s it for now. I’ll try to not burn myself out so that I can draw more for this au. It seems shallow right now but that’s on purpose‼️

Also, none of the things I draw in this AU are meant to be romantic. They are Queer-platonic at most. This is just me exploring bonds in hard times +what it means to be human (self-projecting like hell).

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [24] - Geraniums

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler​ for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Inspiration can strike at midnight.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions and descriptions of domestic violence, injuries and trauma. 

Word Count: 3400

Series Masterlist

Playing the madly in love couple in public had never been challenging so far, so it was quite surprising that the mask was slipping.

You had a feeling that it was mostly because of you though.

For the past week, you had managed to keep your interaction with Benedict to a minimum even though it felt incredibly hard. Whenever you saw him in the hallway or you two went to your separate rooms, you were filled with this powerful urge to talk to him, but after that duel you weren’t so sure you could.

Though, there was no denying it. You missed him terribly.

Benedict on the other hand was respecting your wishes and giving you the space you wanted. Though you two pretended as if nothing was wrong in public, the usual displays of affection were not there, no doubt because he didn’t want to cross the line you drew between you two.

“Are you sure everything is alright?” Felix asked you while he sketched beside you under the tree you were leaning your back against. Charlotte had asked both you and Benedict to join her on a picnic but Anthony had spent no time to whisk her away, and Benedict was busy talking with his artist friends so you had excused yourself to read a book in the shadow of a tree, Felix soon joining you to sketch the view in a peaceful corner.

“Absolutely,” you said. “Why do you ask?”

Felix shrugged before tilting his head. “Is that your brother-in-law?”

You turned your head, then raised a hand in the air so that Andrew could see you, a smile lighting up his face immediately.

“This is a lovely surprise,” he said as he threw himself next to you. “Clover. Felix.”

“Andrew,” Felix said with a smile and you held back a grin upon hearing the first name basis.

“What are you doing here?” you asked and he motioned at the entrance of the park.

“Oh I had this business with an incredibly boring lord about—it doesn’t matter,” he said. “How about you? Is Jo around as well?”

“Mm hm, she and Bess decided to take a walk around the park,” you said and he grinned.

“They do love their walks.”

You shot him a mischievous glance and he looked inside the picnic basket.

“No cookies this time?”

“My reaction exactly,” Felix said and Andrew tut-tutted.

“You play with our feelings, Y/N.”

“I’m just sitting here doing nothing,” you deadpanned, turning your gaze to Benedict at the moment he stole a glance at you, and you both looked elsewhere at the same time. Felix raised his brows and Andrew looked between you.

“Oh something happened.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Nothing happened, you both are being nonsense—” you started but got distracted the moment your looked at Benedict again who was just approached by Lady Margery. That bitter taste climbed up your throat as you gritted your teeth, but then forced yourself to turn back to your book.

“Oh it’s a jealousy issue,” Andrew pointed out and turned to Felix while your eyes widened. “That settles it.”

“It’s not a jealousy issue!”

“Of Lady Margery?” Felix asked Andrew who nodded solemnly.

“Seems like it, is that her name?”

“I’m sitting right here,” you grumbled, turning to glare at Andrew who rolled his eyes at you.

“You were a scrawny little thing when I first met you, that glare doesn’t work on me.”

“You might be the only person in the ton who doesn’t get intimidated by her.” Felix pointed out and Andrew chuckled.

“I built up an immunity.”

“Great, I’m still waiting for that day.”

“Oh you need to put in years before that happens.”

You shook your head slightly and kept your gaze on the book.

“Who is Lady Margery?” Andrew asked Felix who took a deep breath.

“She’s a very wealthy widow,” he said. “A lover of arts and the last I heard, she likes Benedict’s works.”

“Where did she see his works?” You couldn’t help but ask and Felix shrugged.

“At a party, I’m told,” he said. “Either that or Henry showed her.”

“Benedict is in love with you though, don’t feel threatened.”

“I do not feel threatened by her,” you deadpanned, still trying to ignore that burning in your throat. “A lot of people admire Benedict’s works.”

“Not all of them look like that though,” Andrew mused and you narrowed your eyes at him. “Not as pretty as you, obviously!”

You huffed out and closed your book as soon as you caught the sight of Josie and Bess. “I’ll get some fresh air.”

“We’re sitting outside, Y/N.”

“Fine, then I’ll go and join Bess and Josie,” you said. “They’re over there.”

“Clover—”

“I’m fine,” you said as you stood up, painfully aware of Benedict’s gaze immediately turning to you. “Really. I just need to stretch my legs, I’ve been sitting here for way too long.”

You walked away from them, ignoring the way Benedict’s eyes were following you as you passed through the garden to make your way to Bess and Josie.

                                                   *

The dinner was quiet at first and you weren’t particularly hungry, so you kept playing with the food on your plate, pushing at it with your fork, trying your hardest not to look at Benedict even if you could feel him stealing looks at you.

He took a deep breath when you pushed at your plate, ready to retrieve to your bedroom but before you could stand up, he cleared his throat.

“Y/N?”

You looked up at him. “Hm?”

“I was going to tell you,” he said. “My mother invited us for dinner this weekend.”

“Oh?” you said. “Sure. What brought that on?”

He grimaced, making you bite back a smile.

“She wants the family to have dinner with Charlie’s family,” he muttered. “Which would have been fine if it were for any reason other than…you know.”

“Lottie and Anthony courting?”

He let out a noise of discontent and nodded his head. “That.”

“Will you be alright?” you asked. “During that dinner?”

He thought for a moment.

“…Uh huh.”

You raised your brows. “Very convincing.”

“It’s just—” he motioned with his hand. “Charlie and him?”

“It’s been almost a week since they started courting each other, how are you still so shocked about this?”

“Neither of them told me.”

“I wonder how that feels,” you pointed out and he scrunched up his nose, making you bite down on your lip.

“Walked right into that one.”

“Kind of like walking into a duel,” you mused and he nodded.

“Mm hm, kind of like that,” he said and his head shot up. “Which reminds me, I have something for you.”

You pulled your brows together in confusion.

“What?” you asked as he got up from his chair to come closer to you, then pulled the chair near you to sit down. He reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat, then pulled out a tiny bag to put it on the table, making your frown deeper.  

“What is this?”

“It’s a gift,” he said, crossing his arms over the table so that you would see he wouldn’t pull the gift out of your reach. “Along with my heartfelt apologies and promise to not keep things from you.”

You stole a look at him, then slowly reached out to take the small bag. You untied it and turned it over, then blinked a couple of times when you saw the tiny seeds falling into your palm.

“Benedict—?”

“Geranium seeds,” Benedict said. “I figured maybe you’d want to plant them.”

Your eyes found his, your heart skipping a beat.

“And I’ve been told geraniums represent foolishness,” he added with a small grin. “Considering my actions of late…”

A small giggle escaped from your lips and you ran your fingertip over the seeds.

“But I haven’t been gardening lately.”

“I know,” he said. “They can grow in a vase as well, did you know that?”

Your jaw dropped, a laughter climbing up your throat.

“Wow, really?”

“Mm hm,” he said, that proud smile playing on his lips before his gaze turned soft. “So until you want to put it in the garden, it can be in your room in a vase. If that’ll be more comfortable for you.”

He was giving you a way to garden and making sure you knew he couldn’t take it from you.

That familiar warmth spread through your chest as you put the seeds back into the small bag, and carefully tied it up before turning to look at him.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, “Really, Benedict. It means a lot.”

He shot you that lopsided grin and you held up your pinky.

“Truce?”

He raised his brows, then hooked his pinky with yours.

“Truce,” he said, tugging at your finger with his before pulling his hand back. You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Who told you where to get geranium seeds?”

“Lady Margery,” he said, making you raise your brows but he looked nearly oblivious to your reaction. “You two have a lot in common, she likes flowers as well. She was telling me about it today—she also has a garden, apparently. Invited us for dinner whenever we’re available.”

“Did she now?” you asked, trying to ignore that bitterness in your throat. “Interesting.”

“You would get along well with her I think.”

“I doubt that,” you murmured and he tilted his head.

“Why?”

“Just a feeling,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, and cleared your throat. “Speaking of gardens, I think I want to take a walk in ours and get some fresh air before bed.”

“Oh,” he said. “Alright. Do you—?”

You shook your head and pushed your chair back to stand up. “No worries. I’ll just walk around, that’s all. It’ll help me sleep better.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Mm hm, enjoy your meal!” you said and walked out of the dining room, still holding the small bag tight in your hand, a smile curling your lips once again.

                                              *

The interesting thing about your nightmares was that they had changed quite a bit after you had found out that Benedict had gone on a duel. Contrary to before, now your night terrors were about his death, getting shot in the duel, bleeding out in that field—

A gasp got caught in your throat as your eyes snapped open into the dark room, and you blinked a couple of times before wiping up the cold sweat off your forehead, realizing just how freezing the room was. Contrary to the pleasant weather from earlier, the warmth was replaced by the cold as soon as the night fell, and not only you had told the maids they didn’t have to start a fire in the fireplace, you had also left the window open as you went to bed.

You pushed the covers off of you and got up from the bed, now realizing you had no idea where the matches were because you hadn’t had to do anything related to fireplace ever since you had moved into this house. The familiar ache in your wrist that came back whenever it was cold made you grimace and you closed the window, rubbing at your arms. You thought for a moment, then walked to the door to peek your head out, the faint light at the end of the hallway catching your attention immediately.

Benedict’s studio.

Well, that room had to be warm.

You lingered at your doorstep only for a moment before you left your room, then made your way down the hallway to reach the studio to find Benedict sketching by the fireplace. Your heart skipped a beat at how effortlessly handsome he looked, and you knocked on the doorframe, making his head shoot up.

“Y/N?”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all, come in,” he said, motioning at the other armchair across from the fireplace and you smiled at him, then sat down on the armchair.

“Nightmares again?”

You stole a look at him, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Just cold,” you said, holding out your wrist so that you could feel the warmth of the flames in the fireplace just so that the throbbing would ease a little. Benedict’s gaze fell on you as you turned your wrist, clenching and unclenching your hands. “What are you drawing?”

“Hm? Oh—” Benedict snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at the sketchbook before looking up at you. “Just some practice, that’s all.”

“Can I see it?”

He thought for a moment, then made a face. “You don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you.”

You raised your brows, your stomach doing a happy flip.

“The sketch?”

He nodded his head and you arched a brow.

“I don’t want to see it or you don’t want me to want to see it?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m not sure it’s good.”

“Can I be the judge of that?”

“Will you spare my feelings?”

“Absolutely, because I walk around sparing people’s feelings,” you retorted, holding out your hand. “Come on.”

He heaved a sigh, then handed you the sketchbook, making you giggle before you turned your gaze to the page.

Oh.

The sketch was so beautiful that for a moment you couldn’t help but stare at it, your mouth slightly open. It was a sketch of you from today, when you were sitting under the tree with a book in your lap, surrounded by beautiful flowers-

When you thought he was busy with Lady Margery.

Benedict’s voice pulled you out of your daze; “It’s that terrible huh?”

You looked up at him in disbelief, then shook your head.

“I was thinking the opposite actually,” you managed to say, turning your glances to the page again. “It’s just…”

“Tell me,” he said when you fell quiet and you licked your lips, then shook your head again.

“You drew me prettier than I actually am,” you mumbled, still admiring the sketch in front of you but you saw him tilt his head out of the corner of your eye.

“What?”

You shot him a small smile, then handed him the sketchbook back.

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “Too beautiful.”

Benedict let out a small chuckle, his gaze soft on you.

“Nothing I draw or paint comes close to how beautiful you are, you do realize that?” he asked, a fire spreading on your face. “That’s why I keep thinking it’s not good enough. It’s nowhere near a reflection, merely a shadow.”

It felt as if your heart was trying to escape from your ribcage with how fast it was beating and you felt a smile warm your face, then shot him a look.

“Well then I’m afraid I have no criticism for you,” you said, making him clutch at his chest.

“Oh no.”

“Mm hm,” you said. “Just what every artist hates. No criticism, only admiration.”

“You have no idea,” he played along and you giggled, holding your wrist closer to the fireplace again to feel the warmth on your skin, even in your bones. He watched you in silence for a couple of seconds, then took a deep breath.

“Does it hurt?”

“Not normally but cold makes it ache,” you said. “It should go away soon.”

“How did you break it?”

Your stomach did a painful flip and you bit inside your cheek, pursing your lips.

“That’s not important information,” you said, your voice completely flat and he paused for a moment, then nodded.

“Still don’t trust me huh?” he said with a small smile as you pulled your gaze off the fire to steal a look at him.

“Benedict—”

“It’s alright,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

A silence fell upon you both and you could feel the nervousness filling your system, but you managed to ignore it as you cleared your throat.

“It wasn’t…” you trailed off. “Peaceful. Back home, before my uncle took me in.”

He pulled his brows together in confusion as if he couldn’t understand how it was relevant and you turned your wrist again, still holding it to the fireplace.

“My parents were very different than yours, or my uncle and aunt,” the words left your lips very easily. “We could never tell when it was going to get bad because most of the time there wasn’t even an actual reason behind it, my father was always angry and my mother wasn’t any better than him, they just had different ways of discipline and punishment.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him pulling back but you didn’t turn to look at him, keeping your eyes on the fireplace.

“Josie got the worst of it, mostly,” you muttered. “She always got in the way to protect me no matter what and like I said, they had different ways, my mother would mostly just slap us or push us around, but my father…” You let out a bitter laugh. “My father was the type of person who would only stop beating the hell out of you when he decided it was enough, regardless of how much you cried—not that Josie ever really cried. I used to, but I learned to stop myself after a while.”

The memory hit you and you shook your head slightly, trying to focus.

“Anyway, there was this one time he got really mad at Josie and he was drunk, and in all that pushing and pulling this bottle got broken, and he had this…this idea to cut her hand with it so that she would ‘learn some respect’,” you quoted him, the words giving you goosebumps even now. “But my mother stopped him, saying it would ruin Josie’s chances to get married if he left any actual scars that her potential suitors could see, making her—what was the term?” you asked more to yourself and scoffed. “Damaged goods, she said.”

Benedict could only stare at you in silence.

“I was very young when it happened, so in my mind I figured that if I had an actual scar, then no one would want to marry me and no one could put me through what my father put my mother through,” you said. “But the problem was that I didn’t have any, so that night after everyone went to bed, I went to the kitchen to give myself one.”

The crackles of the wood in the fireplace echoed through the room, making you heave a sigh.

“I couldn’t really do it though, because it hurt way worse than I thought it would,” you added. “I stopped before I could push the knife deeper or drag it down, but my mother walked in the kitchen and saw me doing that.”

You could feel the tears burning your eyes and you blinked a couple of times to push them back.

“I begged her not to tell my father but of course she did, and father was absolutely furious,” you said. “He yelled at me, then shoved me headfirst into the wall and I hit my head very hard. And the thing about hitting your head is that you can’t really find your balance when it happens, so I tripped backwards and fell right on my wrist.”

For a second, the only thing you could hear was the burning wood and you shrugged your shoulders, then retrieved your hand and turned to look at him.

“That’s how I broke it.”

He looked nearly frozen, staring at you in complete silence as he blinked a couple of times like he was trying to wrap his mind around what you had told him. He gritted his teeth, that fire coming to life in his eyes and he opened his mouth but you stopped him before he could say anything.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t need anyone to do that, I hate that nonsense. I’m fine, that’s not why I…”

You trailed off for a moment before you took a deep breath, your eyes locking in his.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you Ben,” you rasped out, then offered him a small smile and got up from the chair. “That’s the moral of this story.”

“Y/N—”

“Good luck with your sketches,” you said, nodding at the notebook in his lap. “Being immortalized sounds rather lovely now to think of it. Keep drawing me prettier than I am, will you?”

With that, you walked out of the room, your heart still beating in your ears. 

Chapter 25

[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.”

[actual-changeling]

ellie learns how to draw, and, if she might say so herself, gets pretty damn good at it, especially faces. it helps her ground herself to see happy memories physically stare back at her from her sketch book, her walls, the fridge, and wherever else joel puts up her drawings. he loves all of them, even the very first ones that aren't much more than vaguely human scribbles.

the first year in jackson is a pain, and she spends most of it holed up in their house, drawing, painting (she has no idea where joel gets all the paint from and he refuses to tell her), and once they make it through their first winter together, she feels comfortable enough to show them to other people, too. mostly tommy and maria, and in a weak moment she even gifts them a drawing she made of them and their baby.

she's over at their house a lot, it's a lot more lived in and settled than theirs but they're working on it, and notices some actual pictures, the kind you take with a camera, decorating the living room. it's obvious that they're prized possessions, framed and front and center on the walls. a handful of them show maria and what must have been her family before the outbreak, others are newer. jackson does have some cameras saved for special events, and there are two pictures of them on their wedding day, and even one from a few days after the baby was born.

she doesn't think much of it until their second summer in jackson when she notices the way joel stares at the baby pictures and realizes that all he has to remember sarah by is the broken watch on his wrist. the only tangible memory and it's one of pain and death.

ellie mulls over it a lot, it keeps her up at night and while joel picks up on it, he doesn't press the issue when she refuses to talk about it, though she assures him she's fine.

it takes her another two weeks after her realization to catch tommy alone one afternoon with joel safely away on patrol, oddly nervous and unsure how to phrase what she wants to ask. eventually she manages to explain her idea and the positively soft, distantly heartbroken look he gives her makes her breath catch in her throat.

do you think he would be okay with it?

i think he would love it, sweetheart.

they sit together for hours in his kitchen, ellie is determined to make it look exactly right and urges tommy to not hold back his criticism if something isn't accurate, and by the end, they have missed dinner and her wrist hurts like hell, fingers stained with pencil lead and color, but her chest is brimming with a warm sense of accomplishment.

tommy gives her a frame and she wraps it as well as she knows how to. he insists that she gives it to him alone, but ellie draws him into an uncharacteristically tight hug before she leaves and hides her smile in his chest when he presses a hesitant kiss to her hair. family, she realizes, is pretty damn great.

the waiting is the hardest part. she puts her gift on the coffee table and paces the living room for at least half an hour while she waits for joel to return from his patrol, switching between chewing her lips and biting her nails. by the time he finally walks through the door, she has almost convinced herself to abandon the whole thing and just pretend it never happened, but then joel's there, gaze immediately softening when he sees her, and suddenly she can't wait to give it to him. it's a pretty big frame and the best paper she owns, rivaling some of her larger paintings on actual canvas, and joel has to sit down to open it without running the risk of accidentally dropping it.

i hope you like it.

the quiet tremor in her voice makes him stop halfway through unwrapping it, but she just gestures for him to continue, rocking on her feet.

tommy helped.

when the last of the paper falls away and joel sees her work for the very first time, they both hold their breath at once, even the summer breeze stilling, air brimming with something neither of them have the words for.

joel is looking at a vibrant water color painting of sarah, face at a soft angle as she wonders at a small purple butterfly resting on her finger, hand raised in front of her, eyes and smile shining brighter than the sun, hair a shimmering cloud of brown and gold. a frozen moment in time, sarah forever fourteen, capturing the love ellie feels pouring out of joel whenever he talks about her, a wave of affection and distilled joy that makes her miss a person she has never known.

i thought you might want a happy memory of her to look at, too.

ellie points at his watch, broken glass fracturing the light falling in, hand shaking.

i hope it's okay that i- if you don't want it-

joel's arms are around her before she can finish, cutting off her stuttered attempts, frame safe on the table as he hugs her so tightly her feet lift off the floor and she clings to his neck, relief bringing air back to her lungs. he holds her with his face buried in her hair, and ellie only notices he is crying when she can feel a few stray tears run down her neck. when he sets her down again, eyes glassy even after he dries his cheeks, her knees buckle under his gaze. they're both bad with feelings, bad with words, love shown through touch and gestures, through don't forget to eat, i'll stay with you until you fall asleep, fresh cups of coffee left on his nightstand before she leaves for school, hands searching for each other in the crowd again and again and again, never letting go.

love brought to life by a painting of the daughter that taught him how to be a father, made by the one that helped him find his way back to the light.

thank you, ellie.

they both know it means i love you, too, sarah immortalized on their living room wall where the morning sun illuminates her face with every sunrise.

more rambles in the tags

[pluralthey]

is there a good place to start if we want to learn about idletry? im very interested in the story and all the bits and pieces revealed so far but i dont know if youve like, stated the basics both about the characters-in-story and how you’re releasing the comic

hi there. unfortunately, idletry became a passion project very abruptly and many details were added very quickly without regard for how long the project would take. once i did realize how large the project was, i decided that i would not even kid myself on the idea of holding in spoilers for the next 5 years, and those two factors combined make the information available very chaotic and slapdash -- somewhat intentionally.

i don't even have the comics tagged separately for easier access among the idletry content -- although, i could go back and give them a separate tag.

i can summarize the story and say that it's about a funny little talking honey badger/tasmanian devil named jessie gaylord who has for the last 10 years of her life been on heavy psychiatric medication in an attempt to mitigate a pervasive delusion that the world is a fictional story. she also has a notorious aggressive streak. these medications work primarily by leaving her so tired that she sleeps most of the time.

the story begins when her medical team has run out of typical medications to try, and they must order an older, more aggressive type of drug which is not commonly used anymore, and has a lengthier process to manufacturing and approving the drug. during this time, she is not on any medication, and she becomes more urgently fixated on convincing people that the delusion is true.

she ends up attempting to contact the writer, who is referred to as God, and she receives a response. she immediately attempts to write the story herself, and she's granted the ability to do anything within the story so long as she can write it out. (the intricacies and limitations of this power have been elaborated upon in a bunch of fragmentary posts, so i won't try to condense it here)

at the end of the first act, she kills the first writer and becomes the new God of her world. the rest of the story is about what she does after acquiring omnipotence, and it heavily features a character named fate -- or shiloh, as jessie calls her -- with whom she enters an intimate relationship.

she has a happy loving family composed of a father named adam, a mother named evelyn, and an older sister named emily. there is a later minor subplot about a cult following who worships her after she becomes God, and this cult is initially organized by an ant called samanthuel -- or samwich, as jessie calls them. these are usually the other characters i mention and i am too lazy to link them right now

the comic itself is currently being written. the script stands at around 51,000 words at the time of writing this as i work on the second act. after it's written, i will let it simmer for a few months and then write a second draft to start to relieve the story of its bloat. depending on its length at that point, i will either need to write a third draft, or i will start drawing the comic.

chances are, during the second draft, i will start to thumbnail or sketch scenes which receive little to no editing, as i know they will likely remain relatively unchanged even through multiple drafts.

the sketch strips are to tide me and an eager audience over in the meantime, but they've sort of dried up as i focus all of my attention on finishing the first draft and taking care of a puppy that was kind of just forced onto me.

i've made a couple of full-length comics before and they have taken years. it is, unfortunately, just the nature of the process. for idletry, i plan to self-publish the comic. i've never published something in print before, so that is the most daunting part for me.

the plan at the moment is to crowdfund this, but, to be frank with you, i no longer pay rent, and i care very much about having this comic as a printed book. i have no issue with paying the cost of printing out of my own pocket by the time it's done and am even anticipating that outcome ahead of time, despite having a pretty reliable audience by now.

i'm on the fence about releasing a digital book version, as i very much want to retain digital color versions of the pages that are more vibrant, but due to the explicit adult content of the story, i don't want it to be free-access.

tl;dr: it's about a lesbian incel with anger issues who's given omnipotence.

i'm still working on the story because i want it to be good.

i'm planning on printing it as a physical comic book once it's done.

[firefly--bright]

strangers.

✩‧₊˚☾

masquerade chapter one.

jean kirstein x fem!reader, regency a.u.

chapter summary ; how it all began.

chapter warning ; familial issues/abandonment, running away.

a/n ; im trying out a different writing style to match the theme of this au!! :') I don't think it's going that well, so constructive criticisms are always welcome. also lmk if I should continue in this style or just go back to my normal one!! :)

taglist ; @mrsnobodynobody @jeanscremebrulee @holding-infinity-and-a-book @happxme

☾ series masterlist ☾ main masterlist ☾ enter my taglist ☾

✩‧₊˚☾

the ackermans, despite their precedence, were kind to you. as much as they could find it in themselves to be.

their name was attached to authority and harshness; something you hadn't been a stranger to since birth, despite not being one of them yourself - a reality nobody let you forget. but then again, you wouldn't want to forget.

the late january nights were cooling on your cheeks, even as you were stationary, sat on a bench that was illuminated solely by one lantern. it would've been dangerous if you weren't cloaked, hiding your figure from the eyes of the rare strangers that crossed your view from time to time, no doubt for a smoke break, trying to escape their realities.

you didn't blame them. you were doing the same thing as well, sketching out the picture in front of you - a sleeping ginger cat. peacefully, it's belly heaved upwards, then down as it dreamt. your pencil glided across the page, trying to capture its fur. you were, by no means, exceptional. not as great as the artists you would see when you'd sneak out to go to galleries with artists that were recognized, unlike your own pieces. marked off as "anonyomous", without a home but with a creator that painted like it did have one. a home, a place to go back to.

you rub the eraser dust away with your fingers, sinking into your seat, looking back up at your subject who was peacefully unaware of your observation.

"you're here again." a voice remarks.

you know this voice. you look to your right, where it's coming from. his own figure was hiding with a thick long coat, buttoned up till the top. a brown hat covered the top of his head, furling up and away from his forehead. the apples of his cheeks were tinted pink with the cold and his ash-brown hair peeked out from under his hat. his eyes were a halo of gold with the light of the lamp above you. you smile up at him.

"interesting subject tonight." you say, looking back at the cat. he turns to look at it too, humming. he takes a seat right beside you, keeping his own sketchbook in his lap, methodically, neatly. he looks into your sketchbook.

"you've made progress without me," he says. complains, really. it's endearing and you find yourself smiling.

"it's just practice, don't worry."

he scoffs. "I'm not worried." he says, lying straight through his teeth, flipping his sketchbook open to an untouched page.

his first mark is just like him - precise and calculated. you've noticed it, through the weeks you've known him, that his first line always remains. he may go back and erase other strokes, adjust some others, but the first one remained the same, unchanging. he hesitates before drawing it, however, twisting his pencil between the fingers of his left hand before his decision, like he's marking off a territory.

it's routine. you pretend to be asleep in clothes that you're still not quite used to, watch as Mikasa lights a candle, helping Eren up from her balcony windows, making sure that she is distracted with whispered, secret conversations with the man before sneaking out, heading to have your own whispered and secret life at night. most nights it's this - meeting this stranger with honeyed eyes and cleched jaw. he spoke only when prompted to, but it was worthwhile. if you were brave enough, you'd ask for his name. but you werent, and it seemed neither was he. he must be too recognizable in this place, too hard to ignore.

he's too hard to ignore right now as well, when you sit in silence and the only sounds you hear are the gentle scrapings of hard and soft led - the stranger liked more feathery charcoal - against rough parchment paper. your shoulders keep brushing with every stroke, as they did every time. it sends warmth through your body against the cold night, but you don't mention it in words. you're not sure you can, even if you were allowed to, you couldn't dare put it into words and let it be known and tangible.

the stranger sighs. "how did you do it?" he asks. his voice fogs up the air around his mouth.

you look at him. maybe the mystery around his being is why you feel the way you do around him. maybe if you know him, you'd feel less. but how much power can a name even posses? you know everything he'd allow you to, and for now it was enough. you knew that his favourite scent was that of the lavender oil that he'd dot on his collarbone on special occasions only because his best friend had told him to. you know that he did not care much for sweets, except those that his mother rarely made for him and his company, you knew that he had a scar on his ankle after having it be broken running away from a horse as a child, too scared to brave the act of riding one. everything he'd tell you, you'd hang on to like it was your purpose.

he's your friend. the first one you had made that you did not owe anything to.

"do what?" you ask him, tilting your head to one side. his eyes trail down to your unfinished sketch.

"make it feel alive." he asks, again, as his left hand sets his lead down on his lap in favour of feeling your page. you hum in thought as he touches your drawing's fur.

"do not think over it too much. layer, keep adding until it feels right." you say. you don't have much advice to give after doing art for so long. it feels like a muscle memory and not like the power that people would try to convince you it is. it doesn't feel like something you wield to create but something that you had known since you were born.

maybe you were born with it.

he shifts in his seat and his left hand rests on the back of the bench, behind your arms. not touching you, but enough for you to know that he is persistently there, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at his obvious attempt at being a flirt - another thing you had noticed. "it never works the way you make it work."

"blind flattery will not get you far," you tell him, looking at him in his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"i do not need to go far."

"clearly," you mutter.

he scoffs, falsely offended.

the night continues and so does the light banter and shared smiles.

he feels light. despite your surroundings being dark and clouded, despite there being several thousand things you should have been worrying about, he makes you feel like you are floating in the gently blowing wind.

you were a thing meant to be kept this gently. you were satisfied, greatly so, to be in his presence while doing the one thing you had truly enjoyed. a space that could not be destroyed, understanding without any transaction being made.

if only you could spend more time with him, like this, without his name, without your name, only the small differences that set you aside from everyone else. the two of you existed as mere symbols of each other, mere faces that knew and saw each other despite your last names, the people you were supposed to stand for.

--

you might've regretted spending all these late nights with the nameless stranger, considering the ungodly hour at which you had to wake up. just before the sun rises, you were required to do the same tasks that concerned your scarce colleagues. helping dry the clothes, helping make sure that everything was set for when Mikasa would eventually wake up to her own morning regrets, setting the soaps for her bath and ironing her dresses, laying out the jewellery she was to wear.

it suited her. you smoothed over her deep wine coloured dress, ridding it of any of its wrinkles, admiring how the colour would bring out her eyes that looked at you kindly under the guise of being indifferent. you'd been glad the day she found you - you were a teen, looking desperately for somewhere to belong to and you found her. crashed into her, really, because she was running away too. you still hadn't asked her what she'd been running away from, but one thing was for certain - taking a single look at her that day told you everything you needed to know - she was just like you. in the sense that she had the same, undeterred resolve of removing herself, finding escape in whatever obscurity she could find it in.

you had crashed into her, dropping the measly amount of bread in your hands on the ground on impact. it became dirtied with the heavy raindrops and mud almost immediately, and you would've berated her. you would've yelled and let out all your pent-up anger if it wasn't for the clothes she was wearing. they were wet but you could tell they were made from heavy material - a material that you had seen only important people wear. even if she tried covering the bottom half of her face with a washed-out red scarf, she looked like how she was supposed to look; the look you had decided to grow out of after running away. like a child.

scared and shivering, you led her to your meagre shelter with an arm around her shoulder, lighting up a small fire to keep her warm for the time being. you spent three days with her there. she left on the fourth day, and even though she hadn't told you about her decision to leave, you knew it would be inevitable.

what you didn't know was that she'd lead her cousin there, too. in your shelter - into the basement of an abandoned shop - the floors of which were scattered with paintbrushes and charcoals and empty tubes of paint. her family took you in and provided you of a newer, better shelter.

but you could not call it a home. it was not home. you never had one, you were sure of it.

the only drawback of this temporary... settlement, you should call it, was that you'd have to work for them. yes, the Ackermans weren't as harsh and cold as their reputation claimed, but that did not mean they were the kindest. surely a stranger could not be of the same rank as their own daughter, a fact you very well understood.

and Mikasa's spirit was as you had expected them to be after you had found her that day. she was stubborn over her softness, and made it abundantly clear that she did not wish for anyone else but you to be her handmaiden.

she is your best friend. but she is also your employer, a line you have to remember to tread lightly and carefully every day.

her drowsy voice calls you into her room from the bathing chambers.

wiping your hands on the skirt of your dress, you make your familiar way to her large room. you greet her squinting eyes with a smile, opening up the curtains to let the morning light in. the sun had made its way up into the sky as you finished your chores with its rays boring into the morning as it did every winter day. Mikasa didn't seem to appreciate it as much as you did, however, her hair unruly and unkept after tossing and turning all night.

"you'll feel less tired once you warm up a bit. i've already ran a bath for you," you tell her, and like clockwork, she lets her feet down on the ground from the bed, rubbing her wrist against her eye. she nods while doing it, letting you know that you are heard.

you strike a smile at her tired state, one that you relate to a little too well. you make your way towards her.

"here," you say, plucking up the hot cup of tea into your hands from her bedside. "this'll help you wake up. it's something new. Sir Arlert brought it for you. something about Doctor Yeager's remedy?" you say, knowing exactly what words to speak to bring her out of her dreamy state.

"Yeager?" she asks, her voice raspy. she takes the cup from your hand.

you know too well about her relations with the two boys. even if his post dubbed him to be "Sir", Armin Arlert was a man who could convince even the stoniest Ackerman to let Mikasa talk to him. even after the Yeager family was left desolate, the two boys never lost their nature, especially with Mikasa herself.

you hum at her question. "i think he called it...coffee? something along those lines. if it's bitter, I'll bring the sugar."

she takes a tentative sip and nods. "it's alright." she says. "thank you." there's a slight grimace on her face and you know what it says even if she doesn't say it; it's bitter, but it's tolerable.

Levi Ackerman wasn't as prude as people made him out to be. yes, he did have the look of a scoundrel who might've had daggers strapped into the inside of his coat, but you had wormed your way into his heart. you knew that for a fact because you had spilled milk on his cotton shirt and had, somehow, gotten away with it. all he did was mumble something under his breath, shaking his head before dabbing it away with a rag.

if it were anyone else, he would've led them to unemployment, but he didn't do so with you. he could have, it was within his right, but he didn't.

of course, you did make up for it. you went out into the darker parts of the town and purchased a small pouch of tea that helped with sleeplessness to help him ease his dark circles out. you knew of his issues with sleep, how he stayed awake into the wee hours of the night, roaming around like a ghost in his robes, reading a book that no-one knew the name of. you didn't know about what nightmares plagued him, but the tea you gave him seemed to help with that. instead of hearing his footsteps creaking on the wooden floors, you heard his sound snoring when you passed his room in the morning.

maybe it was because it was him that found you in that dingy basement along with Mikasa, helped coax you out of there, crouched infront of you and told you that you'd have a house to live in and a bed to sleep on if you follow him and Mikasa. maybe it was because he saw you grow up just like he saw his cousin grow up, from where you came to where you've reached. from wearing clothes that barely fit you, paint marks all over your face from pigment that wasn't safe for skin as sensitive as yours, to here. to clothes that you kept clean and ironed, pigments that you didnt let come near your face to prevent the rashes that you'd eventually get due to them.

you prepared his morning tea just the way he liked it, which was to say, only a dash of milk and no sugar. he wanted to taste as much tea as he could without diluting it, placing the cup on the tray along with all the other assortments.

you snuck a taste of the batter that the cook - Mr Berner - had prepared in advance as he frets over the cook of the eggs. Lord Ackerman, mikasa's stern father, deeply disliked uncooked yolks whereas Lady Ackerman disliked yolks that were solid throughout. thankfully, Kenny Ackerman bad gone hunting, and with any luck, would not be back until later in the evening. his hunting expeditions always extended to something else entirely, sometimes he'd return a little intoxicated. again, thankfully, he somehow managed not to raise any suspicions from anyone else.

"can you help with the juice if you can spare some time? Mrs Ackerman seems to be preferring it now-a-days." Mr Berner asks, turning his head to glance at you. you hum in agreement, helping the poor man by getting started on the orange juice. he has too much to do every day, with the kitchen being short staffed and new hires being dismissed due to silly mistakes that anyone in their shoes would make in their first week. Lord Ackerman had to be the cause of the hushed rumors that surrounded his family because of his last minute decisions made due to mild rage. if it weren't for his only child being on your side, you also would have met the same fate as the maid that left after not being able to remove the clothes from the rack fast enough before a thunderstorm.

in some ways, he reminded you of your own grandfather.

you finished up squeezing the juice our of the fruit as fast as you could before hurrying over to mikasa's bath, getting ready for her to get out.

luckily, she seemed more awake now as she accepted the towel being wrapped around her figure, heading to the closet.

"is there any more of that coffee?" she asks as you brush her hair.

"yes. it's kept aside just for you. was your talk with Mr. Yeager to your satisfaction last night?" you ask her, smiling at her through the mirror as she evades your eyes.

"it was. er- Mister Yeager is... nice." she says, small smile gracing her face that anyone else would've missed but you latch on to quickly.

"you might want to sleep earlier for a little while. so as to avoid suspicion," you say as she hums, playing with a string of her silky black hair. "i just miss him sometimes. after living next door to him for so long...." she reminisces.

"you got used to him?" you ask. in truth, you did not know much about the Yeager boy. all you knew was creditted to what you had gathered from over-hearing. something about his father running away, something about the legitimacy of his birth or lack thereof, something else about his brother forcing him and his mother to move to a more rural part of Paradis. what ever it may be, his life and his secrets and his stories, you hope he could find it in himself to be content. even if everything you heard was false, you knew all too well how a teen felt after being removed from their home with or against their will.

all you knew was that he made Mikasa happy. it didn't matter much to you about where he came from or how much wealth he possessed, all that mattered was that after the day was done, Mikasa could sleep with a smile on her face because of him.

Mikasa nods as an answer.

"his mother was kind to us. she'd make our favourite meals when we were tired after playing." she says, her smile more visible now. you smile back as you apply pigment to her cheeks, blending it out to be more natural, holding her cheeks in your hands after you were done. "beautiful."

she smiles and averts her eyes. "all thanks to you," she says, whispering.

you shake your head. "Lord Ackerman wants to see you." you tell her, remembering what he had asked. "seemed to be important." you say.

she sighs, getting up from her seat at the vanity. "sometimes I wish we could...live in a cottage." she says, smoothing out her dress with her hands, dusting off any stray hair or pigment. Lord Ackerman much preferred it when his family was well presented, even in the confines of their own home.

you smiled wider, indulging in her thoughts. this wasn't something new.

when you were only just getting accomadated to your living situation as a mere fifeteen year old, she'd find you, restless and preparing hot milk to rest better, trying to do the same for herself. you'd look at her with understanding, carrying two cups of milk and some cut up fruit up to her room, hiding under her covers, talking about an ideal life and why you'd like to lead it.

"I could steal some books for you from Smith's library," you tell her, and she breathes out a laugh. "and I'd steal you some good paints from Armin's parents." she says. a compelling case.

"and we'd have a cat. with a ginger coat."

"you know we can't possibly handle it,"

"two cats."

she laughs, a proper giggle this time, her hand coming up to cover her mouth with a fist. "alright. two cats."

"we'd grow catnip in our backyard."

"...I do not think that would work. as long as I get to read, I'll be alright."

Mikasa asked you to stay near the doorway of her father's study. you obliged, knowing that these 'talks' Lord Ackerman requested were more of a lecturing than anything. he prides himself in not being aggressive, but the passiveness of his voice and the looks he shoots his family over dinner for stepping out of an invisible, imaginary line prove otherwise. regardless, he doesn't raise his voice in spite of his anger or lack of it, and his presence in the house made you stand with your back pin-straight and chin bowed down. not because of the respect he so clearly demanded, but because of fear.

even now, standing right outside of his dark wooden door, his voice was nothing but a low hum, interrupted by mikasa's higher pitched voice. you could not eavesdrop even if you wanted to with the thick doors and his voice barely penetrating through them. sometimes you think that this house was built keeping in mind of this fact only - that the Ackerman family needed to keep any and all of their secrets locked up behind doors.

you played with the hem of the waistband on your skirt, digging it under your thumbnail and removing it before doing it again - a trait you had habituated since childhood. you used to do it with a silver necklace chained across the base of your neck, but now that necklace sat in a closed closet along with your other, more valuable belongings.

Mikasa steps out, opening the doors with ease, sighing after they're finally closed. you don't crowd her immediately; you know better than that. you know she needs space, so you keep your distance at a safe arm's length. but today was not like the other days this occured. no, because today, you felt it. the tension in the air, more so than usual, the back of your neck covered in light swear not due to working in the kitchen but due to being here, in this wide, cold corridor that held no windows, the air stiff.

and because, instead of asking for space, Mikasa opens her mouth to speak, as if it's a death sentence. you're sure it is.

"he has decided to marry me off."

[arenabreadandbiscuits]

Gosh I HATE X.

Rant below about small artists and not getting much of a chance to actually grow in social media.

Not only do they not tell me what the problem is when the report something so I can't fix it but I get on or try to get on and apparently I can't? My account was deleted? It won't log me in on my art one??? I'm annoyed by it.. I can only be glad I have a following here on Tumblr and Tumblr helps push certain things out compared to X.

I'm honestly mad because I was using X as another way to reach out to people who want commissions but also for fandom interactions. I'm also mad because like I've said for like the hundredth time, you can literally find people fcking on X and their videos and things get to stay up but I draw FanArt and write stories and MINE gets taken down??? Smh especially as someone doing commissions because my mom is in the hospital rn and I genuinely need the funds for a while..

I'm working on one commission right now. I'll take three right now for cheap prices because I understand people don't find value in art all the time but I'll have to bring prices up or either continuously work for the cheaper ones and save up.

Actually let me ask this now.

Some this picture contains four characters, a window with extra background, objects and background, and various expressions and poses. The time on it hit 13 hours on ibis. In my mind of course I want money to help my situations.

With this picture as an example I count people and characters as $10 each, little accessories and such are $1 each and there's at least 12 in here up front from the beer cans to the dresser. The picture took 13 hours so $40 × 13 equals $520. It took me at least a week to get this piece done. Considering the hospital issues, the at home issues, pet situations, food issues, and little transportation I have when I need something important done I think for pieces like this the price is fair.

Idk, people who commission others can you tell me what you think? I'm down to do cheap prices too it just depends of what's being asked like the current commission I'm doing which is this one:

Is $30 dollars for the commissioner considering they just want the lineart which I'm more than happy to do. If anyone knows any discord groups or websites that give artist commissions please let me know. I just can't believe X rn... Also matter of fact this was the wip I posted before my account was taken down... Doesn't like like anything against Twitter guidelines to me but fck us small artists that NEED exposure I guess.

How I'm pricing after finishing this commission and two others perhaps because I literally can't afford to not price it like I'm thinking of doing.

So:

$10 dollars per person/character

$1 for each background object/accessories - cups, glasses, trash cans, ash trays, etc etc

And after all that is set I'll multiply those numbers by the amount of hours I finish which is where the majority of the money goes and after that's it, I get paid and you get your piece. (Of course check ins are allowed and changes as long as changes art completely different from their original idea. I'm always okay drawing at least three sketches for customers to pick from if they don't like the first sketch.)

I've made a post already on my current visit at the hospital for my mom. She majorly deals with everything in the home so her being sick will mean we'll need extra funds. I don't work right now because I myself got sick last year with GBS and I'm still healing, not just that but there's only one car for the household which is my mom's so with everything happening I couldn't possibly get a job now. My grandma has dementia and there's three other people in the house though two of them hardly do much to keep bills paid. It's just a lot and really anything would help us right now. So to any commissioners if you are commissioning me whether it's little or big I very much appreciate you with all my heart.

And even if you can't commission reblogging and liking is just fine as well since it helps boost posts.

[bluginkgo]

The ending of season 1 is a pretty common topic right now. Of course, many theories have been said so here I am adding my own jumbled mess of thoughts and probably repeating what other, smarter, people have already said.

Spoilers, duh

The main question I actually kinda wanna take a dive into is why destroy earth?

A parasite on a usual timeline, tries to take over its host and use the host to produce more parasites to infect others. Ok, that's fine. But if absolute solver is like a parasite- which is what it seems to be almost like- why destroy earth? Yes, we saw what it did to the Elliot mansion. That must have been only just the beginning and a small taste of what it's capable.

So by the parasitic definition, it should try to find more hosts and more zombie drones to expand its reign. But does that really require to make earth into what N saw?

The first time I saw this theory it was pitched by LoreDrone on youtube- they do amazing theories and explanations. Go take a look, they explain it much better than I can. But basically they said that perhaps the true form of the absolute solver isn't this:

Or this:

And definetly not this:

But instead is a black hole AKA this:

That once the parasitic like nature finally takes complete control of the planet, it will do this and create a black hole.

The insane amount of times absolute solver has referred (or others have) to black holes is crazy. The most direct being: "The Solver of the Absolute Fabric. The void. The exponential end."

Sound familiar? Yeah, sounds like a black hole. It would actually explain some random things that we see throughout the show.

Like the two black holes that slowly float away after Uzi and N defeat eldrich J.

And not to mention all of the black holes that are seen in drawings both from Nori and others in eps 4 and 6.

There is an issue here though. The small creatures that we see for eldrich J, the corrupted core plus the small head that was projecting Khan's dead body only have a small impact and therefore produce little black holes. Uzi was able to create- although accidently- black holes throughout Dead End. All of which could not take full form as the first time, she passes out and thus the black hole form disintegrates. And the second time was when N chopped off her arm.

This all means that the absolute solver needs more solver drones like Cyn to create a large enough black hole to take its final form.

Here's the kicker though.

Why send disassembly drones to the planet then? We get a direct quote from Liam himself saying that spoilers! The humans didn't make the disassembly drones- which pretty much leaves Cyn to be the one that made them, and that's pretty true seeing as she was already making prototypes in the library basement in ep 5.

Copper 9 and many other planets (when Tessa explained) were studying absolute solver and trying to use its powers. "But all they did was spread it." Sounds like a perfect plan for the absolute solver, right? Spread the parasites and its hive mind/cloud based nature to overtake galaxies! So then... why send disassembly drones to Copper 9? The main hub where two very powerful solver drones, by the looks of it, that have huge potential! Nori and Yeva.

And both killed by disassembly drones. Sounds counterproductive, doesn't it?

"J, relay hand. Cyn's orders."

"Step 1: Clear drop zone of life and construct spires. Step 2..."

"Enter labs with this symbol."

Ladies and gentlemen, here we are. Idk if it's a commonly accepted theory or take, but I'm on this boat and I will proudly burn down with it.

Cyn is on our side.

Tessa (although she's very sketch) and J are trying to figure out why Cyn sent disassembly drones to other exo-planets. It is also Cyn's administration that's blocking absolute solver from completely corrupting our trio. It was also Cyn that ordered the eradication of all worker drones. We see that many of these worker drones are... by all technicality and for the most part aside from some odd balls- are correctly disposed of. Their bodies are ripped apart, devoured of their oil and cannot reboot as a zombie drone.

If Cyn was completely corrupted by absolute solver, she'd send the disassembly drones to perhaps kill the worker drones to increase the rate of zombie drones to wake up with the absolute solver string in them- just like seen with Cyn. But no. The entire spire is constructed of corpses in pieces.

Now as for my take on the ending (and let me tell you, I bet you I'm 100% wrong and this will probably not happen) I think our trio will beat whatever the f*ck is in Cabin Fever labs and team up with Cyn to then go to other planets and save them from absolute solver. A rather optimistic uptake, I know. But I'm also for a lot of the more bittersweet and not so happy ending theories that are out there.

I saw it from @villainsrule2018 for the first time. That this image may be Copper 9 by the end of the season. I absolutely love the idea that we might lose Copper 9 but perhaps save other planets. But I have another take on this. This is earth. We've lost earth already, and off to the side we have Copper 9's moons, implying Copper 9 is its next target.

As per usual, there's plenty of holes and inconsistencies in my theories and ramblings. Feel free to expand or go against this, I love hearing other theories on how season 1 will end. ^_^