#i think i just need to throw some paint at a canvas or something

[transgender-scout]

i need to make a piece of art that's so awful and gut wrenching that i'll throw up every time i see it on my wall

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Alucard (Castlevania) finding his beloved's art room, that is filled with various forms of art of him? Paintings, sculptures, poems, etc.

He doesn’t want to use the term ‘stalking in the night’ because he feels like it’s a trope for half of his blood line and Alucard doesn’t like stereotypes. But that was what he was doing.

It wasn’t for anything nefarious though. Night after night, his beloved would sneak off into some dark, deserted portion of the castle alone. With just the two of them there were a lot of spaces like this in his father’s old home. It also wasn’t as if they needed to spend all of their time together. Alucard appreciated that people needed & desired space. He himself needed it from time to time. It was just the pattern that had left him curious.

With his natural born stealth and tactical advantage of growing up in the castle, Alucard followed just behind them as they walked through the dark corridors and through one large, old, heavy door near the end. Almost forgotten by everyone. The dhampir arched a manicured brow and gave them a moment, and when they didn’t come out Alucard pressed on. Opening the door with much more ease and finding the room filled with a surprising amount of light despite it’s clutter. “What are you doing in here?”

He heard his lover shriek once in surprise, and something like sticks fall on the ground before it was followed by a larger commotion. “Damnit!” They cursed before they picked up what fell as Alucard came closer. A canvas and paint brushes now right side up off the floor. “What are you doing here?!”

“I asked you first.” Alucard told them as he looked around. “What is all this?”

He knew the castle very well. Although there were secrets his father kept from him, a vaults worth of art was not among them. Before he changed Dracula was actually a great patron of the arts. Finding beauty in almost all artistic expressions. So this was a new addition to his childhood home.

“It’s just…a hobby.” They confessed. “I find it soothing.”

“Art can have that effect on people.” He agreed as he looked at one of the pieces. Like his father, he liked art, but had no knack for it. Only the art for the sword had been his gift. “I meant more what is all this doing here? Why hide all this?”

“I don’t know.” They told him honestly. “I guess I just thought they weren’t very good.”

‘Not very good?’ Alucard arched his brow again as he looked at the works around the room. They were all wonderful. Even the unfinished pieces. “I never made any money selling them. And no one ever seemed interested in my art. So I just keep them here. I don’t have the heart to throw them away.”

“People are philistines. And you shouldn’t throw them away.”

Alucard picked up one of the landscapes and looked at it. He remembered this place. From one of their travels. “Can we put this in the dinning room?”

They seemed surprised by his ask. “You want to?”

“I liked this lake. Those trees. I’d like to remember it while we have meals. Think on that picnic.”

He went through the other pieces and asked if he could put up more. They weren’t his to decide what to do with, but he wanted them to encourage them to put it out. “Are you planning on turning the castle into my debut gallery?” They finally ask.

“If you’d let me.” Alucard replied after he’d collected over a dozen paintings, sculptures, and displays to bring out into the light. “Or at least a private gallery.”

They blushed but let him continue to go through the pieces. When he was done, Alucard came over and gave them a soft kiss. “You should never feel that your talent is less than. Your work is incredible. You’re incredible. You shouldn’t keep it in these dusty rooms for no one to see.”

He took the original picture he selected and left. Giving them privacy to paint while he went to hang this in its proper place in the dining room. He’d come back for the others later. Ready to bring them into the light, when they were ready.

[spidybaby]

do another pedri the type ❤️ please

Pedri the type 2

Summary: The type of boyfriend Pedri would be in different situations of life.

Warnings: cursing.

He's the type to do activities with you without questioning them.

"Okay, now that's a coffee cup." You giggle. "Look at mine." You say, showing him your cup.

He smiles, looking at how happy you look with your work. "Está guapa eh!" He smiles. "I'm painting mine blue and red, like the club."

You try to decide what color you should paint your cup. You wanted something cute, maybe some pastels.

"Try some light green." He suggests. "Or some white and some flowers."

You nod, doing the flowers one. You grab a white coat of paint, making sure to create an even canvas for your painting.

You two work on your own pieces. Laughing at how concentrated and cute your faces made. Pedri showed you his work, explaining the drawing he did.

"Muy guapa," He says, looking at your cup. "Mine has a small dog, like nilo."

You smile at how much you love doing these activities. You love that he takes the free time he has to spend it with you.

He's the type to let you ramble about your day. If it's bad, he let you talk your anger out. If it's good, he celebrates with you.

"Una putada!" You say, frowning. "He fucked up and decided to throw me under the bus by saying it was me."

He passed the salt to you. Letting you talk about your day, letting you get your frustration out.

"I had to stay two extra hours." You move the pasta you were cooking. "And they told me that I need to go to work this weekend."

You slam the kitchen rag on the counter. Frustrated. He grabs two plates, serving the pasta on them.

"Want some cheese?" He asks.

"Si," you say. "A lot." You pout.

He nods, adding extra extra cheese to your plate. He brings the plates to the table, watching you serve the drinks.

"And my bubblegum fell on the ground today." You pout, handing him his drink.

You frown for a little, staying quiet. He's smiling, trying not to chuckle at how you look. Looking at your food with your serious face.

You sigh, relaxing a little now that you told him about your day. You stop the frown on your head, sipping your drink.

"How was your day?" You ask him, now smiling.

He smiles back, grabbing your hand and kissing it. "It was good. Today, I scored the winning goal of my team."

We all know his parents and Fer live with him, so I think he's the type to crash your place. Like on a random Thursday, you would get back home and find him watching a cartoon.

You open the door, watching the video your friend sent you. You leave your bag on the couch. Taking your shoes off and walking to your room.

You noticed the sound of the TV. Thinking that maybe you didn't turn it off. You hit yourself mentally.

You open the door, finding a very concentrated Pedri. He's eating some pistachios, enjoying some Sponge Bob.

"Hola, pepi." You smile happily. You move closer to him, kissing his lips. "What are you watching."

He moves to the side, so you fit on the bed with him. You join him, hugging his side. "I'm watching Sponge Bob." He says happily, kissing your hair.

He offers you some of his snack and drink. You accepted happy. You love watching cartoons and better if you have him by your side.

He's the type to add his touch to your place. Even if it's a room on your parents' house, a room on a shared house with roomies, your own place. He would add his touch.

"Pedri, this is too much." You say, rolling your eyes at him. "You just got me a new TV. The gifts need to stop."

Pedri stands with his hands on his waist, smiling at his new purchase. A new ps5 with a cover on your favorite color.

"It's your favorite color." He says. "And the controller is the same color." He points at it.

You shake your head, smiling at how cute he looks. "Amor, thank you for the thought of picking the PS5 with a cover of my favorite color." You say, hugging him. "Thank you for the new TV, for the drinks you got me, for the snacks and everything else you got me."

"You don't have to thank me." He smiles, hugging me harder. "I'm going to teach you how to play, I even got you your own fifa."

You frown, still smiling. "Amor, I can't play fifa."

"That's why I have my own controller." He points you at the boxes. "I'm teaching you how to play."

You feel his happiness and instantly feel really happy. He was doing this as a way to spend time with you and to let you into his favorite things to do.

When you do your makeup, he will try to ask you what for is everything you use, even if it's only mascara and blush. He would ask.

"And why do you wet the strawberry?" He asks.

You laugh, taking the water excess out of your strawberry shaped sponge. "It's because if you wet your sponge, it gives the skin a more natural finish."

He nods, paying attention to your movements. You grab your concealer, applying some to your undereyes.

"I know what that's for." He smiles.

He looks at you with puppy eyes. You tell him about different things.

"Why are you leaving that white powder?" He asks, confused.

You chuckle. "This is called baking. It's a makeup technique." You smile. "I like how it makes my makeup look."

"And this other powder?" He points at the compact.

"It's bronzer. It's used to contour the frame of the face." You say, showing him how you do it. "I apply it on my nose to mark it."

He can't help his smiles.

"Can I help you with your blush?" He asks.

You nod, passing him the brush. "You can pick the shade." You show him the options. "I have rare beauty, I have fenty, I have some bissu." You place the blushes in front of him.

"I like this shade." He grabs the blush. "Can I use this?"

You nod. "Si, dale."

You love how he's so careful and caring. Kissing your nose when he's done. He grabs your hips, making you turn back to the mirror.

"Do you feel bonita?" He asks. Remembering the tik tok sound. You nod, smiling at him. "Wonderful because you look bonita." He hugs you.

He's the type to watch you do your skincare routine. He would stare at you in awe.

You apply your cream, feeling a lot better now that your skin is clean and your fresh. You feel more relaxed.

You turn back to the room. Finding Pedri's eyes focused on you. "You okay, pepi?" You ask him.

He nods, giving you a half smile. His eyes never leave yours. You smile back at him, turning back to the mirror to keep applying your next step.

You grab your last step. From time to time, you look over the mirror to where he is. You notice that his eyes are still focused on you.

You place everything back in order. Taking a last look in the mirror and walking out of the bathroom.

You walk over to where he is. Grabbing his cheeks and kissing his lips and forehead. "Night Night, pepi." You smile.

"Night Night, preciosa."

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl

[ms-demeanor]

hi! i am not sure if you will have good advice for this but your photography guide made me think about this issue. i grew up quite poor (school supplies were a struggle every september) and now as an adult i am not as financially stable as id like. this has made me very scared to use any art supplies because im always thinking that im wasting them on not good enough projects or not good enough skills or similar thinking. however that leads to me having supplies bc of gifts and whatnot (ie watercolor paper) but not using it out of anxiety. do you have any advice? thanks!

There are two ways that I go about getting over this kind of issue:

Get out the supplies right now and start making any marks. Cut a piece of watercolor paper in half. Draw a line down the center of a page in grease pencil. Do anything to just start using it to get over the "can't open it, must save for special occasions/projects" mindset. Once you've broken the seal on a first use, it's a lot easier to use tools or notebooks or paints a second time.

Plan projects for yourself like they're assignments. Give yourself a deadline and materials list, write it up like a school assignment sheet, and then do the assignment.

And, if it helps to think of it this way: you're likely hesitant to use your materials because you don't want them "going to waste," but at the moment they are being wasted because they aren't being used.

It is solidly my opinion that art supplies used for art are never wasted; not all "art" is meant to be kept and a part of the process of creating art is practice, which should lead to massive piles of clumsily made, "bad" art that you wouldn't want to hang up on the wall but is nonetheless a part of the process of making art that you'd want to hang on the wall.

You may be looking at the watercolor paper and thinking "I shouldn't break into this because each piece of this paper needs to be something special to show that I value this gift" but you don't get better at painting with watercolors if you use them on printer paper. You need to use the paper (and the paints, and your brushes) to maintain and improve your fluency with the medium.

Many people are hesitant to "waste" sketchbooks or good paper or canvas or expensive paint because they think they are throwing away the good things they *could* make if only the had the perfect plan and create the perfect piece of art with each page and each new tube.

But these things are consumables. Your sketchbook is not a guitar, and it is not a finished song, it is a set of strings. The lovely watercolor paper is a gift for you to make art with, but it is also a gift for you to *practice* making art with and the practice is just as much a part of the gift as a finished artwork would be.

So you're not wasting it if you just get out your paper and start painting with no plan, or if you "mess up" a piece, or if you just use the paper for practice.

So, if you're trying to get yourself to use watercolor paper specifically, I have an assignment for you:

Watercolor Thumbnails Assignment

Materials: Watercolor paper, 2 colors of paint (your choice), Hard pencil Tools: Ruler, Small and medium brushes, Palette

Instructions:

Using your pencil and your ruler, divide the page into 10 equal rectangles.

Visit this website and click the "surprise me" button. Select 10 artworks to create monochrome thumbnails of. (you can click as many times as you need to, but the goal here is to do thumbnails of art that you aren't familiar with rather than seeking out art that you know well for this assignment)

Reproduce each of the images as a monochrome thumbnail in the ten rectangles you've marked on your paper. You don't have to mix a unique color for each rectangle, but you should mix a few different colors and use only one for each rectangle. For instance, if you are using green and yellow paint, some images should be yellow, some should be green, some should be green-yellow, some should be yellow-green.

Purpose:

To use your materials

Work on achieving different values with single colors by layering or diluting your paint.

Composition study

Time Limits:

Once you have collected your ten images and have your station set up, you should take no more than one hour to complete your thumbnails.

Due Date: July 20th 2024

___________________

If you are not familiar with watercolor, here's a good video on some of the basic techniques for painting with watercolor:

And this is a good example of a monochrome painting done in watercolor; if you want, you can watch the video and use it as a tutorial to practice getting a feel for monochrome painting.

Use this assignment to practice! Make use of the gift that you were given by familiarizing yourself with the medium and thinking about art and working in color.

I'm going to play along too and will reblog this post with my thumbnails on July 20th - anyone who wants to join in is welcome to do so as well.

And everyone please remember: time and materials spent doing something you love or practicing a skill you enjoy are never wasted. Even if you don't end up with a "good" finished product, you have learned something and that, in itself, is valuable.

[yelenasdiary]

Picture Perfect Views

Pairing: Painter! Yelena Belova x Model! Reader

Summary: Yelena is working on a new paining for her new exclusive range.

Translations: Detka (baby),

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Minors & Men DNI!! Smut, Dom! Yelena, Sub! Reader, Use of Toys, Masturbation, Slight Degradation, Language Warning, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism??, Overstimulation, Squirting, Oral (Reader Receiving) | 0.9K

AC: It’s about time I wrote something for Painter! Yelena!! Enjoy! x

"That's it baby, spread your pussy wide open for me" Your girlfriend smirked while her eyes flickered between your glistening pussy and the canvas in front of her. Her paint brush stroked the canvas to perfection, her brows frowned ever so slightly as she put the sight of you to the canvas. This wasn't the first time your girlfriend had used you as a reference to her artwork, you were her muse in every way. 

"Fuck!" You moaned, one hand holding a bullet sized vibrator to your clit while the other spread your lips wide with your index and middle finger as requested by the dirty blonde haired artist. She loved hearing your whimpers and moans while she painted, she said it helped make sure each stroke was where it was supposed to be. 

It's been a little over an hour of edging yourself at the word of your girlfriend while she painted the way you were spread out on the bed, legs wide open, head throwing back, brows almost connecting with frustration as tears filled your eyes. Your pussy clenched around nothing as it throbbed with the need to be filled, this painting was taking what felt like forever. Yelena started the new painting only two days ago, each day she had you laid on the bed before her, edging yourself as you moaned and whimpered for her to let you cum, even just once. 

"I can't wait for you to see how much of a whore you look for me" Yelena spoke, ignoring the way you slightly squirmed. 

"Baby please!!" You moaned once more. 

"Just a little longer, stay still!" She replied, running her tongue over her bottom lip as she refocused her attention at perfecting the way your pussy looked on the canvas. Every now and then she would mix different colors to get the exact same color of the shades of pink your pussy was, she used thinner brushes to bring out every crease and even thinner to bring out the shortness of your pubic hair that had begun to grow back. Everything had to be perfect, and she didn't care how long it took to get to perfection. 

You could feel your arousal dripping down to your asshole, giving Yelena the exact image she had in her head three days ago. "Fuck baby, I think this might be my best work yet!" She looked at you, sending a wink your way before she paused and put her paint brush down. 

"I c-can't take it anymore!" You replied, throwing your head back, eyes squeezed shut.

"I know baby, you've been such a good little slut for me" Yelena spoke softly as you felt her gently place one hand over the hand you held the vibrator in, "one last thing" she added before guiding your hand to slowly insert the vibrator into your soaked pussy. A loud loud left your lips as you felt the small toy enter you, letting you feel every single vibration through your body. With a small gesture, Yelena moved your hand up slightly, making sure you hit your sport perfectly. 

"F-fuck!!" You moaned. 

"Keep that position baby" Yelena replied as she backed away and sat down in front of the canvas again. Your moans got louder; your legs begged to be closed as you felt your release grow stronger. Yelena was rather quick to add some finishing touches to the painting before turning the canvas around in direct line with your soaked pussy. 

"M'so f-fucking close! P-please let me c-cum!!" 

"Go on darling, finish off my painting" Yelena smirked once more. Even though she didn't say the exact words, you only hoped this was her giving you permission. You finally let yourself go, pulling the toy from your throbbing pussy as Yelena watched you squirted onto her painting. She couldn't help the growing smile on her lips, proudness in her eye as she looked at the canvas. "Look at that detka, isn't it a masterpiece?" she looked to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips, "I'm so proud of you, lay back for me and I'll clean you up" she whispered. 

Your tired state followed her words before she even finished her sentence, laying on your back with your legs still spread open widely for her you let your eyes close peacefully and moaned softly when her lips made contact with your clit. Yelena hummed at the taste of you, "so sweet" she mumbled between licks. Your hand landed on top of her head as you moaned her name, your sensitive pussy already so close to another orgasm. 

"G'nna give me another one detka?" Yelena asked, looking up at you from between your legs. You nodded quickly as you slightly pushed her head back to where you needed her, "d-don't stop!" you replied with another moan. 

Within minutes your hand was gripping a handful of Yelena's hair, your back arched off the bed as you came around her tongue. "F-fuck!" you moaned loudly, your thighs closing in around Yelena's head as she helped you ride out your high. 

Pulling back, Yelena ran her tongue over her lips and smirked, "I already have ideas for my next painting" She winked as she crawled on top of you, kissing you deeply. A soft moan escaped your lips at the taste of yourself on her tongue. Being with Yelena was exciting and it was safe to say you were excited to learn how you would be helping the artist in her next work of art.

Taglist: @red1culous | @bentleywolf29 | @jeyramarie | @lissaaaa145 | @high--power | @parkerdaramitzzzz | @mmmmokdok | @wackymcstupid | @kiwiana145 | @valiantmugcowboyscissors | @observeowl  | @nattyolw | @ripofflizzie | @get-the-fuck-outta-here | @goofy-goonie | @makegoodchoices | @apollo2907 | @marvelfan98 | @wandaroman0ff | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @lovelyy-moonlight | @santana1437 | @fluffyblanketgecko | @puta1 | @inluvwithfictionalwomen | @tintedrose12 | @jaymieflorissssssss | @tita001 | @youralphawolf72 | @crescent-witch | @randomnessbecausewhynot | @natashamaximoff69 | @a-dorkier-book-keeper | @hehehehannahthings | @secrettoallofyou | @romantic-slaps-on-the-asss | @marvel-fan-2021 | @mmmmokdok | @riveramorylunar | @ripofflizzie | @toldthatdevil | @itsmv3 | @katiemay-025 | @maria-403 | @boredandneedfanfics | @wandamaximoffspuppup | @xox-little-troublemaker-xox | @irishhappiness | @music-4ever | @hyper-fixated-delusions | 

[37-drc89]

painting with h. hyunjin

This week really did you and your boyfriend dirty. Everyday you would come home yawning, shoulders slump, complaining about how much you dream of getting into the bed. You find Hyunjin at your shared apartment, already grumpy, most likely splashed on the couch looking absolutely dead. You would just lay down on his back, nuzzling face into his hair. The drama king he is, Hyunjin would whine in fake pain, throwing you off of him, just to grab your tired body and lock it tightly in between his arms. Usually you fell asleep like this, having to rush yourself the morning after to take a shower and do everything people normally do after work. Monday, tuesday, wednesday and thursday, they all looked like this, they all felt like world just chew you up and spit you out on the ground for no reason.

But today's friday. The only thing keeping you alive at work was thought of weekend starting, knowing that your boyfriend stays home with you for these two days and you can have him all to yourself. Maybe that's why you got just slightly disappointed when you found him sitting in front of a blank canva with all his painting set already on the table. Of course, you absolutely adored Hyunjin's artwork and watching him focused on his hobby was your favorite thing to look at, ever. You once spent four hours just admiring his relaxed face, eyes wandering around the canva and brushes making soft, comforting sounds swiping on it. Obviously, Hyunjin wouldn't be himself if he didn't complain about it, trying to move your face the other way or throwing random shirt at your head so you don't stare at him so deeply, but the truth is, he liked the attention. He would always pretend it annoys him, but he wouldn't change it for the world. However, today it's you who needs his attention. The whole day you've been thinking about being in his warm embrace and watching some scary movies or comedies. But you know Hyunjin values his private space, especially when he's creating things. You couldn't help but frown, only patting his shoulder softly as a greeting, not to interrupt him. You go to your shared bedroom and slump yourself on the bed, sighing into the pillow. You play some podcast and let yourself sink into the softness of the covers. Not even half an hour passed when you started tossing and turning in desperate need of your boyfriend's presence. You quietly make your way to the livingroom, the only sound coming from it is Hyunjin's calm playlist playing from the phone. His eyes don't catch you standing in the door frame, too focused on his progressing artwork.

"Hyune," you mumble something barely above the whisper, taking small steps towards his sitting figure. You start playing with the ends of his hair, scared that any more physical touch might distract him at the moment.

"Hm?" his attention immediately goes to you and your heart melts a little. He once told you, you're the only one he would ever pause working for, and that's true, he could never ignore you.

"Can I stay here with you for a second? I miss you," your arms carefully wrap themselves around his shoulders and your chin rests on top of his head. Hyunjin leans into your touch slightly, short chuckle leaving his mouth.

"Do you want to try painting with me, buttercup?" he asks looking up at you and your eyes go wider, taken aback by his offer.

"I can? Won't I disturb you?" in response he just grabs your hands and guide you in front of him, pulling you onto his lap. His chin finds its place on your right shoulder and he takes your hand, forcing a brush in between your fingers. Hyunjin guides your hand to the canva and you try to stop it with your own strength. Before you can manage to say "I'll ruin it", or "I don't want to force you to anything" he just grabs your head with his other hand and turns it, pressing his soft lips onto yours, succesfully shushing you. You melt into the kiss instantly, finally getting your desired attention. "Shut up," is the only thing he says after pulling away, sending you the warmest smile you've ever seen and you feel like every worry bothering you since last week washes away. So you let him guide your hand as he pleases, after some time letting it go, grabbing his own brush and painting along with you, making your shared masterpiece. He helps you with every unfortunate stain of paint or wrongly mixed colors, laughing it off, nothing but love burning in his eyes when your face gets flustered or angry at your mistakes. Hyunjin praises your part a lot, paying his attention into the smallest details, clearly impressed by the amount of effort you put into the painting.

After all, it's now hung above your shared bed, exposed like a masterpiece it is, for everyone to see. And Hyunjin has never been more proud of any of his artworks, no matter how good they looked. Because this one he created with you, with the love of his life.

masterlist

[pygmi-says-hi]

writing tips - editing!

my favorite circle of hell.

I think for me personally, the moment I learned how to edit productively, I felt my writing skills improve as a whole. The idea around editing is that it's getting rid of 'all the bad stuff' which I don't like for a number of reasons.

Firstly, editing is just making it look the way you want it. You mixed all the paints, you prepped the canvas, you sketched the outline, and you're adding the finishing touches.

And...it doesn't have to be scary!

Firstly - I wanna talk about Microsoft Editor, Grammarly, etc

They suck. Sorry those of you that love trying to get a perfect writing score on grammarly, but the AI just sucks. It doesn't understand tone, artistic influence, social context, or anything that makes your writing unique and interesting.

If you are in the habit of blindly accepting any 'suggestions' your software throws at you, stop. get some help.

Not only is this not helpful (because truthfully some of the suggestions are wrong) but it doesn't teach you how to analyze and critique your own writing for improvement. If grammarly says 'change this sentence to blah blah blah instead of beep beep boop' and you don't actually look at it...you could erase something that was fine to begin with! maybe I wanted beep boop vibes instead of blah blah vibes.

The computer doesn't know that. It also doesn't know that you intentionally made that a run on sentence to convey building tension. Or that milque toast is actually how you spell it, not 'milk toast'.

You need to build your editing skills. Think critically about why that sentence should change, if reasonable. Read your paragraphs and think "does this convey the tone, message, and have a reasonable length? Great! next paragraph."

if this process seems way too big and long and intimidating, let's figure out a plan.

there are a billion ways to edit successfully. As you work, you'll find a rhythm.

First - don't do too many steps at the same time.

Writing and editing at the same time doesn't work. If you do that, you'll get an uneven draft (aka half of it is polished for publishing and the other half is steaming garbage) and you'll slow your roll. Write first, edit later.

Word vomit is not always the way to go.

There is such a thing as bad brainstorming. I think the term 'brainstorming' is misconstrued as being something like 'put every idea on the page' when really it's about throwing down all the ideas and then weeding out the bad ones.

Mountains before molehills.

Get the big editing out of the way first. This means the umbrella stuff. is the plot sensible? does that dialogue need to be shifted? Is this chapter too short or too long? Do I like the general voice/tone? then, start with the pretty sentences and formatting.

If you get too attached to a paragraph because you spent so long on the symbolic subtext, you'll be less willing to potentially delete it, even if it's useless.

Get some friends to help!

Share it with peers or beta readers. These people will read it from an audience perspective and give you advice from their experience. Sometimes the writer brain gets in the way of the reader brain and you can't tell the difference.

hope this helps!!

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

Twisted Monsterland: Messy Toddlers

Little kids can always cause a mess, whether it’s with paint, markers, food, or dirt and mud. It’s a fact of life, and while a hassle to clean up, it can be fun!

So what happens when you have a tiny human living amongst the monsters in Twisted Wonderland who tends to get messy? How about we take a look at some of the dorms and see!

//At Savanaclaw//

Mini!Yuu: *playing in a mud puddle, singing random things as they smoosh and stir the mud with their hands*

Grim: “What’cha doin’, Yuu?”

Mini!Yuu: “Makin’ mud pies for everyone!” *pulls out clumps of grass before sprinkling it over the mud pile* “Time to add the sprinkles~!”

Grim: “What a waste of perfectly good grass…”

Ruggie: *walking up to the two* “There you are, Bugaboo. What’cha playing with this time?”

Mini!Yuu: “I made a mud pie!” *scoops up the pile, globs falling onto their clothing as they hold it up to him* “Try some!”

Ruggie: “Oooh, looks pretty tasty.” *pretends to get a piece and chews, grinning as he gives a thumbs up*”"Mmm…perfect blend of flavors, though you might wanna ease up on the seasoning. Shishishishi~!”

Mini!Yuu: “Hooray!”

Ruggie: “Wouldja look at the time? It’s almost time for you to head back to the teachers, and you’re a mess.” *hoists them into his arms* “Come on, it’s bath time.”

//At Diasomnia//

Mini!Yuu: *playing with finger paints on a canvas*

Lilia: “I’ll be right back, little one. Silver? Would you keep an eye on the little one while I’m gone?”

Silver: “Of course, father.”

*ten minutes later*

Lilia: “I’m back.” *pauses before snorting, smiling at the sight of Silver asleep on the couch with paint on his face and tusks* “My, my. Had I known you needed a bigger canvas, I could have gotten a white tarp for the floor.” *glances over at Malleus before bursting out laughing* “Oh! It looks like you two are having fun.”

Malleus: *sitting nearby with mini!Yuu standing on his lap, painting his horns with bright colorful flowers* “The Child of Man wished to do face painting.”

Mini!Yuu: *has paint on their face that looks like scales and sticky fake stones on their forehead like Malleus’* “I’m making Mr. Horns feel pretty!”

Lilia: “So you are, little one. And what are you supposed to be?”

Mini!Yuu: “Silver made me look like a dragon, just like Mr. Horns! Rawr!”

Lilia: “And a mighty little dragon you are~!”

//At Pomefiore//

Mini!Yuu: *scribbling on a wall in the hallway with a pen they found, singing a happy song as they’re drawing swirls*

Epel: *comes across Yuu and yelps* “Yuu, no! What are you doing?!”

Mini!Yuu: *startled* “Drawing?”

Epel: “Oh no…oh no, Vil is going to throw a fit if he sees this!”

Vil: “If I see…what?”

Epel: “Ack!?”

Rook: “Ooh, it looks like mon chou is showing their creative spirit!”

Mini!Yuu: *nervously looks between the wall and Vil’s stern stare* “Am…I in trouble?”

Vil: *hums for a moment before kneeling down, pulling out his own pen* “Your form is good, though perhaps we can add a little something to this one.”

Mini!Yuu: “What?”

Vil: “I’m thinking…leaves would be a good start.” *begins drawing, creating beautiful shapes following the swirl that get bigger and bigger* “What else should we add to it?”

Mini!Yuu: “Mmm…flowers!”

Vil: “Very well. Will you help me draw them?”

Epel: *staring wide eyed between them and Rook as the two continue drawing, leaning in to whisper to Rook* “Am…am I dreaming? Vil would have gone bonkers if any of us ruined the walls!”

Rook: “Ah, but why stifle the creativity of our little mon chu when they are clearly expressing their individuality? Even Roi du Poison sees the beauty in this.” *goes to kneel next to them, pulling out his own pen* “May I join in?”

Epel: “…huh.”

(Later, the art is still on the wall, a mix of child-like drawings mixed with elegant and fun pictures depicting rabbits, apples, and a peacock)

//At Heartslabyul//

Mini!Yuu: *sitting on a stool, watching Trey mixing dough into balls for bread and trying to mimic him with their own ball of dough*

Trey: “Oh, I need to get the butter out of the fridge. Sit tight, okay?” *dusts hands off and goes over to the fridge*

Mini!Yuu: *hums as they look at the one they’re working on* “Mmm…needs more flour!” *reaches for the bag of flour, trying to lift it up*

POMF!!

Mini!Yuu: *coughs as they’re covered in flour, the bag on the ground and the counter coated in flour*

Trey: “Huh?? Pfft…I should have known something like this would happen.” *reaches out to pat away some of the dusty flour* “Guess when we’re finished baking, it’s bath time again.”

//----------//

That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, but these are just some cute things that came to mind~

The Pomefiore part was actually based on this one post I came across, though I could only find the pictures. While I had initially thought of it happening at Heartslabyul or even Scarabia…I just got soft thinking of Vil indulging mini!Yuu and helping to create good art QvQ/)

[alcoholfreenayeon]

chaeyoung loves to draw we all know that... but what about her drawing fem!reader while having sex...

i need her so bad

Masterpiece

Content warning: NSFW, Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

A/N: LITERALLY ONE OF MY THOUGHTS. Like of course Chaeyoung would want to do that. I can also see her trying to draw (bratty) reader while reader is eating her out🤭maybe I’ll do a part two on that🙈

“Why don’t you just stay still…ugh”, Chaeyoung complains.

You don’t answer back, you are too busy trying to control your breath. It’s not easy when Chaeyoung has 3 fingers inside you.

Chaeyoung playfully rolls her eyes at your silence and uses her free hand to pick up a pencil and begin her sketch. You didn’t know how she got it in her head but all of a sudden Chaeyoung said she wanted to draw you while the two of you had sex.

Granted, it’s not the craziest idea ever but it’s a lot of work for everyone involved, like, Chaeyoung has to fuck you and draw you at same time while you have to be absolutely still. How does that even work out??

You’re thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you felt your stomach tightening, each movement of her finger felt so very intricate, like you are the canvas and she’s painting you. Your hips begin to buckle and you gasp as you throw your head back.

Chaeyoung smirks, knowing what’s about to happen and drops her pencil and reaches out for your neck, lightly choking you with a firm grip.

“Ahn, this won’t do y/n. How am I supposed to do my work properly when you keep thrashing about like this. I only have two hands you know”

You can only squeal as your release feels like it’s on the brink. Chaeyoung’s fingers inside you, her thumb on your clit, her other hand around your neck and her looking over you so smugly, all of that is proving to be too much. Or so you thought at that point.

“Hey, your not trying to edge yourself are you?”, Chaeyoung asked, lightly gritting her teeth. “This much is usually enough.” She tightened her grip on your neck and tried to wiggle her fingers in deeper. “I want you to cum for me y/n.”

That’s, when you lose it, her redoubled efforts have an immediate reaction as your breath gets sucked in, your hips buckle up and your knees go limp, you can’t make a noise but you don’t know if it’s because of the sudden burst of pleasure or because Chaeyoung is gripping your neck harder, maybe both.

The next few moments go by in a flash, you can’t really recall what happened other than your orgasm and Chaeyoung’s smug expression. You don’t feel her hand on your neck anymore but her fingers are still inside you. Panting, you look at her and she’s back to drawing.

Taking a deep breath and sighing, you close your eyes and quietly moan as Chaeyoung’s fingers are back to working their magic.

“Shhhh”, Chaeyoung chides, “let me concentrate”

That slightly annoyed you, how quiet is she expecting you to be? You are trying your best. Or you were until that moment. You stay quiet for a few seconds and then let out a loud moan and purposefully thrash around a bit.

Chaeyoung sighs and then glares at you with slightly narrowed eyes. “Ahn, that’s how you want to play.” She drops her pencil and puts the paper away. “You really are too energetic for a poser. But it’s not a big issue, I think after 5…or 10 orgasms you’ll be much more still”

Hearing all that makes you a bit anxious but before you can respond Chaeyoung clamps her hand on your mouth. “I think you’ve made enough noise for now”.

It didn’t take too long for you to cum after that, you were already some way there but Chaeyoung being stern with you just seemed….right and sent you over the edge quickly enough. But of course, Chaeyoung didn’t stop there and kept continuing working her fingers which were probably really wrinkled now after being inside you for this long.

Feeling sensitive from having cum twice in a small amount of time, you felt euphoric but you were starting to feel something that transcends it. Each thrust and movement from Chaeyoung’s fingers felt electric, like they were literally shoving surges of pleasure in you. You wanted to say so many things to her right now if you wouldn’t be screaming your head off that is but with her hand clamped so tight on your mouth you couldn’t even squeak properly.

Breathing shakily, you try to focus on your lover who was now looking at you like a crazy scientist who was watching an experiment take place.

You felt your tummy tighten as an all to familiar feeling started to take place yet again. You so badly wanted to call out Chaeyoung’s name, scream it actually since she was all you could think about in this moment. The way she’s staring at you, the way her fingers are filling you and the way her hand feels around your mouth, god you just wanted to lick her hand.

Your thoughts disappear when Chaeyoung thrusts her fingers in harder than usual and keeps pushing like she’s trying to go deeper even though her fingers are as deep as they can be. Your walls convulse and contract repeatedly as you cum again.

At this point you couldn’t even catch your breath. The feelings were too intense, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of your chest. Your legs shaking, hands gripping the bedsheets, cheeks flushed. Chaeyoung finally removed her hand from your mouth and slaps your tits playfully.

“You’re lucky I like you. Now, you’re going to stay still right?”

You weakly look at her, unsure what to say as you are still recovering and are functioning slowly. However, she has already gone back to drawing, thinking you’ll be calm now.

And you were, not by choice thought really, you felt numb so it wasn’t that hard to be still. Glancing you could see traces of what Chaeyoung had drawn so far. It was good, really good but your expression did look slightly unflattering. Surely you weren’t looking this….lost. Your cheeks redden even more.

A few minutes later, you felt yourself getting close to cumming yet again. That kind of scared you, surely cumming this much in a small time frame can’t be good. Yet, your body betrayed you yet again as you let out several loud moans as you were on the brink and that’s when Chaeyoung stopped, pulling out her fingers as well.

“I’m done, I’ve finished it.”, she declares, absentmindedly cleaning off your juices from her fingers by putting them in her mouth one by one. She proceeds to show you the final product and you have to admit, it’s quite an impressive piece of art. However, you can’t appreciate it wholly since your mind had its focus elsewhere.

“It’s great but…..can you please start fingnering me again?” You say quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed about asking since that’s what she was doing to you for almost an hour now.

“What?”, Chaeyoung asks confused as to why you were speaking so quietly.

Frustrated, you blurt out what you really“I want to cum again! Okay? I want you to make me cum”

“Come on! You are so greedy you know, didn't you already get off a few times-", Chaeyoung says in slight disbelief but you can see the eagerness in her eyes.

"Just do it please, I'm really close!", you plead, feeling your release starting to fade away.

She sighs with a smile and quick eye roll, “I’ll do you one better.” She then moves in between your legs, ready to eat you out. “It might be more than once but don’t complain then”

[lovelynim]

omggg, congrats on your milestone Fabi, i'm so happy for u <3🪷✨ for the request, uh- may i humbly suggest writing something with lee!Rafayel and ler!Reader? maybe using him as a canvas for real lol- i'm- i'm sorry it's just- ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ🤌🏻

I didn't expect this many Rafayel's fans to show up in such a short amount of time, hahaha

But since you guys want to see him get got so much, who am I to disagree? ~

Also, my apologies to the last anon, but I'm smushing you together with the other two since it's the same characters, hope you don't mind!

Thin, thick, long and soft brushes, all scattered around your canvas. A color palette with different shades of red, yellow and orange, perfect to paint a beautiful sunset. If the canvas in question wasn’t putting so much effort in trying to run away, this would probably be the most peaceful painting session you ever experienced. But as Rafayel, a great and known artist once said, “chaos is a symbol of wisdom, every genius has a messy desk”.

“If you don’t stop moving, I’m going to have to start all over, Rafayel,” you tease him, keeping a firm grip around his wrists while you drag the paintbrush all the way from his forearm down to his ribs, leaving a light yellow trace behind. 

“Sohohomeohohone, hehEHEHelp!! T-thihihis is tohohorturehEHEHE!!” Rafayel cried out as if this was some kind of murder attempt. However, no matter how much he pleaded or begged, his words wouldn’t make it to your heart - not this time, not after testing your patience for so damn long.

You click your tongue, shaking your head, pretending to pity the poor artists. “Torture? This is art, Rafayel. And art is supposed to be felt, right?” You smirked, not caring the least about the fresh drops of paint sliding down your canvas and tainting the floor underneath him. “Now, I think we could use some red here,” you explained calmly while Rafayel watched in horror while you dipped the paintbrush in the red ink and brought it back to your canvas - also known as his bare torso.

“NohoHOHOH!!” He laughed, kicking his feet like a little kid throwing a tantrum, but there was no way you were going to let him go this easy. “Plehehehease! I sahAHahaid I’m sohohorry!”

He twisted and turned his body away, trying to avoid at all costs the brush covered in ink that was dancing over his stomach, tickling his tummy with soft and quick strokes, one after the other, over and over again.

“You should feel sorry for making me work so hard just to paint a little,” you grunted, tightening your grip around his wrists while you circled his navel with the paint brush. With a sadistic look on your eyes, you admired his face - a complete mess of laughter, you could barely tell the drops of paint and the natural blush on his cheeks apart. Cute. “Now, I think we need to add another layer of orange here, the colors are a bit bland…”

“AHahAHAHA, i-it’s goohohohod! N-no mohohore lahahayers!!” He laughed, gasping when you tried to draw a little awkward-shaped sun on his chest. The redness on his cheeks was starting to spread down to his neck, the colors of his skin mixing with the ones from the ink, creating something that actually looked like a sunset - well, maybe if you squint your eyes a little, but still a sunset. 

“Ahaha- p-please!” Rafayel wheezed, dropping his head back into the floor tiredly, trying to catch up his breath. His body trembled, tingling all over. “Y-you should let… t-the ink dry before… continuing…”

With the paintbrush still in your hand, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. 

[setsuntamew]

Hello and welcome to "Icon Making With Killian: An Intro to the 'Lost' Art of LiveJournal Icons"

aka, I'm still making them and I'd like to teach you how to do it, too!

This tutorial was written in Photoshop 2020, but you can probably recreate it in as far back as CS2-ish (since I still use the same sort of techniques I've been using since then, lmao). It also assumes basic understanding of the software, though I've tried to be as clear as possible throughout.

With that out of the way, let's get this tutorial on the road!!!!!!

I started with the bloomed art of Hiiro from the White Lilies scout box (image courtesy of the Ensemble Stars!! English Wiki).

I basically always start with a blank 100x100 canvas and paste the image into it. I try to go into icon making with a vague idea of what I want to do, and I knew from the beginning that my vision for this icon would have the top 1/4-1/3 of the image covered by a solid band of color. To make positioning the image of Hiiro easier, I made a rough version of the band with temporary colors (though they're pretty close to what I ended up using in the end).

With that in place, I could start working with the actual image for the icon. After pasting it in and adjusting the layers so it was under the band, I resized it and moved it around a bunch until I was happy with the position. Once I liked how it looked, I used an Unsharp Mask on the base.

Next up, I used a texture from lookslikerain. However, purple is all wrong for the color scheme I had in mind, so I went to Image > Adjustments > Hue/Saturation... to change it up to better suit my needs. Never be afraid to mess around with textures!

Here's how I adjusted this specific texture, but each one is unique- both the texture and the icon you're creating, so it's best to play with it until you get good results.

I then pasted this into the icon, making sure it was under the layers making up the top bands of color (because I was only trying to affect the base for now), and set this layer to Darken.

Now it's time to mess with the colors of the top band. They sorta matched before I did anything to the base, but now...not quite. I used a layer style for each part of it, but using the paint bucket tool would work just as well. I went to Layer > Layer Styles > Color Overlay... for each, changing the colors as necessary. The thickest band is #85d0bf, the middle band is #086371, and the thinnest, lightest one is #fcfcd8.

Time to start putting stuff on top of everything!! I took this light texture from ianthinae, rotated it, and set it to Lighten. I decided I wanted it to be a little bit brighter, so I duplicated the layer, set it to Screen, and dropped the Opacity to 20%.

I then used a texture from Sarah-Dipity and set it to Lighten as well.

Okay, now that's what I'm talkin' about!!! It's time to throw some text on this~ I went for something simple to go with the theme of the story this card is from: Princely. The font is Georgia, 10pt, in #086371, set to all caps. I decided it didn't stand out enough, so I duplicated it, changed the color to #8b4235, dragged it under the first text layer, and moved it 1 pixel to the right.

I wanted a bit more embellishment around it, so I used this simple tiny text brush from colorfilter in #06444d. I also erased part of it to make it fit the space better.

Finally, I used a texture from shiruji, set to Darken to get a bit more color variation in it, and called it done! :D

If you have any questions, please feel free to ask, and I'll answer as best I can- as long as it's not about making icons in other software D: I only know Photoshop (and Paint Shop Pro, but I don't think anyone uses that anymore). If there are any other icons of mine you're interested in seeing tutorials for - or even just specific techniques! - just lemme know. I love helping :D

Also, I'm happy to share where I get icon resources from. I have a whole post dedicated to that on my DW graphics journal, though tbh that's the best place to talk to me about making graphics in general. But I will absolutely answer asks/replies/etc about icons here on tumblr, don't worry!!!!

[days-until-burnout]

Heyy:3

I'm the anon with the tangtho request, and I have returned with an ethubs request in maybe a modern au neighbor setting??

Your posts have become a part of my day and remind me to invest time into writing too so thank you for that <3

thank you for coming back and reading! it's a weird feeling to know people read these daily lmao and go crush that writing! ain't nothing stronger than you are<3! without further ado, your ethubs _____

📧 Day 59 -

Characters - Etho/Bdubs Words - 1,006 Time - 30 mins Content - Modern AU

Bdubs stands in front of his neighbor's door, knocking for the third time as he grows annoyed. Not only did he have to walk down to the ground floor for his mail, but then he had to walk up again after being told they might have accidentally put it in his neighbor’s pile, which they might have taken already. He had already checked with the person on his left, then the person in front, leaving him only with one more room or a potential Karen-scene downstairs. 

Truth be told, as he crosses his arms after knocking yet again, huffing with tapping feet, he has been having a horrible, no good, week. And to top it all, his set of paints might be with someone else. All he wants is to paint, just anything, a scenery, some forest, hell, even just throw paint into the canvas. It was a very, very no good week. And tomorrow, he has work. Just, great. Wonderful. 

It is almost midday on a Sunday, yet he is so ready to crawl into bed and call in sick tomorrow, staying all day in bed being miserable sounds like an amazing idea. Horrible for his schedule and everything else, but he is in no state to be making logical decisions. 

He sighs. Stinkin’ paints, he mutters to himself as he accepts defeat, unenthusiastically admitting that maybe his neighbor is not home. He knows nothing of them, having recently moved in, and by the lack of encounters, their schedules did not align at all. A little unfortunate, seeing as he gets along with the other people on the floor, but it is whatever. Win some, lose some, and now, all Bdubs really wants, is to pass out for the next four—

“Oh, something I can help with?”

Bdubs startles, blinking before shaking his head, then turns towards the voice. 

There, standing in front of him, is a guy he has never seen. He has unnaturally even white hair and pale skin, an almost faded scar running down his left eye, a black mask covering the lower half of his face. Bdubs notes, in a state of stupor, that he is wearing a short sleeve shirt and shorts with sport shoes, a gym bag slung across his shoulder. And Bdubs notes, creepily so, that he is sweaty. The muscles he can, and is, literally staring at are glistening with sweat, his eyes tracing up the arm to shoulder to the covered collarbone to the exposed neck to the mask then—

“My mail. Give it back.” He blurts out when their eyes meet, realizing how idiotic he is being. His words and his harsh tone take the strange by momentary surprise, both frozen on the spot. The stranger, a nice looking stranger, blinks then looks away, fishing for his keys in his bag before walking over, stopping a couple feet from him. 

“Uh, I need… to open my door?”

“Damn right you do!”

The guy stares at him with wide eyes, then a squint, and Bdubs steps aside, dropping his eyes in silent shame. If his internal thoughts were audible, he is sure the whole building would collapse. Regardless, he hears the keys then the lock unlocking. Slowly, he turns his face to the door after hearing some footsteps walking away. The door is wide open, giving him a direct view into the kitchen with no sight of the guy. He stays on the spot, not wanting to intrude, taking the distance to kick himself mentally. For being a creep and for being an asshole about being a creep. Not a good first meeting, and more than even, he thinks that he wants to become a full time hermit. Surely there are some jobs online, and he can get groceries delivered, and he can never show his face to the world ever again. 

The world meows. 

No. 

What?

Bdubs jumps back when something brushes past his leg, dropping his head to find an American Shorthair cat arching its back as it rubs against his leg. It meows and purrs, not at all scared of the giant. He breathes out, relaxing somewhat as he kneels down, extending his hand and the cat sniffs it. He smiles when the cat pushes its head against his fingers, wedging itself into his palm, and he takes the hint, promptly caressing and scratching its tiny head. 

“Hey, buddy, brave one, aren’t you?” He coos, and the cat replies with a purr. 

“More than someone else, it seems.” 

Bdubs looks up to see the guy walking over with a box in his hands, stopping just on the other side of the door. The shoes are gone and replaced with slippers, the bag gone, but the mask is still on his face. He grows curious about his face, which only reminds him how creepy he is being. After his earlier interactions, he has no doubt he has burnt the bridge without even finding it. 

Bdubs squeezes the back of his neck with his free hand, looking away in shame, “Sorry. Just… It’s been a rough week and I just wanted my package.”

The guy hums. 

“I’m, uh, Bdubs, by the way. Your neighbor, literally next to you. It’s, uh, unfortunate, huh?” He tries to joke, but his laugh is dry. 

“No, I don’t think so. Oreo likes you.”

He nods, looking at the cat who is now seated, staring at him with a curious look. “I, hm, I think I like Oreo too.” Gently, he gives its tiny head a final scratch before standing up, sighing as he prepares to confront him again. “Sor—”

“Oh, yeah, I’m Etho. And here’s your package.” 

The guy, Etho, passes the box into his chest, and he clumsily grabs it. Oreo meows then trots back into the apartment. Before Bdubs can say anything else, Etho gets ahead of him. 

“Well, then, I’ll see you around.”

The door closes with a click, and Bdubs stands in place like an idiot. Etho did not just wink at him, did he?

_____

ngl. i struggled to come up with an idea. my brain's been fixated on a different ask, but man, i keep fumbling the bag and missing my chance to write it ;_; anyways. ethubs

[small-sinclair]

Sicker than a dog and body’s falling apart. So, here’s some hc I got if you’re sick around the Sinclairs.

Bo: THE Chaotic Caretaker

First off, he thinks your faking it, but you throw-up on his favorite shirt this morning then asked if you could have coffee between a coughing fit. After that, you use his sleeve to wipe the snot off like a damn animal.

Yeah, no. Bed for you, y/n.

“No fussing or nothin’. Ass t’bed. Only get up if ya need t’restroom, water, or food.”

He’ll pretend that you’re fine, but he can only lie to himself for so long.

While he working, he checks his phone, seeing you sent a text message from you. You sent him a meme:

… he laughs so hard you don’t believe it.

When he comes at lunch, he makes sure you move around enough to prove you’re still alive and kicking, but your coughing scares him. You smile at him and say it’ll pass. He’s starting to get nervous.

Bo sneaks a look in your room to see if your okay because he’s going back to the shop to work on a car, and you scare him.

You look like his mother resting in bed when she was dying, breathing so slowly that his eyes can’t look away. Why do you look at him with those sick eyes? Did he do this to you? This was his fault.

He closed the shop and spends the day with you, forcing meditation down your throat.

“I know it tastes gross, but drink it. Promise, ya feel betta later. Sleep.”

It’s a mixture of whiskey and DayQuil. That’s what he takes when he’s sick. He swears by this mixture that it could cure Covid.

You have him wear a “dumb mask” if he wants you to rest on his chest.

You snuggle against him, sleeping. He repeats over and over how much he loves you, being softer around you for today. No yelling. No being rough. Just soft Bo petting you.

He ends up getting sick the next day, but at least you two can suffer together 🤷

Vincent: Mother Hawk Caretaker

Unlike Bo, he knows when you’re sick and forced you to stay in bed, sleeping it off.

You’ll be down stairs because he’ll be checking on you the whole time.

He’ll bring you water and medicine, telling you need to drink and medicate. He’ll help you take it if you can’t do it by yourself.

Just to make him blush, you call his name sickly, calling out, “Vinny, you beautiful thing?” When he looks at you from his work, you blow him a kiss before snuggling into the bed.

To make sure he watches you like a hawk, he sets up a canvas and paints you sleeping. He sues all your favorite colors to give it personality.

You are his muse. You inspire him no matter your body status.

For lunch, he makes sure you eat a little something and move a bit.

He’s not a stranger to sickness. Lester would get sick a lot when he was younger, and Vincent ended up taking care of him. So, he knows what he’s doing when he takes care of you.

While you sleep, he’ll brush your hair back and he’ll wash off the sweat with a cold wet rag.

He finished his work and holds your hand while you sleep, wax lips kissing your hand and wrist.

You wake up to him with his head down, sleeping next to you, on the side of the bed. Smiling, you brush his hair and smile.

The next day, he’ll melt down his mask and make a new one to kill the germs.

Lester: The Caring Caretaker

He’s much like Vincent when he learns you’re sick. He was able to get you the trash just in time, too, rubbing your back and holding your hair.

“A fever? Awe, don’t worry ‘at sweet lil’ head, sweet pea. Get t’bed and sleep. I’ll be back in two hours wit’ meds an’ tissues.” *plants a little kiss on your head* “Be back soon, opossum. Sleep well. Lov’ya.”

He makes good on his promise, coming back in two hours after cleaning the roads and calling Bo that he’ll be with you today.

I have a hc that he works for the state because of cleaning the road, so he calls them, too. They let him have the day off, offering him a choice to make up the day during the weekend.

He brings back medicines and soft tissues. Also, oranges. A shit tone of oranges.

This man will draw you a bath so he’ll get you fresh pjs and clean pillow cases. Something fresh will help with the sickness, he thinks.

He has you eat an orange and sleep for the rest of the day.

“See, darlin’? Lookin’ so much betta! Let’s sleep fer th’day. Don’ worry. I’ll be here. Yer okay. You’ll be okay.”

He’ll be awake, your head on his chest, and waiting silently as you get better. As much as he wants to watch some T.V., he doesn’t want you to wake up.

Just watching you sleep and recover… he thinks you’re cute and so strong.

You wake up to find him lost in thought. He’ll smile down at you, kissing your hair, whispering you to sleep by saying gentle things.

The next day, he’ll change the bedsheets while you make breakfast before he goes to work.

[the-local-eldritch-microwave]

Ink and Nightmare Painting idea(scenario)

so like, lets say Ink created some real nice oil painting(idk why i keep drifting to oil paintings when i talk about Ink making something but maybe that's just cause its a personal favorite artstyle of mine) and was pretty satisfied with it and all and wanting to start another one he needs to find space for the one he had just made but, uh oh! he's made a lot of creations recently and their isn't really anymore space for it unfortunately. Since he really doesn't want to throw anything away or stars forbid destroy it he looks for another place for it to go. eventually he finds a nice spot with a respectful and kind person inside it(perhaps a pawn shop or a random persons attic but either way it ends up getting into the hands of mortals) and decides to leave it in their possession as a sort of gift(cause he heard/read somewhere gods do that apparently) and that's that.

Over time this painting gets passed down through generations, passed down hand to hand through yard sales, mother to daughter, grandparents to children in wills, art professors to students, even ending up in auctions at one point because of how old it was and all because no one actually knew who made it, the only clue being an "I" painted in thick ink on the back of the canvas. This eventually catches the eye of even the guardian of negativity himself.

Now nightmare, being a sucker for collecting old, valuable, and seemingly irreplaceable pieces of work to fill space in his oversized mansion for himself(and henchmen) gets it almost on principle simply because he doesn't think that the mortals ever deserve something like it in the first place. However the more he looks at it the more he comes to appreciate it and even admire the artist careful strokes and immense patients they seemed to have had while making this painting. It almost seems too good for any normal mortal to have created it at all and when he passes by it during his many walks in his castle its often one of the only things that can make him falter in his steps, even when deep in thought. Over time it just becomes one of the many staples of his place and perhaps even gives him a sense of pride that he is the only one to own such a beautiful painting, despite the chips in the frame and discoloring in places that others may have left more, and the edges frayed as it as been moved too many times to count. It gives it an indescribable texture that un-doubtly enhances the painting even more and honestly? Nightmare couldn't be more in love with a painting then he is right now.

Now imagine even FURTHER into the future and all the sans are are in the truce and yadda yadda yadda peace and multiversal balance and nobody has to fight(seriously) anymore! yippee! now lets just say, for some reason, Ink is wondering the halls of the castle out of sheer boredom and when he passes his own painting he almost doesn't give it a second thought but then he does a double take.. and a triple take...and a quadruple take just to make sure it isn't his faulty memory, but lo and behold is his very own painting right in front of him, mounted on the wall so proudly and clearly that Ink can hardly believe it(and in NIGHTMARES CASTLE of ALL places) and as a very last double check he very carefully lifts the bottom of the canvas to reveal his signature staring right back at him.

At first his more confused then anything because why the stars would Nightmare keep something made by the hands of one of his longest standing enemies who fought against him with his own brother??? its just didn't make sense. On the other hand he was somewhat flattered; When he made things he never really made them with the intention of hanging it up unless it was something he made for a friend as a birthday gift(but those were usually pretty small projects only taking a few weeks at most if he had artblock or couldn't get something to look just right) but this? this was just something he made to pass by the time, to get his artistic juices flowing, something he made, yes with a lot of time, but time meant nothing when your were a god! a month or even a year could easily melt into the very fabric of time and next thing you know an entire century has passed(it has happened to him before) yet the more he thought about it, the more it made him wonder; If Nightmare liked something he made that much when he didn't even give it much thought in the first place then how would Nightmare react when he really put in some determination and real effort(would he like it even more or was it just luck? would he put it up too, right next to this one? what would happen if he dedicated a piece just for him??), it was starting to consume his every thought!

Before he could even think about what to actually do next a deep voice startles him out of his thoughts and he turns to his side to see Nightmare himself! Ink stared at him and then back at is own painting and then back at him and still didn't even know how to say it but Nightmare started toe conversation for him, thank the stars.

"Beautiful, isn't it? its one of my favorites too"

"oh! thats awesome!- i mean, uh, its certainly..something."

"something indeed. The art is breathtaking, I often find myself staring at it longer then i really mean to when i pass by it"

"wait- really?? you mean that??"

"what, do you not like it? I thought an artist like yourself would be able to also recognize an artists talent just as well if not better then i can"

"no no no! i didn't mean it like that, its great! really it is!! its just..I mean, i just didn't take you as the kinda guy to appreciate art like this. I kinda always thought you'd be more into writing and stuff like that!"

"mh, well a skeleton can have more then one interest, cant he? even i know a masterpiece when i see one.. a shame i never figured out who made the piece."

"..you didn't?"

"unfortunately no, although i have looked into it and tried more then i care to admit. It's as if it just appeared one day and no one even knows how let alone where it could've come from. Typical humans. Cant even fathom how you and the rest deal with them on a daily basis"

"I mean, you get used to it pretty quickly if you ask me, heh.."

"I suppose in your line of work you would have to, although whichever mortal created this must have been particularly blessed with their skills. A godsend on their people really. The Mortals were lucky to get to touch this beauty at all, let alone have it in their greedy hands and possession for so long..wouldn't you agree?"

Ink almost doesn't respond, pulled between feeling flustered from all of these compliments or embarrassed by the fact that he would have to eventually tell Nightmare at some point and tell him it was the stupid forgetful squid that painted that. Despite himself he starts to speak before his mind can even think

"What if..a mortal didn't make this..?"

Now Nightmare is fully turned towards him instead of the painting giving him his full attention and now he isn't sure if he wants to be under that gaze even more or dodge it.

"well, if an outcode really did make this, then i'd simply just have to commission another one, and, if willing, I would like to see them work."

"o-oh?"

"mhm, and i would prefer it to be around sometime next week between 4 and midnight, but only if he wants to of course"

oh

oh.

He knows.

"okay."

and that's all he can get out before almost rushing away, non-existent heart racing because no one has ever asked for him to paint for them, at least not like that. but that's the least of his concerns because now?

Now he has to get his paint bushes and a fresh canvas ready.

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Chapter 1 || Masterlist

@elucienweekofficial

Chapter 2 - Could You Be The Devil?

Feyre chewed on the tip of her brush, frustration building in her chest with every useless stroke of paint.

She’d barely slept last night, having returned from the human lands too rattled to lie still for any longer than five minutes. Rhys was gone, too, which had made falling asleep all the more difficult—he’d been held back in Windhaven along with Cassian, both males thoroughly displeased with this turn of events. Feyre could only guess the Illyrian warlords—well, one warlord in particular—continued to be less accommodating than anticipated, and from the tired strain in Rhysand’s voice as it slithered into her mind, she figured it might be best to wait with questions until he returned.

Besides, Feyre had too many questions of her own right now to even begin thinking about Devlon.

Another pointless swipe of her brush against the canvas drew a long-suffering groan from her throat, and she might have given up completely had it not been for a quiet chuckle somewhere behind her.

“By the Cauldron, Feyre—that looks terrible.”

She whirled back with a gasp. “Lucien!”

Practically launching from her seat, she reached her friend in two quick strides, throwing her arms around his neck. She only felt him still for a moment—a fact that made her heart clench—before two, strong arms wrapped around her, radiating warmth. “You asshole,” she accused, pulling back to meet his russet-golden stare.

His lips twitched. “Such foul language for a High Lady.”

She pointed a finger at his chest, nail digging lightly into the hard muscle. “I’ve missed you, you know. It’s been…a while.”

Lucien’s smile faded. “I know,” he said, giving her shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

She studied his scarred face—ever-twisted in something she knew he’d been trying to mask, but—at least to her watchful eyes—failed miserably. It was the same thing she’d once seen in the darkened depths of his mind, haunting her to this day. Pain and longing—and endless, infinite sadness.

“What changed?” she asked, motioning for him to sit beside her as she plopped down on the couch.

Lucien opened his mouth—then closed it, seemingly not ready to have that conversation yet. His gaze flickered towards the canvas instead, auburn brows furrowing at the mess of scattered lines and brownish shapes. “So what exactly are you painting?” His head cocked to the side slightly, as if a different angle could perhaps lead him to an explanation. “Looks like your hair, just when you wake up.”

Feyre smacked his arm playfully. “Very funny. If you must know, I’m painting that owl over there,” she gestured toward the window, where the large bird cleaned its feathers blissfully from an apple tree. Feyre frowned. “But for some reason, no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get it right. I thought…” she considered, musing more to herself now than the male beside her, “I thought it got the colours right—but, as soon as I put them on the canvas, they just don’t look the same.” She huffed, throwing the bird an accusatory look. “It’s almost like the owl doesn’t want to be painted.”

When she turned back to face him, she found Lucien’s brows were now high with amusement. “Losing your touch, Cursebreaker?”

Her eyes narrowed, willing Winter’s hard, piercing ice into her stare.

It only made Lucien chuckle again. “Perhaps you just need to regain your focus.” His expression turned sympathetic. “Has the baby been keeping you up?”

Feyre sighed—it wasn’t Nyx that made her so restless. “No—he sleeps through the night without a sound, really.” A smile tugged at her mouth again. “You have to meet him—he’s still asleep now, but—”

“I will. It will be my pleasure, Feyre, believe me, but—” he hesitated, the muscle in his jaw tight, “You know why I’m here.”

Gods—perhaps she really did need to go to sleep.

“Is she alright?” Feyre asked carefully, unsure how much could’ve possibly changed in the past ten hours.

Lucien shifted in his seat, shoulders rolling back slightly. “I wouldn’t know.” He cleared his throat. “She was asleep when I got back.”

“Oh.”

His eyes sharpened. “Would you like to tell me why, exactly, there are burn marks on Vassa’s hands?”

“How much do you know?” Feyre asked. “I thought Jurian would fill you in after Vassa…well.”

“Jurian, as old as he is, is still a human—which means he does not understand magic in the same way you and I, or even Vassa, do. He told me why you were there—about Beron and Koschei, and the vision, too—but whatever magic was involved, there is no way he could’ve scented it.”

Feyre chewed on her lip. “Elain was burned, too.”

Lucien’s gaze flashed a living flame. “What?”

“I understand as much as you do, Lucien. All I know is that one second, Elain and Vassa were cutting their palms open, and the next, their blood turned into white, liquid fire—I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Lucien looked horrified. “Cutting their palms open?”

“Jurian had a knife on hand.”

A low snarl ripped free from his throat. “Easy,” Feyre told him. “I healed them both right away.”

“Why would either of them even do that?” Lucien asked. “I don’t know much about Seers, but I’ve never heard…” the words died on his tongue as his mind seemed to drift away.

“Elain seemed to think it necessary,” Feyre said, unsure what to make of it herself. “To trigger the vision, that is.”

“I thought you said she had no interest in developing her abilities.”

“She didn’t,” Feyre insisted. “Things have changed—I don’t know what happened, but I know this is a good thing, Lucien. She cannot escape her powers, so to see her try to embrace them is comforting—no matter how strange those powers seem to me.” She added, “Her mental shields are nearly impenetrable. She asked me how to build them a few months ago.”

“You’ve been training her?” Lucien asked.

“No—and neither has Rhys. Elain seemed to want to figure it out on her own.”

Lucien hummed. “Sounds like she’d been doing a good enough job.”

“What happened last night is concerning,” Feyre said, wondering how he felt about all of this. “I’ve never felt magic like this before.”

Lucien ran a hand through his hair until it fell down his back in waves, the auburn like molten flames under the morning sunlight. “Do you think it came from the Cauldron?”

Feyre considered. The Cauldron’s power had been overwhelming to the senses in ways she could not quite describe—its thrumming magic had seemed to call out to her very soul as it hummed its song at the war camp all those months ago. It simmered in Nesta, too, from the moment her sister had stepped out of its black waters—like a living creature fighting to be freed from her veins.

“No,” she finally decided. “The feel of it, the scent…it was different. Rotten,” she scrunched her nose as she recalled the stench, “like slowly decaying earth.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring, Feyre.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be more concerned about the fire.”

Lucien shrugged. “A fire can be extinguished,” he said. “There is no reversing the rot.”

Feyre fell back on the cushions with a heavy sigh. “I wish the Bone Carver were still here.”

The look of puzzlement on Lucien’s face almost made her chuckle. “He always seemed to have all the answers. Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said as his expression shifted into silent judgement. “He was Koschei’s brother, besides. Something tells me he would’ve helped.”

“If the Bone Carver had known how to kill Koschei, I don’t think he would’ve spent all those millennia in the Prison,” Lucien pointed out.

Feyre closed her eyes. “I suppose.”

“When was the last time you slept, Feyre?” his smooth voice reached her.

“Don’t make fun of me again,” she grunted.

A soft laugh. “I’m not—I only mean…after everything, you deserve some rest.”

She knew exactly what he meant by everything.

“I’ll rest once I finally manage to figure out what’s going on,” she said. “I need to speak to Rhys about this, but I was thinking of going up to the library at the House of Wind—see if any of the priestesses have studied Seers at any point in time. Perhaps what Elain had done was not as unusual as we might think.”

“That sounds like a good place to start,” Lucien agreed.

“You should come with me,” Feyre offered. “It would be good for you to take this information back since you’re…well.” She tried not to sigh. “I’m assuming you’ll end up crossing paths eventually.”

His tone radiated nothing but indifference. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

Feyre sat up to survey his face. Not a single emotion creased it as expected, though she could’ve sworn his throat bobbed slightly as he evenly returned her gaze.

Perhaps that was why she started softly, “Lucien—”

But Lucien rose then, smoothing out the front of his jacket with a hand. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“Lucien,” Feyre pressed on, rising to her feet as well. “Don’t—just stay a little while longer.”

He offered her a sad smile. “I can’t, Feyre. It’s just…it’s not a good idea.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “Though, I supposed, there is no place I could run to in our current, ah…predicament.”

She reached to squeeze his hand—warm and broad even with the chill morning breeze whooshing in through the window. “I know you two will sort this out,” she said in what she could only hope he took as encouragement. “In the meantime, I will visit the House of Wind and try to find some answers.”

Lucien nodded. “How will you know how to start?”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and they both whirled toward the source that had managed to creep up on two, fully trained High Fae.

Nesta smirked from where she leaned against the doorway. “I know just the right priestess to help.”

———

Ironically, the air at the House of Wind stood completely still.

It hung something heavy over the training ring, though, something that made Feyre’s breaths come thicker as she watched the duel, unable to tear her gaze off the two sparring figures. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Azriel break a sweat, and yet—there it was, beading on his forehead as he shifted into a more defensive stance.

Gwyneth Berdara flashed him a winning grin before she attacked.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this determined, Rhys’s voice slid into her mind, sparkling with a mischief that told her he and Cassian would definitely be bringing this up to their brother later. There was something else hiding in Rhys’s tone, though—a sense of barely repressed joy, as though her mate did not want to get his hopes up entirely—not yet, at least.

A silvery swoosh of a knife was his only warning as Azriel pivoted, dodging the priestess’s weapon by only an inch. Standing beside Feyre, Nesta gave him a mocking smile, even as pride flickered in her icy blue gaze.

The shadowsinger grunted and swung, his sword cutting through the air as Gwyneth twirled to her left, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Too slow,” she teased, making Azriel’s eyes narrow. Feyre had to give her credit, though—she was fast, an advantage he clearly hadn’t taken into account.

“Wrap it up, Berdara!” Nesta shouted from across the ring, making her coppery head snap toward the sound. A pair of teal eyes widened as she realised who, exactly, was standing beside her friend, as she met Rhysand’s stare first, then Feyre’s.

Rhys gave a mental click of his tongue. He’s got her, now.

Are you not cheering for your brother? Feyre teased, a chuckle meeting her in answer.

Oh, no, her mate said. I would love to see him get his ass kicked.

She rolled her eyes. There’s nothing quite like a supportive family.

Cruel, beautiful female, he purred, heat rising in her cheeks at the sound.

Rhys had been right, though—the odds seemed to have shifted, with Gwyneth backing up towards the training ring’s edge as she blocked Azriel’s attacks one after another. He was smiling now, shadows dancing around him, and Feyre could’ve sworn she saw one of them wrap around the priestess’s leg as she nearly tripped over a rock.

He hasn’t been this happy in a while, Rhys remarked.

I wonder, Feyre mused, if this is why Elain left.

Rhys stilled. Feyre—

I do not blame you, she said, thinking back to the memory he’d shown her on that fateful Solstice night. This—whatever she’s doing right now in the human lands—with Vassa, with Lucien…it needs to be resolved before her final choice is made.

Rhys looked at the training ring again. Looks like there may be nothing to resolve.

She followed his gaze, where Gwyneth now stood pinned, a new dagger none of them had seen before now pointed at her throat. Perhaps not.

The duel finished, and Azriel passed by them, giving Nesta, Rhys and herself a brief nod before turning to the priestess again with a shadow of a smile.

“Maybe next time, Berdara.” Her eyes narrowed into slits, glueing to his winged back as she watched him walk away.

Nesta chuckled. “My sister,” she introduced, motioning towards Feyre, “and her mate.”

Rhys smiled. “It’s a true pleasure to meet you, Gwyneth.”

Gwyn’s brows rose in surprise—as though she hadn’t expected a High Lord to be content with the introduction Nesta had given him. Still, she bowed deeply. “My Lady,” Gwyneth said, “My Lord. If you could allow me to freshen up—the library’s main study can be prepared in a few minutes—”

Rhys waved a hand. “There’s no need for such formalities.” And with that, a small table appeared in the shaded corner in the back, along with four heavy, wooden chairs. Gesturing towards them, Rhys added, “Please, take a seat.”

Feyre laced her fingers atop the table as Rhysand took a seat to her right, meeting Gwyneth’s gaze from opposite the table. “We won’t take too much of your time,” she promised.

Gwyneth looked as though the very idea was ridiculous. “I am at your disposal for however long you need me, my Lady.”

“Just Feyre, please. If it’s not too much trouble for you,” she added quickly, unsure how comfortable the priestess would be with such pleasantries.

She loosed a breath then. “Alright,” Gwyneth started carefully, her teal gaze swiping over Nesta, then Rhys, then finally Feyre again. “How can I help you?”

“Tea?” Rhys asked, and, as if unable to help herself, Gwyneth smiled, motioning to her training gear—to the Illyrian leathers hugging her body far too tightly for the spring sun—and said, “I’m alright, but thank you for the offer.”

Beside her, Nesta shrugged. “I’ll have some.”

A set of teas and pastries appeared, both Rhys and Nesta reaching for their cups as Feyre rolled her eyes at the two. “I was wondering if you were aware of any priestesses conducting research on the Seers in the library,” Feyre said, figuring Gwyneth was not the type of female to divulge in unnecessary small talk.

Her brows knitted. “Seers?” A glance at Nesta—she knew what Elain was, then. “Not that I’m aware. The ability to See has been forgotten for quite some time—I’m afraid the only knowledge our library might possess are the old scrolls from the previous millennium, if not more.”

“Ancient scrolls are good,” Feyre said. “Better, actually. What we seek is…” she hesitated, casting Rhys a quick look. 

Her mate picked up smoothly, “We believe the knowledge we’re after stems from a time when Seers were far more common—and therefore, their skills understood in more depth.”

The priestess chewed on the inside of her cheek, as if cataloguing her mind for any information she might have stored there before. “What kind of skills are you interested in, specifically?”

“How they navigated their visions,” Feyre began, “or induced them, even. A more…controlled technique of looking into the future rather than unprompted glimpses.”

Nesta added, “Whatever you can find, Gwyn, really. Anything that lets us learn more about Elain’s magic would get us one step closer to our goal.”

Gwyneth frowned. “Which is?” She blinked quickly as the question left her mouth, a pink blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Forgive me,” she addressed them, “I forget myself.”

Rhys smiled. “It’s quite alright. It is only fair you wish to know our reasons for the knowledge we ask you to find. All I can say, I’m afraid—at least for now—is that we wish to use Elain’s skills to prevent any threats to our lands before they truly come into fruition.”

Gwyneth’s face betrayed that Rhys’s answer had only spurred more questions—but something about the look Nesta gave her friend told Feyre the priestess would be getting the answers later, anyway.

“I see,” she said then. “I will consult the priestesses—Clotho and Merril might be a good start, I think—to see if they’re aware of any existing research. In the meantime, I will look into some research of my own. Is there a timeframe you wish to seem my findings delivered?”

Feyre offered her a tight smile. “As soon as you learn anything. Thank you, Gwyneth.”

She smiled. “Please—just call me Gwyn.”

———

Lucien’s original plan to make a quick stop at Dawn ended up taking his entire day.

He was stalling and he was not too proud to admit it. The idea of returning to the manor filled him with unease running deep enough to keep him occupied for hours—and so he had done exactly that. Nuan—though not without first scolding him for not keeping in touch as often as he’d used to—had invited him into her shop, surprising him with his order being finished a month early. The potion was nowhere near a true antidote, but it was enough—more than he’d hoped for, actually—and it had taken everything in him not to immediately run back to the house to shove it into Vassa’s hands.

He hadn’t known her transformations were painful at first, though looking back at it, it was so obvious that he beat himself over the head for not having guessed it right away. Vassa’s firebird form was at least six times her human size, and there was no ailment for the curse breaking and stretching her bones every morning before she turned.

It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, she’d once told him after seeing the horror written on his face. It only takes a few seconds—and it’s not like it could ever kill me.

There was a bitterness to her tone as she’d said it, and it had made Lucien winnow to Dawn right away then.

Lucien knew very little about alchemy, but Nuan had patiently listened to every grotesque detail he was giving as he recalled the transformations he had seen. She’d then told him of a similar issue faced by a Lesser Fae shapeshifter—a customer of hers who, though without the time constraints Vassa had to abide to, could not shift into his reptile-like form without the blinding pain of scales cutting through his skin. Nuan had used his cure as a base, working tirelessly for the past four months or so to develop a remedy of sorts—anything to ease the pain of the transformation his friend endured each day.

The day he’d told the Band of Exiles of his commissioned elixir, Lucien and Jurian became friends.

True friends—not just roommates of convenience, as Jurian had initially liked to call them. His apprehension had not returned when Lucien had clarified that there was a good chance the medicine Nuan was curating might not even work given Vassa’s unusual circumstances—Jurian had simply shaken Lucien’s hand and told him they’d have to hope for the best.

It seemed that the best had finally arrived, the small vial flashing a cool blue in Lucien’s palm.

“One drop,” Nuan instructed. “Swallowed the moment she turns back into her human form. She should try to sleep, too—for at least an hour after each dosage to give her body time to absorb it.”

Vassa would not like that—her time as a human was already precious as it was, and another hour taken off that time would only be seen by the queen as a waste. Still, Lucien placed an outrageously heavy satchel of gold marks—far more than she’d expected, from the exasperated gasp that tore free from her lips—on Nuan’s desk and kissed her cheek.

“You’re amazing,” he told her.

She rolled her yes. “That we already knew. Let me know if it works, Lucien.” She angled her head, examining his face—the golden eye carved into it. “And, for Cauldron’s sake, try to stop by more often.”

He should have winnowed back into the house then—but he found himself aimlessly wandering the streets of Dawn’s capital city instead. It was still basked in daylight, which meant that Vassa still had a few more hours until he could pass on the good news. Jurian, too, would be absent for a good while—the general, to Vassa’s quiet surprise, had recently opted to switch into a more nocturnal lifestyle, having slept through most of the day.

And then, of course, there was his guest—one Lucien would rather not think about until his time to stall ran out at last.

Right now, Elain Archeron was probably lurking around the manor with solitude as her only companion—solitude and that sweet, intoxicating scent of hers that put his mind in a daze and set his chest alight.

Lucien hated that scent. It reminded him that this light, bright as golden as it was, would forever be out of his reach as he continued to drown in the darkness.

The greyish veil of dusk had to drape over the sky eventually, though, and, his chest tight with dread, Lucien winnowed back home.

Every last inch of the manor was covered in her scent. The jasmine and honey seeped its roots into the splintered wood and etched itself into the peeling tapestries, that golden thread carrying it weaving itself into the carpets. The place that was meant to be an escape from the bond was now home to the very female it tied him to—for how long, Lucien had no idea.

What are you doing here, Elain?

Jurian’s grim expression—the same one he’d offered Lucien last night upon his return—did not greet him as soon as he reached the stony doorstep, which meant his friend was still asleep somewhere, most probably on the third and highest floor of the house where the guest rooms were located. For reasons unknown to Lucien, Jurian had not opted for a bedroom of his own, instead making his way through the spares day by day in a strange, restless sort of arrangement. It seemed that no matter where he stayed, no matter how spacious the room or how comfortable the mattress, the Mad General would not be able to wedge himself into sleep’s peaceful embrace for a while.

And so, the only familiar presence waiting for Lucien as he entered the manor was the empty silence.

He moved to the back of the house at first, navigating the dark corridors of the first floor and glimpsing a scowl on his face on a nearby mirror. If there was one place she could be, he supposed it would be the gardens—if he could even call the sea of weeds and dug-up earth as such. He smothered a smile quickly as the image of an exasperated Elain, elbows-deep in the soil popped into his mind, not a true memory, not even wishful thinking—but rather, a cruel figment of his imagination, apparently intent on torturing him even within the comforts of his own mind.

But Elain was not in the gardens—nor was she seated in any of the drawing rooms adjoining them. His next guess—and last resort, really since he sure as hell was not going into her bedroom—was the kitchen, shoved into a far-right nook of the house, severely underwhelming in its contents as neither one of the manor’s permanent residents seemed to have an appetite these days. Lucien knew—from stories, of course, because he sure as hell was not getting that information directly from the source herself—that Elain had taken to baking, most of her time before the last Solstice taken up by pastries and pies of infinite kinds. She was a skilled baker, Feyre had claimed so in her letters, at least, not that Lucien would ever find out—not when the consequences of an offering of such kind were neither expected nor desired by either of them.

It wasn’t that Lucien did not like Elain—how could he, when baking and gardening were the only two things he truly knew about her. They weren’t even true attributes he could attune to her—they weren’t things that told him who his mate was, deep in that same place he felt her in his own heart. Was she kind? Was she lost, thwarted by a world unwelcoming to her since the very beginning? Was she drowning in the darkness, the same way Lucien was? Or was she perfectly content, wishing for nothing more from life than for peace and quiet, a life undisturbed by whatever else the world had in store for her?

Yes—Lucien knew nothing about Elain Archeron, and, from the looks of it, he never would.

Perhaps, noticing the almost pathetic silence of the manor, she’d simply decided to sleep through the day, too. Lucien was under the impression that her attempts at triggering a vision of any kind would resume as soon as Vassa returned, both females intent on understanding two problems that seemed to have a common solution. How could they kill Koschei, a Death God with a power perhaps only the Cauldron could tame? Would killing him bring peace to the world as much as to Vassa’s own life? The answers seemed to lie far beyond anyone’s sight, with the only person able to reach them being the female Lucien could not, for the life of him, find.

Deciding she would have to turn up eventually—there was no way Lucien would use the bond to try to locate her whereabouts—he decided to head to bed himself, hoping that an hour of sleep or two could bring forward a clarity Elain’s presence in his house seemed to erase with each passing moment.

His own room was on the second floor, just above the offices beneath, and Lucien made way for the small staircase he knew snaked up straight to his wing. He was stopped in his tracks, though, when he felt a disturbance—a phantom brush against his arm, like a singular blow of a dying wind.

Frowning, Lucien turned around to the window behind him, finding an oval-shaped figure shaded by the fading sun. It flapped its wings again, that same wind grazing his skin—and Lucien sighed, moving to close the window before the bird found its way inside.

“It’s you,” a quiet, if not stunned voice reached him.

Lucien whipped back, the window snapping shut behind him.

Elain Archeron stood at the entrance to one of the private studies, a large tome in her hand.

Fuck—he’d forgotten how beautiful she was. Up close, her beauty seemed even more unreal, like something from a dream—it made his breath catch slightly and his nostrils flared as the fragrant jasmine and honey infused the air between them.

It was then that he recognised another layer to her scent—something different, hidden as though seeking shelter between the thick folds of honey, between the white petals of a blooming flower. He could not quite discern it, the feeling infuriating to no end as he practically tasted the word on the tip of his tongue—something he’d definitely heard of before but could not seem to recall even if it killed him.

Not being able to stand looking at her achingly beautiful face for another moment, Lucien’s gaze flickered to the open doors behind her small frame, then to the tome she gripped in her hands. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the question coming out a touch more offensively than he had intended.

Elain huffed. “Hello to you, too, I suppose.”

Interesting. “I wasn’t aware we were in the habit of exchanging pleasantries, lady,” he said. “My sincerest apologies.”

Her eyes, brown like a fawn’s coat, flashed with annoyance at the sarcasm. “You are not sorry one bit.”

Anger simmered through him, not having anticipated this manner of conversation at all. “Perhaps not,” Lucien said tightly. “You haven’t answered my question,” he added, gesturing toward the study behind her.

Elain followed his hand, shoulders rolling back as she straightened, her frown smoothing out as she seemingly worked to regain her composure. “It’s me who should apologise, actually,” she said politely, though he could have sworn that the angry glint in her eyes remained. “I am only a guest in your home.” Her gaze dipped down, giving him a full view of her long, dark lashes as she added, “Forgive me.”

Had Lucien not been a courtier his entire life, he might have even bought the apology. “Well?” he pressed again, unsure whether he should feel proud or concern at her ability to delay an answer.

Elain’s brow rose an inch.

“Your answer,” Lucien reminded, the fire in his gut stirring impatiently.

“Oh—right,” Elain said, tucking a stray golden-brown curl behind her arched ear, its lengths falling over her shoulder. Lucien’s traitorous eyes trailed the movement for only a moment before darting back to hers again. “It was quiet here, I wanted—well, I thought I could find a book, but I couldn’t seem the find the library.”

“There is no library here.” Had she not frequented this house for months before the War?

This was odd—she was odd, and Lucien was fairly certain it wasn’t Vassa’s panicked voice from last night that spurred his concern. Elain shifted on her feet under his scrutiny. “Last I remember, reading was not a crime in the human lands.”

Lucien smirked. “Ah, so the rose does have its thorns after all.” He angled his head. “Tell me, Elain, when have you grown so…spirited?”

Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Whatever insinuation you are attempting to make, I can assure you I am already quite offended.”

Lucien dismissed the retort. “What book are you reading, then?” he asked, his gaze sliding back to the old, black tome. “The Military Strategies of The Great War?” he barked a laugh. “Since when have you taken up interest in warcraft?”

She gripped the book tighter to her chest. “I’ll have you know I’ve recently been looking into receiving some…defence training.”

To say Lucien did not believe her would be an understatement. She seemed to read as much from his face, adding, “My sisters have done it—I do not see why I couldn’t too.” She angled her head, her luminous hair cascading down her back in immaculate waves. “Unless you believe me ill-fitted for the task?”

It was a challenge—and the sort of bait Lucien did not feel inclined to catch at the moment. She was toying with him, meeting his every question with a strike of her own when it was Lucien who’d spent centuries studying the art. There was no doubt left in his mind that Elain was trying to rattle him—for some strange reason, perhaps thinking getting him agitated enough would make him simply give up and go away.

Lucien found himself not wanting to give up just yet.

He did something he’d only done once before—something he thought he’d never have to do again. Offering his mate a long-suffering sigh he hoped would mislead her, Lucien reached down the bond—down that shimmering, golden thread until he found the rib in her chest it had tied itself to—and tugged.

But, instead of the soft, warm light, darkness flashed in his eyes and overwhelmed his senses—wrapping itself around the thread like a weed growing on a blooming stem. There and gone like the blink of an eye.

Elain staggered back, as though she’d physically felt the intrusion, all the propriety gone from her face as she bared her teeth. “Do not do that again,” she snarled, the sound perhaps the most Fae-like thing he’d ever heard from her. Her hands trembled, her knuckles white against the book’s leathery, black sleeve.

“Everyone pinned you as the quiet gardener,” he hummed as though she hadn’t flashed her fangs at him at all, “But I had a feeling there was more to you than that, Elain Archeron.”

There was only a beat of silence—a glimmer of surprise he felt deep at the end of the bridge between them—before anger quickly replaced it again.

“You know nothing about me,” Elain seethed, the words her only goodbye as she turned away to disappear in the dim, musty corridor.

She was right—Lucien didn’t.

Not yet, at least.

———

Before the starless night took over the sky at last, Elain opened her bedroom window.

She was already late, her heart still racing from the encounter downstairs. She hadn’t expected to see him—had foolishly hoped he would keep away knowing she’d be staying at the manor for the time being—but Lucien was apparently as persistent as he was handsome, which were two more things she could not let become a threat to her plans.

The bond, yet another foolish hope she’d been harbouring, was still there, then. Elain had shoved it so deep inside her for those many months in Lucien’s absence that, eventually, forgetting about its presence—at least partially—seemed to have fuelled her need for ignorance. But the mating bond decidedly remained—now, as Lucien had so eloquently put it, a thorn in her side. Perhaps insisting on staying here had been a bad idea—though, as much thought as she’d given it over the past few weeks, Elain could not think of another option that could get her to her goal any quicker than moving in with the source itself.

She would deal with Lucien later. For now, Elain needed to explain herself.

A quiet sound of wings on the cooling wind made her body stiffen, and her spine straightened as if on instinct as the owl landed on her windowsill. Its dark green eyes fixed immediately on her own, the feeling so deeply unsettling Elain had to fight to keep from flinching.

“It saddens me to see you so frightened, my sweet.”

Elain watched its sharp beak as it spoke, the sight as inconceivable as the first time she’d witnessed it. Still, she kept her eyes on the owl, on its smooth, shadowy voice that was so entirely human she nearly leaned out the window to look for its true origin.

That same voice now sounded with a quiet sigh. “It is no matter. One day, you will see.” It cocked its head, those round eyes narrowing on her slightly as though examining. “You’ve been unsuccessful, then. How thoroughly disappointing.”

Elain swallowed. Hard.

“I shall give you a week. You know what happens if you fail.”

Elain loosed a shuddering breath. A week—she could work with that.

If she only managed to get Lucien out of her way.

Elain looked into the owl’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627

[shadykazama]

Matchup exchange~

For BG3, MHA, and JJK with @rav--en / @frostfall-matches !

The results are in! And I match you with-

BG3 Astarion~

❤ [Astarion largely embodies what you like in people] He quite literally has some bite to him! Teasing and banter are second nature to our resident vampire, and no one is safe from his rather catty attitude. At every point in your journey, the two of you would be laughing and poking fun; you're at each other's necks- not so figuratively in his case. He's quickly impressed by your risk taking and eggs it on; he hasn't had this much fun in centuries! The two of you would be a chaotic force of nature, taking Faerun by storm.

❤ [You’re both independent.] He has independence for the first time in hundreds of years and is gripping it tight, even though he doesn't quite know what it means anymore; your fiercely independent attitude is just the push he needs to embrace his new life, free from Cazador. Though it may seem at first like he's dependent on you, flirting and seducing you just to secure his own safety, Astarion ultimately makes all of his own decisions. He's struggling with how to regain his independence while also being entirely dependent on the astral prism to keep him alive- but you're a good example. You show him through your actions how easy it is to impose your own will. Watching him grow and express his boundaries is a feat; he changed because of you, but not for you.

❤ [You guys bring out the best in one another… and the worst.] The two of you are playful at best and absolute menaces at worst. The fact of the matter is, you're both chaos junkies, and would endorse each other's bad behavior. Astarion would adore you for this! But I'm sure the rest of Faerun would have their grievances… A bard and a rogue are tough to beat though. Astarion wants those boots the merchant is selling? You're already doing the most to distract them with your extravagant words and music while he robs them blind~ I quiver to think what the two of you would do to someone who annoys you.

❤ [You make him feel safe.] Astarion has a fake persona that he puts on to protect himself. He's flirty and sultry and has a strong noble laugh, he's desirable- but it's all fake. He simply makes himself what others want to ensure they won't dispose of him. This would certainly annoy you at first, to some degree, but after the first time you see the real him, it'd become a challenge to keep bringing that part out. You, more than anyone, see his real laugh, his real smile. You see how his face crinkles and how he throws his head back when you tell a bad joke. He calls you a clown, but it has no malice behind it. He hasn't felt this safe in gods know how long.

❤ [He would take you on artsy dates.] Once you're free of the tadpole, the two of you are restricted only by the sun (assuming you don't ascend him). One of the first things he does is get a portrait done of the two of you. You're sat cozily, your space lit by candles or the luminous flora of the underdark. You would have your favorite coffee and laugh and chat all whilst an artist carefully immortalizes you on a canvas. He wouldn't mind, of course, if you painted him either. He hasn't seen his reflection for so long that he doesn't even remember what his eyes used to look like. There certainly is something profoundly intimate about seeing yourself through someone else's eyes... Besides that, he would like to read to you as well, on those days when you just don't feel like getting up. Elves don't sleep, but your presence and the soft melody of his words would lull the two of you into a tranquil state.

❤ [Astarion is not your knight in shining armor!] He knows full well how capable you are of handling yourself and will simply enjoy the show should you ever land in trouble. He may join in, if only for the chance to slice some necks and have some fun, but he's never under the impression that he's doing you a favor. For centuries he prayed someone would come to his aid, and no one did; he knows what it means to be tough enough to handle things without help, and likely harbors a similar distaste for unprovoked assistance. This doesn't mean he'll never have your back; he'll be very vocal if he's ever truly worried about something being sketchy!

MHA Hawks/Keigo Takami~

For this particular matchup, I envisioned you as a vigilante! I for one, know the hero system in MHA is very flawed and I see you doing your own thing as a more chaotic/good rogue hero.

💛 [This cat and mouse game never gets old.] You're independent, free as a bird- ironically enough, and Keigo is trapped under the thumb of the hero commission. He knows that hero society is broken and he strives to make it better despite his limitations. Perhaps that's why he never turned you in. It's not like he couldn't, but there was something about you that elicited envy in him. You were everything he wanted to be, making changes, true to yourself, free. So would ensue the long game of cat and mouse… He would find you every now and then, and the two of you would throw flirty banter back and forth until he had to inevitably leave. It would take awhile, but he'd eventually tell you the reason he never captured you. “But keep it a secret, yeah? The image of a caged bird isn't good for a hero like me.”

💛 [Your hearts are mirrored.] You and Keigo have the same love languages with physical touch and gift giving. He's constantly thinking, and you're constantly in the back of his mind. It Isn't uncommon for him to show up with something pretty or your favorite snack that he just happened to pass by. He would absolutely melt if you gave him something homemade! The effort and thought you'd have to put into something like that is proof enough that he's special to you, and he'd cherish that thought- and whatever you gave him~

💛 [He can't go crazy, but expect spontaneity.] Before you're properly together, he would be limited to when or how he could see you. Regardless of how much he liked you, there was simply no way for him to stay in contact without exposing you to the hero commission, which is the last thing he wanted. So, he got creative… Thanks to his superbly observant personality, he's able to figure out how you're locating villains/baddies; he uses this information to trick you into meeting him somewhere. Albeit, not the most honest way of getting what he wants, but he's sure he'll get brownie points for the spontaneity. He wouldn't want to hinder your work though, so after that, the two of you make up a different but still secret way of meeting.

💛 [There's nothing quite like flying.] Let him take you to the sky. Is it cliche? Sure, but it's the most free he ever feels. It's all worth it to see you smile in wonder or scream when he pretends to drop you… He wants you to feel safe with him though, so he won't do that too often. ;) This can be a common occurrence- he'd like it if it was, but he'd understand if you just don't like it. Heights aren't for everyone! But, if you do like it, he'll make sure to remember to lend you his goggles so the wind doesn't get in your eyes. He could easily buy you your own, but come on, you look so cute with his on why would he? <3

💛 [Too quick for his own good.] You don't need a hero, and he chronically kind of just does what he wants. His quickness would cause some annoyance on your end, since he doesn't wait for you to ask for help to step in. A majority of the time it's not because he thinks you need help, he just goes too fast while he's working. He didn't get where he is at his age by waiting for anyone else. It would be easy to see it as him looking down on you, thinking you're not good enough to do it on your own- but catch him once and give him a piece of your mind! As much as I'd like to say he'd think twice after that, and immediately respect your words- that's simply not Keigo. “Get it done faster and I wouldn't have to help you, how 'bout that?” Unfortunately, Keigo doesn't care if it annoys you, and has a very roundabout way of pushing you to do better. It's all for your benefit though, since he does end up seeing improvement in your work- if for no other reason than to shove it in his face that you don't need his help…

💛 [He's not clingy.] Your space and independence is important to you, and it's important to him too, especially once he's free of the hero commission. His dream was always to make a world where heroes could sit back and be lazy, but unfortunately it's just not that day yet. You'll have ample time to yourself, Keigo is a busy man! Trust, as often as he bothers you, he's giving you twice as much space just because of how busy he is.

💛 [Don't threaten him with a good time.] Dates with keigo would be intimate. As often as he's in the public eye, when he gets the chance, all he'll want is to be alone with you. The tops of buildings are easy enough for him to get to- or your house. Order in food, make some with him, sit and watch TV or show him your favorite games. He would adore any moment of silence, away from scrutiny of expectations and just enjoy your company. The best days for him are sleeping in, the two of you wrapped in his wings as he avoids the world. He'll make you breakfast, cuddle you, distract you- anything to stay longer in the safe haven that is your home.

💛 [Hold him close.] “Keigo. Call me Keigo.” You're one of the first people he tells and his heart just about drops out of his chest when the words leave his mouth. It's dangerous for anyone to know, but it's all he wanted… for you to say his name. He doesn't make a big deal out of it, laughing it off as he usually does with things like that, but just hearing you call him by his name makes it all worth the risk. After the final fight with All for One, it's you he finds at his side in the hospital and he gives you the biggest grin he can muster at the time. He'll tease you as he recovers, ask if you cried for him- acting hurt if you say no, and smug if you say yes. There's no winning with him, but truly, he's more free now than he's ever been.

JJK Satoru Gojo~

💙 [‘The bane of my existence and the object of all my desires.’] Oh boy. What a duo you two would make. More than anyone, Satoru is impossible to banter with- or more so it's impossible to get under his skin. You could, and I'd expect would, still tease and berate him, but expect it to be a challenge to get a real reaction out of him. You'd be his favorite person to mess with as well, simply for how fiery you are, and Satoru can be a real menace... He, just like you, loves reactions. In fact, besides the overarching challenge the two of you have with one another, you basically have the same sense of humor. He was robbed of his childhood, and finds it difficult to find people who can keep up with his enthusiasm and energy- so your attitude is just perfect. Someone his age that he can be silly and relaxed with!

💙 [Opposite polarities always attract.] Satoru is definitely the extrovert that runs around adopting introverts, and you were no different. Considering you're his favorite person, expect to be dragged along to just about everything he does- or at the very least be told about everything he does. If your social battery just can't handle it, he'll settle for bringing you back souvenirs in the form of little gifts or snacks from wherever he goes… though he'd much rather you just come along. He's not stupid though, he knows just how to press your buttons so that you don't blow up in an introverted rage.

💙 [Your independence is safe and secure.] Satoru is clingy, for sure, and perhaps too enthusiastic to drag you around for his own good- but you're not in any danger of him doing everything for you. As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you'll have tough jobs every now and then, and though Satoru could easily handle them for you, he lets you do it. He's a teacher after all! He's used to letting his students handle curses on their own, he'd have no trouble giving the same opportunities to you. Forewarning, if you get your ass kicked, he'll never let you live it down. <3

💙 [Rich man's privilege.] Dates will be the most over the top unnecessarily expensive things ever. He wants to experience the world; he has dreams and hopes of his own- he just has someone to share that with now. Art exhibits, thrilling theme parks, exquisite restaurants, risky adrenaline chasing, the works!! He wants to show it all to you. You want to travel? Say the word, he's got tickets and a hotel booked already. He's looking at tourist spots and picking out restaurants. He's fortunate enough to be able to give you anything you could ever want, and all he'd ask in return is to just share it with him.

💙 [Satoru Gojo is kind of an ass.] In the most respectful way possible, this guy is an unhinged childish piece of work. He knows you're bad with directions and will not correct you if you're going the wrong way just so he can waste more time being around you. He laughs at you when you trip, but will always help patch you up. He teases you with his height and his infinity technique to annoy you. More than anything, he does all of this because he refuses to be anyone else but Satoru Gojo. He won't pretend he doesn't have a mean and dumb sense of humor just to make you happy- he's just impressed you stayed with him anyways.

💙 [Screw those old geezers!] You and Satoru have more in common than either of you first thought; both of you don't like being told what to do, and go against the elder sorcerers’ demands. If you ever landed yourself in trouble because of this attitude, you can bet your bottom dollar that Satoru will be there to back you up. He does it to help of course, but if you ever ask he'll just say he did it to spite those old geezers. He abuses the fact that he's too important and powerful to really oppose. The council has started to avoid you because they know Satoru is always lurking around the corner, waiting for an opportunity to undermine them.

That's it! I hope you liked your matches! I considered Shadowheart and Minthara as potential choices for your BG3 match but decided against it. Shadowheart would match you bar for bar in sass, independence, and banter- but she wouldn't appreciate your risky streak and tends to disapprove of needless chaos. Minthara, the queen of banter imo, just seems too uptight for you!

Also, not sure if it's obvious but I definitely struggled the most with Astarion's. It's mostly because you can romance him in game so a lot of the things I could put were rather obvious. 😅