#in a bit of a drawing mood today :D

[kurithedweeb]

A casual post-Zenix Garf. He had to shave the side of his head to deal with the wound that left the big scar across his face, but it's starting to grow back!

[pika-blur]

fighting for my life (actually joined artfight early this year and still only did one drawing this month)

[formulaforza]

—the seasons of love

or: the enemies to lovers situationship fic charles leclerc x female reader summ. spring and the lovely silence of growing things. minors dni. nsfw warnings under the cut. 7.6k part one part two part three part four part five

18+ because: oral (m receiving, rough), spit, hair pulling, drunk drunk drunk get crunk

“Goodnight Arthur,” you said, lingering behind as your family started off down the road in the opposite direction that he and his were. 

Your dress, long and linen, blows in the evening breeze and draws goosebumps to your skin. Your hands clutch your phone and a small purse, the cross body strap wrapped around your hand three times. Your ponytail sways with your hips when you walk. Turning to Charles, you nod, purse a smile. “Charles.”

“Goodnight,” he replies curtly, perfectly polite. 

“The two of you are still talking after a whole day together? Did Hell freeze over while we were out there?” Arthur laughs.

A strange silence, one that only you and Charles are aware of, swallows the lull of the cicadas in the streetlights. It’s early in the year for them, typically holding out on their spring song until a bit further into the season. Charles drags his feet on the concrete, drawing out every step to be a beat too slow. “Stranger things have happened,” he remarks under his breath, his middle finger picking at the cuticle of his thumb before shoving his hands deep in his pockets. 

“Have they?” Arthur continues to poke fun at the two of you, at the unlikeliness of a quareless evening. You’re surprised, too. Never would have guessed a few hours earlier that the evening would end up the way it had. 

(Five hours earlier)

He’s sulking and it's becoming pathetic. Every single thing about his body moves around the yacht like a kicked puppy, all sullen and blue and hosting another private-pity party. His sighs grow more and more dramatic, less and less patient with each moment that passes without someone feeling as bad for him as he feels for himself. 

You knew, maybe better than anyone, how fiercely competitive he is, how much pressure he carries on his shoulders. You'd seen the highs and the lows of it all, and despite the underlying annoyance that was Charles, you still wanted what was best for him. It’s just human nature to hope. 

This season has been beating him up, you knew, even if you didn’t follow it the way some of your friends did. Strategy has been shit, you’ve heard, luck somehow shitter. He’d talked such a big game before the start of the season, quietly confident and subtly cocky in a way that almost makes you believe he can predict the future. 

Usually, you would relish in his annoyance, but today you’ve found yourself feeling oddly concerned. You refused to let him ruin the beautiful day, ruin the moods of your siblings and his. It’s the determination to save the day that leads you to the yacht railing, feet away from his brooding, lost in thought expression. 

“You seem a bit off today,” you remarked, voice lades with a teasing tone, a poor attempt to lighten the mood. 

He glances up at you, a hint of a smile tugging on his lips. “You always have such a way of pointing out the obvious, don’t you?” He retorted, but his annoyance is all bark, no bite, softened entirely by the playful glint in his eyes. 

“Well,” you shoot back, minorly annoyed, massively amused. “It’s not everyday you look like a sulking child.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “And always full of delightful compliments,” he replied, gaze lingering on your lips for a moment too long before he tears them away. 

You smirk, lean in a bit closer. “You love it,” you taunt.

He raises an eyebrow, a challenge gleaming in his eyes. “Oh, do I now?” He quips, leaning in just enough to make your stomach sink. You feign indifference to his words, but your body betrays you, leaning in a fraction closer. 

“I know you better than you think,” you said, your voice almost a whisper. 

He chuckled again, the sound of it sending shivers down your spine. There’s something so deflated about him. “Is that so?” He muses, breath grazing against your ear, making your pulse quicken. 

You take a step back, attempt to find some sort of composure. “Maybe,” you replied with a playful shrug, not daring to meet his gaze. 

He leans in, fills the space you’d just created, mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re always under my skin,” he admits, a hue of vulnerability in his voice leaving you unsettled. 

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. “You love the challenge, though, don’t you?” You countered, tone serious now, hinting at something more, something deeper. 

He hesitates, a flicker of emotion crossing his features before he masks it with a smirk. “Maybe I do,” he replied, voice low and suggestive. 

The conversation drolls on, seconds between your words filled with charged silence. The subtle dance of glances and touches only adds to the tension, and you found yourself unable to break away, to return to the rest of the family on the upper deck. No, no, you have a feeling you’ll be going lower, even, farther away from them and closer to some private silence. 

“Do you ever wonder?” he asks, voice soft and full of curiosity. You have no interest in entertaining his words. 

“I don’t,” you reply, trying to keep your tone guarded. 

His brows furrow, challenging you. “Really?” Charles questions, his skepticism evident. 

You shrug. “It’s just easier this way, isn’t it?” you retort, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. Bitter that he feels entitled to ruin something that’s working just fine. 

“Easier?” He echoes, curiosity evident as he leans in even closer. 

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts as you meet his intense gaze. “Yeah, easier,” you say, the words spewing out with a touch of frustration. “It’s just a game.”

He studies you for a moment, eyes searching for any sign of vulnerability. You hope you’re talented enough to conceal them, that your secondary school drama class teacher taught you well. “You think it’s that simple?” he challenges, voice just painfully soft. 

“It’s not simple at all,” you admit, guard slipping for only a moment. “But it’s just what we do. It’s comfortable, in its own way.”

He nods, seeming to understand your reluctance. “So, what?” He asks, a trace of bitterness in his tone. “We just keep using each other whenever we feel like it?”

A mess of emotions swirls inside you as you meet his gaze, refusing to back down. “Maybe,” you remark, defiant. “But it’s better than facing the alternative.”

He seems to consider your words, the wright of your unspoken history. “You’re afraid,” he observes. Charles has called you afraid a million and one times in your life; from a ponytailed scaredy-cat to a selfish coward, he’s checked the box on every synonym. This time, though, his voice isn’t teasing or raging red. No, it’s surprisingly gentle. 

Your ears burn red hot. “I’m not afraid of anything,” you snap, try to push down everything just begging to boil over inside of you. 

He reaches out, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. You ignore the jolt of electricity, the fact that a simple touch holds more meaning than any words the two of you could exchange. You’re annoyed, now. Annoyed with him and the longing you refuse to acknowledge. It’s a powerful cocktail that you don’t want to begin to comprehend. 

He leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Not with me.”

You heart pounds in your chest as you resist the urge to lean into him, to seek some fucked up sort of comfort in his arms. Instead, you push him away, maintain a safe distance. “I’m not afraid of you,” you say, voice horribly hushed. “I’m afraid of what this could become.”

He looks at you, some indistinguishable mix of emotions, of understanding and frustration and something else. “And what do you think this could become?” he asks, voice tinged with an edge of desire. 

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to his proximity. “I don’t know,” you admit, feeling suddenly vulnerable and exposed. “But I don’t want to find out.”

He smiles like he knows something you don’t. It makes you crazy. “You’re always so stubborn,” he remarks, fingers moving from your hand to your jaw, brushing against your cheek. “Part of what drives me crazy about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, unable to tear your eyes away. The tension is palpable, unspoken words hanging in the heavy air. 

“I could help take your mind off things,” you suggest, voice low and suggestive. “Just for a little while.” 

He raises a brow, surprise evident in his expression. “Oh?” he replies, voice a mix of intrigue and amusement. You give him a playful smirk, leaning in a bit closer. You can play games, too. 

“I can be pretty distracting,” you tease, fingers moving to his arm, tracing circles on the linen covering his arm. 

He hesitates, you’ve got him torn. He says your name, attempts to steer the conversation back to the emotions you’re so clearly dancing around. 

But you cut him off, not willing to back down. “Please,” you sigh, your voice full of longing and playfulness. “Let me take your stress.”

He puts his foot down. Protests weakly. “We can’t just ignore this.”

For a moment, you consider pushing the issue further. Deep down, somewhere unexplored, you know that this isn’t the right time. So, you take a step back, move to walk away. Before you can take another step, his hand is on your wrist, pulling you back to him. 

His lips crash against yours in a fierce and desperate kiss, and you lose yourself in the intensity of the moments. The motions that have been building under the surface finally finds an outlet, and you can’t resist the pull any longer. 

You both give in to the passion, into the physical connection and the muddled emotions. It’s a moment of surrender, of letting go. For now, it’s enough. For now, you can avoid the conversation. 

You’re no more than a few steps away from the stairs, make quick work of them, of the lock on the door to the master suite. You didn’t even know the doors had locks on them. You hope they’re half as soundproof as they are expensive, but you doubt it. 

You’re already pawing for his cock, palming the chilly, half-damp material of his swim trunks before slipping your hand under the waistband, taking the fabric out of the equation entirely. 

You look up at him, look for his reaction, check to make sure that his eyes aren’t harboring some sick softness to them. The whole point of this is to get the softy shit off his mind, to leave him so satisfied that he doesn’t remember wanting to have that conversation with you, that he doesn’t remember how shitty his season’s going and how he’s latched onto something that doesn’t exist. 

“Tell me what you want,” you whisper into his mouth. “Anything.”

He whinges at your words, mumbles something to himself, cupping your jaw with his hands. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and you roll your eyes, but then his thumb is on your bottom lip, firm and heavy. “This fucking mouth,” he grumbles. 

Your fingers wrap around his cock, big and thick and warm. You run your thumb over his head, smile at the precum pooling there, spreading it around and watching the way his face twitches. You play coy, look at him with your biggest, most innocent doe eyes.  “What about it?”

He rocks on his feet, moves himself ever so slightly through your hand. He either thinks you’re oblivious to it, or he’s completely clueless to his own actions. Either way, it’s hot, and you stroke him that little bit faster. “Wanna feel it,” he says, thumb still on your lip, sinking into your mouth, onto your tongue, pushing you down, down, down onto your knees. 

The floor is cold, but you don’t care, so are his swim trunks. It’s hard, though, like most floors would be, and you’re sure you’ll have bruises by nightfall. You pull his shorts down, dick bouncing out of the waistband, twitching while he steps out of the fabric, kicks it to the side somewhere in the tiny room.

As you look up at him, a myriad of emotions wash over you. This dance is becoming so familiar, and yet, you’re surprised each time by the intensity of it. Even though you’d offered yourself, you find a way to be annoyed at how he uses you like this, turns you into a vessel to vent his stress and frustration. The other part of you, though, is so fucking turned on. Completely and utterly satisfied by the fact that you have this effect on him, that you can make him forget about his troubles, even if just temporarily. 

His eyes meet yours, that same vulnerability still there. It’s a regular sight for other people, to be looked at like this by him. It’s not your normal, though. It’s rare, something that tugs on you, makes you wonder what he’s thinking, desire a level of understanding that goes beyond the physical. 

You push those thoughts aside as quickly as you can, remind yourself that this is all casual. That you and he, this is nothing.

You spit into your hand, stroke it over his cock until it’s hard and wet and just crying for you. Your tongue trails a long stripe, from the base of his shaft to the head, swirling around his most sensitive spot. You’ve found yourself growing annoyingly fond of the noises you can pull from him. It’s a game within a game, pushing the limits to find just how pained you can make him sound. 

His hands run through your hair, slow and smooth, gathering your hair into a soft ponytail. You move a hand to his, push it against your head as if to tell him–fuck me, Charles. Use me. 

“Wait,” he says, and you pull off him with a pop. 

“What?” You probe, irritated that he’s already got something to say. 

“You have to tell me if I hurt you.”

You smirk, bite the inside of your cheek like you’re working through a real head-scratcher, putting on your best sarcastic tone. “And how do you suppose I do that?” 

“I’m serious.”

Your shoulders recoil into a shrug, a laugh helplessly falling from your lips. “So am I.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, visibly apprehensive. This never would have been an issue in January, back when the only thing he did was be openly annoyed by you. No, it’s all different now. He’s got feelings, now, wants to fucking worry about you and care about you. It makes your stomach twist and turn and knot. 

You roll your eyes. This is ridiculous, how many guys out here are stopping a woman from letting them do whatever they fucking want. It can’t be more than him, it can’t. “For fucks… you’ll know if you’re hurting me.”

He nods. “But how… will I know?”

“I don’t know… I’ll punch you in the dick or something.”

He laughs, a direct juxtaposition to his words. “You are not funny.”

You shrug, scowl. “I think I’m pretty funny.”

“I don’t know why you would think this.”

You purse your lips, puff a breath of air out of them, and hold up a single finger, pointing to him. “Fuck you,” you laugh. “I’ll tap the back of your leg,” you explain, demonstrating the gesture. “Is that good enough?”

His hands move through your hair again, fix his carefully crafted ponytail you’d messed up. “Yes. Thank you.”

You roll your eyes, take his dick in your hand again and start stroking. “Can I…?”

He nods. “I’m not stopping you.”

“I mean… “ you mumble against his skin, “you just did but…” and then you take him again, hollowed cheeks and flat tongue. 

“Jesus, you are insufferable,” he remarks, and you laugh around his dick. It makes him shudder. 

You try to focus on the moment, on his fingers gently grazing over your skin, hands guiding your head with a mixture of need and  urgency. You gag around his dick, choking on the thick shaft as it fills your mouth so perfectly. “Putain, fuck, so good,” he groans. You’d smile up at him if you could. 

The ponytail he’d been so proud of was nothing but a knotted mess now, his fingers tangling in search of grip. You hope he forgets it’s you, that it’s anyone. That he fucks into your throat until your couching and gagging and spit drips down your face, tears prick at your eyes. You hope your throat hurts tomorrow, that you lose your voice and gargle salt water and he’s the only person in the world who knows why. You hope you have to tap out on the back of his thigh. 

You come pretty close, the way he uses you like a filthy toy. Everytime you think you’re about to break, he pulls off your mouth, leaves you heaving for air, wiping spit off your face with the back of your hand. He leans down to kiss you once, hand under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his lips. You hope he tastes himself, knows just how good it is, how content you are with your life’s purpose. 

“Pretty girl,” he says, and you hum against his dick. It’s not often you’re on the receiving end of praise from him. “Take me so good.”

You’ve learned to know when he’s close, exactly how his body reacts when it’s lost all sight of anything but finishing. His pace gets silly, all kinds of unsynchronized and messy. He gets really quiet for a minute, spends all of it fighting with himself before he finally accepts it, and then he’s loud. A mix of nonsensical languages and curses, of groans and hums and remnants of what sounds like it wants to be your name. 

He’s a mess, and then he’s holding your head as close as he can, your nose pressed against the muscles of his abdomen as he bottoms out, drains himself into the back of your throat with a breathy, pained groan. 

You swallow around him greedily, want everything he has to give, all his cum and all his whimpers. He thrusts in and out of your mouth a few more times, and then he’s pulling out completely, hands cupping your face, pulling you up to stand. He kisses you, hard, and you still haven’t caught your breath–neither of you have–but you kiss until you can’t anymore, until your lungs burn to be filled with something that isn’t him. 

His thumbs wipe your face, the spit from your lips and the tears from the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, back arching to lower himself to your height. 

You want to swat his hands away. Clearly, though, this is something he feels he needs to do. “Why?” you chuckle. “That was hot.”

He matches your laugh, but his is laced with uneasy concern as he continues to try to clean up your face, fixing your hair and kissing you again, this time all soft and sure. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” you pant. “You’re into it, though.”

You wonder if he regrets this, if he’s known all along the same way you have that this won’t end well, that it never would. His face mirrors yours, open mouth breathing and heaving chests and a mix of half a dozen emotions. You both know this is how it has to be, that anything more would be too complicated to manage. It stops you from the wonder. You hope it stops him. 

He sticks his head out of the door a few minutes later, after you’d ducked into the stall-sized bathroom and properly fixed yourself, untangled your hair and tied it back securely into a ponytail with the tie from your wrist. 

You laugh at him for it, push him out from behind and tell him to drop the high-schooler act. “Wait here,” he tells you, tries to close the door on you. He doesn’t hear you catch it, doesn’t turn back to see you following him up the stairs from a few steps behind. 

You’d wonder why he doesn’t hear your feet, but, if he’d just done to you what you did to him, your ears would probably still be ringing, all full and overwhelmed. 

“Charles!” Your Mom’s voice carries down the stairs just as his head appears on the second level. “You haven’t seen–” his ears blush bright red, head snapping back to you. Jesus, can we have some subtlety? “Oh,” your Mom laughs when she spots you a couple steps behind him. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Yeah,” you laugh. Charles can’t look at you, he stares right past. “We were fighting, isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Oh?” She chuckles. 

Charles’ eyes snap to you. He nods. “First rule of fight club, you know.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth before you look back to your Mom. “What did you need, Mama?”

“Just wondering if you want a drink,” she says. 

“Only if you mix it strong,” you say, and your Mom is already setting off back towards the rest of the group on the top level. With silent understanding, you and he both fall back into your respective roles; the arrogant, fearless prick and the spoiled, bratty princess. It’s better this way. It’s better this way. 

“Well,” you chuckle, pat him on the shoulder as you move past him on the stairs. “Aren’t you just a blushing bride?”

The anticipation in the air is palpable, all of you here in Ricky’s parents’ apartment–an added guest this year in sweet little Chiara. You’ve all watched the race here since before Charles could imagine this being his reality, the balcony providing a perfect overlook onto the iconic circuit. The sun bathes the track in golden rays, like even Mother Nature knows that it’s going to be a historic day. 

Excitement crackles like electricity, sparking from person to person, igniting contagious grins and animated chattering. Your heart flutters with a unique blend of nerves and exhilaration, Charles’ undying Monaco optimism seeking into even your most pessimistic veins. 

Antoine sets up his camera on the balcony, is interviewing half of you for Charles’ next YouTube video. You steal glances of your friends the entire time, feeling strangely sentimental about all the love in the room. On the sofa, Marta bounces Chiara on her knee, absentmindedly shakes a rattle in front of the infant, eyes watching the pre-race coverage on the television. Ricky, on the balcony, the first interviewee, beams with pride watching them. The guys all buzz with excitement, half of them glued to the TV, the other half carefully pulling tight the zip-ties on the now infamous banner, anxiously awaiting the start of the race. 

You watch from beside Marta as the national anthem plays. She tickles Chiara’s feet, pulls little giggles from the baby’s lips. Your focus remains on Charles, though, his face on the screen. You don’t know how many laps you’ve seen him drive around this country, how many ups and downs he navigated in this sport, but you know that today feels different. You can see it etched into his features, the fire in his eyes and the resurgence in his confidence since Baku. It’s like he knows today is his day, that nothing can stand in the way, that the sun will shine on him and the champagne will spray. 

The engines roar to life, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. You move to the balcony, can’t bear to watch the start from a screen, knowing that it’s one of the most crucial parts of the next seventy-eight laps. Your heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic revving of the cars, and the world around you falls away as you focus on the starting grid. The lights illuminate, they're out, and the race is on. 

Charles makes a picture perfect start, no. It’s better than that, better, because the crowd roars louder than you think you’ve ever heard as he catapults himself past Max and into the lead, and your breath catches in your throat.

He’s in control, navigating every corner and chicane with precision, never once giving into the pressure of the bullet behind him. Max tries, he tries and tries, to close in on Charles, but he holds him, defends his position with skill and tenacity that makes you attracted to a helmet, to the mind it protects. 

With each passing lap, you expect the crowd to die down, but they don’t. You find yourself rallying with your friends, joining into the country-wide chorus of voices and cheers. Every maneuver, ever inch he gains on Max, fills you with excitement and awe. He’s like a force of nature, a breathtaking sight. 

The laps wind down, and his lead over Max grows. You can’t help but let out a joyful whoop. He’s doing it. This is the day he shuts everyone up about the curse. Yesterday is the last day you get to tease him about it. The realization washes over you that he’s going to win at home, and your heart swells with pride.

The final lap approaches, and you hold your breath, moving inside, to watch the screen, to stare like your glare could will him to find an extra tenth. As he takes the checkered flag, a deafening roar erupts, reverberating through the streets. 

Your friends join in a celebration, hugging and cheering as if you’re the ones standing on the podium. Antoine is giddy behind his camera, and you’re sure half the footage will be unusable with shaky hands. 

You found pause in the celebrations to watch him get out of the car, all arms swinging and firsts clenched. He stands on the halo of his car, pointing to the Ferrar emblem on his chest, over his heart. He jumps off and moves to congratulate Esteban, only to be met with a hug from the other driver. Max joins them quickly, strong handshakes and hard pats on the back before any of them are taking their helmets off. 

David Coulthard is waiting for him. Charles makes him wait, gets his bracelets and his watch from Andrea before picking up his microphone. “Charles, congratulations on your stunning victory! How are you feeling right now?” Your fingers find your lips, cover your smile and laugh. Charles has no idea how he feels. 

“Thank you!” He grins, all young and dimpled, purely pure. If you didn’t know better, you’d think a giddy first-grader had just won the biggest race in the world. “I don’t know,” he laughs. “It’s just… wow. I’m on top of the world right now, to be honest.”

He looks so tired and yet so, so full of life. Like the adrenaline is the only thing keeping him up, all sweaty hair and balaclava lines. You want to kiss him, to trail your fingers along every indent in his skin. “You led the race from start to finish, and it was quite a battle with Max. Tell us about your strategy and how you managed to hold that lead.”

“It was definitely not an easy race,” he says, still smiling. You’re shocked he hasn’t lost his English yet, he always does when he gets over excited. “Max is a great driver and I knew he would not make it easy for me. Our strategy was to be aggressive from the start. I tried to manage my tyres. I think it all paid off in the end.”

“Your victory today makes you the first Monegasque driver to win the Monaco Grand Prix since Louis Chiron in 1931. How does it feel to be a part of this historic moment?”

“It’s a tremendous honor. Louis is an inspiration to all Monegasque drivers, to follow his footsteps is truly special.”

“Fantastic, thank you, Charles. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you!” He says, holds up a thumbs up as he walks away and winks. Well, he tried to wink. The inability to do so might be the least suave thing about him. 

The screen transitions to the cool-down room, to Max talking Esteban’s ear off, lighting up with a smile when Charles enters. The camera focuses on Charles in the corner, setting his helmet and his towel down on the table in front of his name, drinking an entire water bottle in two gulps, opening another and taking up a conversation with the others. 

Joris snaps a finger in front of your face. “Sorry, what?” You ask, eyes snapping to him.

“I asked if you want champagne?” he chuckles. 

“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

When you look back, they’ve already cut to the empty podium, announcing Esteban’s third place finish to a loud applause. He celebrates like he won the thing, which you admire. Next is Max, who is met with applause, but it's noticeably less than the roar that follows when Charles’ name is announced. 

The room around you is half as loud as the rest of the country, laughing and screaming wild for Charles. Jo and Ricky pop open Champagne bottles on the balcony, send the corks flying to God only knows where, hastily filling up the glasses beside them and passing them out. 

Even from blocks away, where he is just a red dot, where your friends arms are over your shoulder sipping champagne and humming along with the national anthem, you feel a strange connection to him, something beyond the bickering and annoyance. Something beyond the sex, maybe. Something just… something happy, or proud, or just plain soft, maybe. Soft like his smile while he gets drenched in Champagne by the two others on the podium. 

(six hours later) 

Joris’ knowing glances didn’t escape your notice, and it made you uneasy. You wondered if Charles was crass enough, if he has been sharing secrets about your little arrangement. The thought of it sends a shiver down your spin. The idea of anyone glimpsing into the tangled web that is you and Charles now made you feel vulnerable and exposed. 

You sipped your drink, trying to focus on the chatter around you, but your mind just keeps looping back to him. His laughter, his smile. His very presence seems to pull on you, and it doesn’t help that you know he feels the same way, that he has for weeks now. You quickly brush away the thought each time, unwilling to entertain the idea of anything beyond the surface of your friendship. 

“You seem a bit distant tonight,” Jo remarked, voice pulling you back to the present. 

You force a smile, hope he won’t detect the unease that drenches your demeanor. “Just a bit tired, I suppose,” you replied casually, averting his gaze, staring into the bottom of your glass as you spun the clear liquor around. 

He didn’t push further, but the look on his face tells you he sees right through you, makes you feel that much more exposed. You take a deep breath, attempt to steady yourself, but the questions linger like shadows in the back of your mind. 

The night wears on, and Charles wears your eyes, a near constant sightline from you to him. It was easy to steal glances when he looks like that, when his easy charm and infectious laughter draws everyone in. 

You don’t dare confront the truth, not here, not now. It was easier to stay in the safe confines of what you knew, what you’d established, emotions locked away in a heart-shaped locket hung round your neck. 

The party shows no signs of winding down, and you need air. You slip away from the group, out the back door to the curb where all the smokers hide. You found yourself drawn to the quiet of it, where it was just you, your thoughts, and the smell of tobacco. 

With the distant laughter and celebrations faded into the night, you allow yourself to be candid, to admit the truth, if only to yourself. There was a part of you that yearned for something more, a part of you that longed to explore what might be with him. 

But he was right. You are afraid, you are. Afraid of what it means to let your guard down, to open up to the unknown. The vulnerability that comes with the admission is daunting, shit straight from a horror movie, like a trap. You were standing on a cliff, a dangerous precipice that threatened to unravel everything you’d sloppily built. This life is held together with bubblegum and toothpicks, it can’t stand the shake. 

So, as you stood there on the back step, you made a silent promise to yourself. A promise to stay safe, to guard your heart and keep your feelings hidden from him, from everyone. 

You returned to the party, unable to fully shake the weight of what gnawed on you. The cocktail of emotions was overwhelming, and you found solace in the bottom of a glass. Joris egged you on, kept the shots coming, and Marta made it more fun. 

However, as the alcohol flowed freely, your tipsiness quickly spiraled into something more intense. With each drink, your inhibitions crumbled into a reckless pursuit of distraction. Each shot pushed the turmoil down further. 

Marta slowed down first, opting to be cautious on her first “big night out” since having the baby. She could focus on the company and the laughter you feared. Joris started sober, too, tried to keep an eye on you the best he could, but you were determined to lose yourself to the moment. 

The music thumped loudly, and the energy of the party was infectious. You danced with wild abandon, uncaring of the curious glances and amused whispers that followed. The alcohol had stripped back any reservations, leaving behind a version of yourself you barely recognize, all carefree and daring and reckless. 

Jo tried to reason with you, to suggest you call it an early night, but you were having none of it. “I’m fine, really,” you insisted, slurring your words slightly. “Let’s do another shot!”

He reluctantly agreed, but the more you drank, the more erratic your behavior became. You danced with strangers, laughed loud and flirted shamelessly, trying to fill the void with temporary connections. Amidst the sea of bodies, you caught the eye of a handsome stranger. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a mischievous glint in his eye that instantly intrigued you. He moved with confident grace, and you were like a moth to a flame. 

He made his way toward you, playful smirk on his lips. “I couldn’t help but notice you across the room,” he said, voice low and alluring. 

You laughed, feeling the effects of alcohol emboldening you. “Oh, really? And what is it that caught your attention?”

He leaned in, his breath brushing against your ear as he mumbled, “Your smile. It’s as captivating as the stars.”

You blushed at his compliment, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. “Smooth talker, huh?” you teased, trying to keep up the playful banter. 

He chuckled, his finger lightly grazing the small of your back. “Only when I’m in the presence of someone this beautiful.”

You grinned, enjoying the flirtatious exchange. “You know how to flatter a girl,” you replied, heart racing at his touch. 

He leaned in even closer, the proximity between you sending sparks flying. “I can be even more convincing,” he said, voice low and seductive. 

You raised an eyebrow, playfully challenging him. “Is that so?”

He smirked, gaze never leaving yours. “Oh, absolutely,” he replied. “But you’ll have to let me prove it.”

A thrill coursed through you as the chemistry between the two of you intensified. You were well aware it was just a fleeting moment, a casual flirtation in the middle of a wild night out. But something about this stranger has ignited a spark in you, and you found yourself tempted to play along. 

The two of you danced together, the electric energy between you creating an intoxicating allure. His hands traced patterns along your waist. You get lost in the moment, in the music, in the touch of a stranger. 

“You wanna get out of here?” He asked, and you laughed. 

“No,” you replied, and abandoned your spot with him before he could protest any further. 

At some point, you stumbled outside for fresh air, feeling the world spin around you. The cool night air did little to sober you up, and instead, it only dueled your recklessness. You leaned against the railing, teetering on the edge between exhilaration and oblivion. 

Joris found you there, concern etched on his face. He calls your name, “Maybe we should call it a night. You’ve had enough.”

But you shook your head defiantly, a stubborn gleam in your eyes. “I’m not done yet,” you slurred. “I want more.”

He sighed like he knew it was pointless to attempt to reason with you like this, made you promise to stay put, told you he was off to get you another drink and he would be right back. 

As he left for your promised drink, you found yourself swaying in your shoes, the world around you still spinning. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to gain some composure, but the liquor is taking it’s toll. When the door opened, you opened your eyes again, met with Joris–no drink, but with Charles in tow. 

You laughed. “Hey, Charles,” you slurred, grabbing onto his arm for support. 

He looked down at you, a mix of surprise and annoyance crossing his features. “Are you alright?” he asked, glancing around as if someone would magically appear to care for you. 

You ignored his question. “I want you to dance with me,” you demanded, tugging on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

He frowned, clearly not thrilled by the idea. “You’re drunk. Maybe you should sit down and take it easy,” he suggested, trying to lead you back inside, no doubt in the direction of a chair. 

“No,” you pouted. “I want to dance.” You didn’t care that you looked like a mess, or that your coordination was shot. All you wanted was to forget, to lose yourself in the music and the movement. 

Charles sighed, clearly exasperated, but let you tug him all the way back inside to dance. He keeps a cautious distance, as if he was worried you might fall over at any moment, which, granted. You very well might. You swayed and you twirled, laughing without regard for how ridiculous you looked. 

As the music pulsed through you, you were suddenly stuck with severe guilt. You were angry at yourself for getting so drunk, for losing control like this. You were mad at him, too, annoyed by his incessant need to attempt to care for you, for never just letting you be. And yet, at the same time, you were so drawn to him and his soft eyes, to the concern and frustration and the way he cared about you even when you pushed him away. 

The song changed. Something slower, more sensual. You dance closer to him and he hesitates, clearly unsure of what to do. You laugh, wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense with restraint. 

“We shouldn’t…” he started to protest, but you silenced him with a kiss. It was messy and desperate, per usual, fueled by alcohol and unspoken emotions. He hesitates for just a moment before giving in, his hands finding their way to your waist. 

You pulled away breathless, looked up at him all defiant and bratty. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” you whisper, and it comes out far more vulnerable than you intended, all squeaky and cracked. “I can handle myself.”

He looked torn, his usual composure slipping momentarily, before reverting to his usual ways.  “Someone fucking has to,” he finally spoke. 

You wanted to protest, to push him away, but the words all get stuck in your throat. Instead, you lean in to kiss him again, fingers tanging into his hair. In this moment, you wanted nothing more than to forget it all, to lose yourself in him and the way he made you feel. “Thank you for dancing with me.”

“Can’t believe I got your sloppy seconds,” he quips.

“What?”

“The guy who tried to take you home earlier,” he laughed. “Looked like a prick.”

“Oh,” you laughed. “Him.”

“Yeah, you really hit it off with him, didn’t you?” Charles said with a hint of sarcasm. You struggled to read if he was joking or if he was just barely keeping his irritation in check. 

You grinned, words still slurring. “Oh, you’re just jealous.” you shot back at him, leaning closer. 

“Please,” he scoffed. “Like I could ever be jealous of that guy.”

“You’re right,” you laughed, your body pressing against his as you stumbled slightly. “You just won the Monaco Grand Prix.”

The rest of the evening continues in much of the same way, with Charles having to play babysitter to a very drunk–and very handsy–you. He tried to keep his distance, to maintain some semblance of composure, but you made it hard constantly pulling him into your orbit. 

At some point, you find yourselves alone on a sofa, the noise around you fading somewhere far off. You were giggling about something, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You know,” you said, “this is all your fault.”

He quirked a brow. “My fault? How do you figure?”

You Smirked, reaching up to play with a strand of his hair. “You’re the one who got me all worked up with that kiss earlier,” you said, voice low and teasing. 

His cheeks burnt bright pink. “I didn’t do anything,” he said, a poor attempt at sounding casual. 

“Oh please, Charles. You know exactly what you’re doing,” you said, voice taking on a more serious tone. “You’re always doing this, pulling me in and then pushing me away.”

“You’re fucking with me, right?” He scoffs, turning his head to face you, knocking your head off his shoulder in the process. “You’re the one doing that.”

You feel a pang of guilt at his words. You know he’s right, that tonight is just the next night of you sending him mixed signals. It’s been going on like this for months, but you don’t know how to stop, how to untangle the mess. “I don’t mean to,” you say softly, defenses dropping for a moment. “It’s just… complicated.”

He nodded. “I know,” he speaks quietly. “It’s just hard. Trying to figure out where we stand.”

You sigh, running your hand through your hair. “I know. I do.” You sit in silence for a moment, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging in the air. You wished you could say something, anything, to tell him how you feel, but all the words are stuck. Instead, you reach for his hand, intertwine your fingers and look up at him, big pupils in the dimly lit room. “I don’t want to ruin what we have,” you said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. 

“I don’t either,” he said, his thumb stoking your hand gently. 

The moment is interrupted by Joris, who appears from around the corner out of nowhere, looking half as annoyed as the two of you must. “There you two are,” he said, relief and irritation clouding his words. “It’s time to go,” he says, pointing directly to you. “You’ve had enough.”

You groaned, but you didn’t protest. You lean on Charles the whole walk to Joris’ car. 

As you arrived back at your apartment, he helped you inside and settled you into bed. He tucked you in, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “Sleep well,” he whispered, voice soft and tender. 

You smile sleepily, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You too,” you murmured. He turns to leave, but before he could go, you grab his wrist, holding it tightly. “Stay,” you said, voice barely audible. 

He hesitates for a moment, you can feel it in the air even with your eyes closed, can feel his heart beating in his wrist. Eventually, though, he gives in, slides into bed beside you. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you nuzzle into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. 

“You’re so warm,” you mumbled, words still pathetically sloshed. 

He chuckles softly, the annoyance in his eyes starting to fade. “Well, I am always warm,” he teased, trying to lighten the mood, to ease the awkwardness. 

You giggled, snuggling even closer to him. “You’re my human heater,” you said, voice filled with affection. 

As the minutes passed, you started to drift off to sleep, your breathing becoming slow and steady. You could see the struggle in his eyes as your lids grew heavier, the depth of care for you he tried so hard to hide. 

When you wake up in the middle of the night, hints of a sunrise beginning to push through the curtains, you find him still awake. He looked lost in thought, afraid, almost. Desperately, you wanted to reach out, to ask him what was wrong, but feared pushing him away more than anything. 

You settle against his chest, listen to the sound of his heart beating against your ear, feel yours match it. Finally, exhaustion catches up to him, his body relaxing as he drifts off to sleep. As you lay there, you can’t help your tired mind and it’s delusions of a future where you don’t have to hide your feelings, where you can be together openly and honestly, and then you’re falling back asleep yourself.

[phoenixisobsessed]

Hi there!! Just wanted to say that I've recently checked your art blog and I love your transformers art :D I adore your art style and I saw that you are taking requests and hope you don't mind but I was wondering if I could have some crumbs of starjack which is starscream and wheeljack and i blame idw comics for them lol (tho feel free to ignore this if you want to!) have a nice day! 👋

THANK YOUUU AAA I’m happy that you like it :33 I do a silly. It’s a bit sketchy but that’s how my teacher likes it so-

I have never seen this pairing before tbh but it’s cute. I can see it. Also I just love drawing Starscream in a proper steamy mood. He needs to be mad fuming 90% of the time I draw him.

ANWYAY RAHHHH I’M WATCHING TF: ONE TODAY I’M SO EXCITED GRRRR. Toxic yaoi breakup here I come…

[queencj09]

@artoutoftheblue

Take this that I have finally finished with coffee and stayed overnight

Close up one:

Lunara: “Either is planning on killing Queen or not + lookin’ a bit devious/good mood”

Queen: “Likes how Lunara is holding her MFing ass + Fuckin’ touch-starved & loves him to death (NOT A SIMP…Yet?-)”

I used: Markers, gel, pens, pens, and drawing pens (Sorry if the coloring is wrong, I tried to use the closest colors as possible but I also didn’t have the colors I wanted so their skins are just blank)

Based on the ask that I got:

Have fun cuz I’m such in a good mood today :D

[cyclorose]

[Day 31 + bday present - HBD Dave]

HAPPY BDAY TO MY ALL TIME FAV AND COMFORT CHARACTER YAAAYYYYYY

I've seen depressive fanarts of him today and I wanted to light up the mood a bit LOL (I enjoy the sad angsty stuff too hehehehe)

ALSO with this drawing the Dogtober is completed !!!! I had a lot of fun doing it despite complaining a lot on insta. I had to make 1-2 drawings a day and this one and Oliver's took longer to make, but it was worth it :D

(BONUS PIC BC COLORS ARE PRETTY)

DOGTOBER MADE BY @/soapy_dishes & @/dan_vis262 (INSTAGRAM)

[ramblingzombpossum]

I keep going back to something from therapy today. During morning check in we have to write how we're feeling, it's literally "What is your mood today?" and today, I just didn't know. I was flipping from one mood to another so fast that I couldn't wrap my mind around one emotion or mood.

When I wrote "I don't know" I expected a bit of push back, someone to tell me that's not acceptable, there is no way I can't know. We all know how we feel right?

Well, instead the therapist smiled and said "That's ok." They know I have schizophrenia, and apparently I've lived with it all my life. When I apologized she insisted I didn't have a reason to, it's ok to not know how you feel.

One of the points my one on one therapist is hammering home, is when I say "I don't know" people are going to be confused. People who aren't schizophrenic DO NOT understand. I grew up with it, I've learned to adapt and hide it.

Hallucinations are weird? Ok, I'm not going to talk about it, or I may draw attention I don't want. Hearing things isn't normal? Alright, we chalk that up to 'keep to yourself and hide.' Oh, the random moments of "Lol I could just die" or "Man I could sleep and never wake up" aren't necessarily normal? Cool, that will not be spoken about. (That last one is common in a lot of things, but it's thoughts I can remember having as young as sixish.)

But the phrase "I don't know" has always been demonized to me.

"Why did you do that?" "I don't know" "NO you absolultely know why, so why did you do that?!" It was a rather common reaction, from everyone. For years, because in most people's minds, they know.

Before I got medicated, I didn't realize how bad it was, how I would sit there, and just not know what I was doing. I'd have moments of full unawareness, and I still do at times. I dissociate, something I never knew what it meant until I was forced to acknowledge it. I go off into my own world and completely disconnect from life, going on basically auto pilot.

Sometimes I'll do something, and I will have a reason, but after doing it, I have no idea WHY. My brain doesn't work right, it never has, and I learned the easiest way to avoid it, was withdrawing. I could just not talk, I could just live in my mind and be fine. As an adult this doesn't work, it makes life harder, it makes everything harder. I literally sit at home sometimes and just lose time. I've become obsessed with time checking, to make sure I wasn't off in my mind for hours.

Even now I have an aversion to "I don't know" even if it's the truth. I find myself scrambling for a believable lie because "I don't know" is unacceptable, it is very much a sin. No one has a brain so broken that they don't know.

But I do, I don't know why I do a lot of things. I don't know why I say things sometimes, or why my brain jumps to something completely out of left field.

Someone asked me to describe my thought process on something, and it went a little like... A needs to happen for B to happen, but if C occurs then A will be ruined, and B can't happen, so obviously I need to do Y, D, F, G, and L before anything else to make sure that A can happen.

None of it makes sense, none of it comes together, but my brain is so loud and jumbled, even with anti-psychotics I have auditory and visual hallucinations. Not as bad as it once was, but it happens. I can hear voices as if someone is standing over my shoulder, telling me just to stop. Give up. Let my body crumble, and cease existence. No one will ever care, no one will miss me.

I know this isn't true, I fight against it daily.

Sometimes I turn around in my house while I'm alone and think someone is standing in the kitchen. Nothing solid, a shadowing form in the vague shape of a person that catches me off guard, but I've learned not to show my fear. How can I react to things when others don't see them? That's weird, and society says we should never be weird. How does one explain when they want to just hunker down, grasp their head and scream to drown out the voices? How does one explain what it's like to be plagued with things, delusions of being immortal, delusions of everyone hating you. The idea that in this life you'd be more of a contribution as a memory than a living being. The paranoia of what everyone wants. The paranoia of not knowing what is and isn't actually happening. The Paranoia that you're going to say the wrong thing, and wind up hospitalized because 'you're not normal.'

There is nothing fun about this, there is nothing easy. I've been fighting a silent battle for who knows how long, and a lot of people say I'm strong for being open. I'm not being strong, I'm being weak, because I'm tired. I'm so very tired, and I don't want to be strong anymore. I want to lay down, I want to have a day where I'm not constantly shifting through my thoughts, where I'm not trying to decide if the person next to me is talking to me, or if its one of the voices trying to tear me down. I don't want to be convinced that everyone is out to get me, that everyone will leave, everyone is just using me in some way.

I'm just tired, I'm tired and I don't know what I feel. I keep going because I want Bean to know it's ok. I want her to never worry about asking for help. I want her to realize, sometimes we all have battles we don't share, and that's ok, but it's also ok to ask for help.

In the end, I'm tired, confused, and I will never be able to answer everything, unless I'm allowed to be honest and say "I don't know."

[littlelightfish]

✨️Masterpost✨️

I decided it would be good to have all my dungeon meshi related posts linked here, to organize a bit.

🍳Dungeon Meshi🍳

Like father like daughter

Why they don't nickname Chilchuck

Chilchuck's nightmare

Chilchuck angst (nightmare post related)

Yeet the child

Where his ears?

When he's a dwarf

Chilchuck's family photo

Awkward hug

Heights analysis

Shitty meme

Senshi stinks

Silly boys

Holm struggling

Mickbell & Kuro analysis

Holm appreciation post

Chilchuck doesn't like skirts

Folke family

Old man jumscare

What's he eating

Animation studio mistake (related to what's he eating post)

Common occurrences

Mickbell + Holm screenshots

Marcille is a furry

Kabru alerting Holm

Kuro carrying the baby around

Holm apreciation post pt.2

Mickbell cares so much

Holm and his undine

Proud family

Happy feet

Rabbit trauma

Chilchuck angst material

Ghost honest reaction

Random Mick & Kuro + Chilchuck

Chilchuck's love chart

Girls

The best canon couple ever

Rice balls

Holm appreciation post pt.3

Bricks×Chilchuck is real

Request from a fish

Coworkers

Achoo sequence

Funny chapter 14 stuff

Chilchuck only has 3 moods

Catching Marcille

Kaka

Episode 5 scene analysis

Hand Mick to Senshi

Holm nation was fed today

Miss Frog

Holm voices

Manga-Anime ep. 16

This lil' fella

Mick's scream

Messy hair Holm

Un-messy hair Holm

Episode 17 sillyness

Senshi's thoughts, apparently

Dad coded Chil

Peak dad behaviour

I wanted to see him sad

Dandan analysis (why not)

The best canon couple ever (2)

Thoughts on art

Holm's Sister

The same picture

Holm's back

Pretty boy Holm

The cutest boy ever

Contribution to other nations

Mick and Kuro

Holm <3

He eeping

My girl

Senshi

Mick&Kuro's age when they met

Dwarven miners

Senshi's clothes

He be rollin'

Spot the diference

Stop tall-man exploding

Where his ears? [Colorized]

No. Fucking. Way.

The fall of the dwarves

My favorites (ep.26)

Patting the blonde

My Holm drawings :D

Tallchuck

Once again, Holm

The fluffiest guy ever

Daughters ages when she left

Marcille's torture

[eminsunnytoons123]

Class of 3000: back to the SING! Comics 2#

Cheer up, Sunny!

Ever since I have now gotten motivation again to draw even make full-on colored class of 3000 (And maybe even muppets And crossovers) comics, heres a cute comic of Madison brightening up Sunny with her drawing =^_^=

And this is a small treat for @splashy900 @aquamarine-dream-queen @dayzsac224 @ilovescaredysquirrel2 @ducktoonz903707 @classywinnerpeace @ghostytoastynights @moshywoosh @iggyguyy @dackychansworldofhoshino @thelcsdaily @cheezekennith my other loves ones in my tumblr family that knew me deep inside And that always love me And even my work just like how I love them with my whole heart And even their Works And I'll do anything to Bring them happiness, comfort And Joy =^/////^=

So, heres some plot of the comic: Madison peeks inside the music classroom where they usually have the class, And she notices that Sunny looks a bit annoyed or with not-in-a-good-mood expression, And she wonders why is he so "grouchy" Today? And she then tries to get an Idea, And she gets one! She decides to make a drawing of him, And then she WOOSHES out from beside the door And Sunny just looks at the door, wondering who just passed by. Then an hour passed, And Madison has finished her drawing, And she hopes that Sunny will like it, And she is blushing a bit from embarassment if she will make Sunny snap at her or something... Then she walks into the classroom, her cheeks rosey-red, And Sunny notices her And greets her in his usual Calm yet smooth tone And asks her what does she have in her hands, And Madison claims that she has noticed him a bit grouchy earlier, And she then says: "TAA-DAA!" while showing her drawing to him, And Sunny gasps from surprise but in a good way, And madison's drawing just gives him a warm smile playing on his lips, And he takes the drawing And takes a good look at it while patting Madison on the head, And Madison knew that Sunny would like the drawing! And Sunny claims that he wasnt "grouchy" because of Madison, lil' D And the other five (that being philly Phil, tamika, Eddie, kim And kam), And he was actually annoyed by principal luna, And Madison realizes that he wasnt annoyed by them.. And Sunny says to Madison that whatever she, lil' D, philly Phil, tamika, Eddie, kim And kam do, they'll always make him happy And proud, And madison's eyes sparkle from Joy And asks him if that is True, And Sunny says: "ofcourse, my optimistic flower." And pats her on the head And Madison gives him a BIG And TIGHT hug And tells him that them seven all love him, And Sunny says that he loves them all seven too, And he claims that he is like a dad to them all. =^_^=

I really like how I made this comic, its something very cute, funny yet kinda emotional, I'll make more class of 3000 comics like this, even muppets comics =^.^= And also, I worked on this comic for nearly two hours! 0.0;

Note 1: Im still in a mood for some class of 3000 requests And asks =^_^=

Note 2: i'll do my Salieri cosplay real soon =^.^=

I really hope y'all will like this =^.^= 💛🧡♥️🩷💖 And I wanna hear y'all's thoughts about this comic, I anyways like getting reblogs And replies with comments And even roleplays on them =^_^=

[sunnydaze4ever]

Hi, take this when you feel like doing requests. :D

I had the idea of a sweet and fun step 2 scenario with Cove, where (gender neutral) mc would wait to beach to spent the day with Cove who has yet to arrive. While mc is waiting and sitting in the sand, they thought it would be a fun idea to pass the time by drawing in the sand, a couple sand scribbles in they get the impulsive idea to write Cove's name and draw a heart around, the plan was to do it and immediately swipe it away before Cove arrives.

But to mc's misfortune (/lh) Cove arrives behind them exactly as they draw the heart. So I wanna see what you make of it from there, about how Cove reacts, the mc reacts, what both of them feel about the situation, etc. It's meant to be cute, funny, and wholesome between two awkward teens who have a crush on each other.

I hope this idea seems fun to you :D

Sorry this took a while!

Cove holden x reader

Caught

Romantic, fluff

——————————

You’re currently spending your time lounging on the beach, your fingers trail in the sand absentmindedly. You and Cove were supposed to be meeting on the beach today, but he seemed to be taking his sweet time with coming over there. You honestly couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing at this point, mostly because of your newly discovered feelings for the boy. Ah yes, you had gained feelings for your childhood best friend. Your mind caught up to your current activity, watching as your finger dragged in the sand in the shape of a heart. A smile appeared on your face as you wrote a special name in the middle of the heart, that being the title of your current crush. Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice “(Name)?” You turned around in an instant, seeing the familiar green haired boy.

“Hey Cove! Nice to see you…” You say, trying to look into his eyes and wipe away the heart simultaneously.

“What are you drawing?” Cove peeks behind you, seeing the heart that you are very much missing in your efforts. His cheeks flush a bright pink at the sight of his name written in the middle of the affectionate symbol.

“I know this looks a certain way…” You say, a bit flustered yourself. “I was just drawing! Nothing more nothing less!”

Cove’s blush died down a bit, but was still apparent. “I-I get it, nothing more nothing less” Cove said, sounding slightly down.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I guess I did but I didn’t!” You try and reassure Cove.

“It’s fine. Do you.. wanna surf maybe?” Cove said, attempting to change the topic.

“Sure. Just ignore me though, we both know I can be an idiot sometimes.” You say while attempting to lighten the mood.

“Mm, agree to disagree.” Cove smiled at you and you both walked over to water, the awkward discussion finally being put to rest. At some point you may need to confess, but luckily for you that was not today.

——————————

Tell me if anyone wants a confession ending for this instead :)

[evilphone]

Hey i'm sorry you're going through a rough time right now. We don't talk much but I started following you because of your Metalocalypse fanart and aside from that i just really enjoy seeing you on my dashboard!

I'm sorry you've been feeling suicidal, i don't know if this is helpful or not but I'M glad that you are alive. You're creative, talented, funny and unique and you make the world better by being in it.

As for not liking your own art... i draw too, and i struggle to see any strong points in my own stuff, so i'm not one to give any good advice on that. What i can tell you is that i've never seen any work of yours that i don't like. You have an excellent grasp on anatomy while also giving it your own twist and making all your stuff unmistakably YOURS! And the way you make your lineart look melts my brain by how GOOD it is. All of your characters seem so lively and just fun to look at. And you always give them such fun facial expressions that make them feel like real people! I'm not sure how else to describe it other than this, but i really mean it when i say it's great. I hope things get better for you very soon. Easier said than done, i know, but i'm still sending you my best wishes. I debated sending you this via discord (we're in a server together and we've talked a little before :D) but i don't wanna make you feel pressured to quickly reply to a private message (i often get that feeling myself) or make you feel oddly perceived by a rando with a name, so i'll just send it here, as an anonymous rando instead. Please take care of yourself, i think you're a very special person and you deserve to feel good <3

THANK U SM for all the kind words 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖!!!

I'm feeling a bit better today 🥹 but i've been in a sort of prolonged creative slump and not being able to enjoy my one and only hobby is definitely not helping my mood as of late lol.

but again tysm for the nice message <3 it rlly made my day

[lzrsaugust]

soooo, i felt like mseeing with water color today and this is the first sketch :D

and erm, so uhm, this is how it ended ╭( ๐_๐)╮

uhh idk man i think something went wrong ahaha, so more abt this piece(the sketch, the only reason i kept the water color was for the animals and the hair more abt that later) I was thinking of maybe Tamlin waking from a pretty bad nightmare pre acotar maybe 100-200 years old like his father just died and he just bacame high lord i personally think Lucien is 300 ish so hes not around yet, 100-200 fresh from his father's death, previous spring lord being canoncally (srry dont feel like spelling rn) worse than beron, i imagine his and his brothers having a somewhat zoldyck family situation. anyways back to the scene, something seomthing nightmare, seomthing something no one there to help, somethig seomthing Tamlin doesn't want to bother his only friend (Andras) and its maybe dawn-ish, super tired, barely anysleep for days from sorting out the absolute trainwreck of a court that is currently srping, and just then there in the absolute chaos of orverwhelming emotions, trauma and ridiculous amount of work, there is just a little pocket of peace and tranquility where he things oh, maybe things won't be this bad in the future, yada yada,

in the sketch the hair was smoother as there wasn't too much thought when i was doing it and the second one i thought of the scene and i wanted it to be messier cuz he just woke up from some nightmare. yada yada, can't remember what i wanted to put here, so uhm if you can actually draw and feel like it please please please try this i really wanted to capture, this dam feeling, but cant really like hes super tired physically and emotionally but there is like this tiny glimmer of hope and i can't freaking describe it but yeah if ya want to i really wanna see it visually 🥹 (did that word vomit make sense? i hope i didn't scare anyone aways :))

and finally the animals! they are his children, he birthed them your honour.

In all seriousness he could totally do it, but nah i like to think he found/saved them when he was young or something like that. they are some kind of fae animal i geuss, like not completly mindless but they don't really form cohesive thoughts much, like intelligent has magic and the fae don't eat them. Uhh I think the cat looking one in the sketch would be some kind of rose tailed lynx somewhere on the third or fourth trophic level in the fae ecosystem, is an carnivore, the flower on the tail is a result of their magic, they could use a bit of air and plant magic for hunting, their young only has a bud on the tail maturity depends on individuals in the species, when they do a new petal grows every decade. They are usually live alone and thus has a reclusive tendency, and they come and go as they please, occasionally they stick around for awhile if they like you. The bunny looking one has some kind of bug wing like ears and could fly, ears get bigger with each century, they live in colonies and could grow their own food in the wild, in captivity they are the companions of the agriculture inclined “lesser” fae, they help tend the ground and plants and stuff they arnt considered “lesser” fae. In the wild they that’s smaller colonies and are also know. As bush bunny because in addition to their wing like ears their fur often resemble leaves and their tails have small flowers that are different depending on colony and bloodline. A defence mechanism would be to gather up and pile on each other to camouflage as a bush of flowers. In the watercolour one, the one on his shoulder is some sort of a mix of a cat and a rabbit or I suppose the two previous fae animals? Long furry ears, but this time it the tail that elongates as they age, the fur along with the flower tip tail changes along with the animal’s mood and when they form a bond they will use it to express whatever, like in the scene I wanted it to be a purple hyacinth and hydrangea mix ish to show compassion for Tamlin’s situation. They are usually protectors of the miniature flower spirit “lesser” fae, they look cute and stuff but like the long ears when tense and stretched become sharp and wolf like ish, and tail grows thorns. Usually they are pretty shy but are super friendly when you gain their trust. The last one(birb) is a owl and deer ish mix, their feathers darken with age, are usually very calm but could be very playful. They live in large parliaments and they migrate from each seasonal court to avoid their more unfriendly phases (hurricane season in summer and spring. Blizzard in winter, rainstorms in spring and autumn ect), they form strong bonds though rarely with other species, they are protective of their young and Tamlin was taken under this one’s wing when he was ten.

wow you actually made it this far, despite how incoherent it was, thank you!! I have more ideas but my brain capacity has reached its end. As always hope you enjoyed and have a great day/night! :D

[graziellathedancingqueen]

requested by @starfish2836

summary: Gilbert and Reader are friends... or are they more? Nobody really knows...

word count: 610

warnings: none :)

pairing: Gilbert Blythe x male reader

a/n: i don't know if this is what you thought of but i hope you like it either way :)) if you want a part two let me know :D

★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆

Y/n is walking to school once again. Like every day. Every morning. And he hated it. Every day. Every morning. He really did. But there was one person that could make the day go by faster. His best friend Gilbert. Gilbert is a really popular boy. He's liked by everyone at school. That makes y/n a bit popular as well. He just wasn't sure if he liked being popular or not. Usually y/n would spend the breaks drawing since he is a real artist. Sometimes Cole and y/n would exchange pencils and stuff if they forgot or needed something. They would also help each other get better at drawing. But no one was ever as close to y/n as Gilbert was. Nobody really knows why and nobody really cares. It's just a fact. It just happened. The first day of school y/n walked in and felt out of place immediately. He had a great sense of fashion which made him stand out from the other boys. Not a lot but enough for it to be noticed. His parents had the needed money for good clothes. Y/n never really cared about the money but he really liked all the stuff he could get. As he just awkwardly stood there not knowing where to sit Gilbert came up to y/n asking if he would want to sit next to him. Y/n soon found school to be boring and started drawing some sketches of forests or lakes on the paper instead of actually doing maths. Gilbert was really impressed and they spent the break and all the way back home from school talking about the drawings. That's also how they found out that they don't live that far away from each other. From that day on they walked to school and back home together. Today was different. Gilbert wasn't at home when y/n went to pick him up like every morning. It was weird and y/n was sad about it. It's not a big deal and they would see each other in a few minutes at school but it felt really bad. When y/n finally arrived at school, in a bad mood already, he just ignored Cole who wanted to show him something while walking over to his regular seat. He's very very surprised to find a little package on his table with a little note saying "from Gilbert, for y/n" So this was the reason for Gilbert leaving earlier. He wanted to put it on the table before y/n could see. The bad mood is gone in an instant as he sits down and carefully opens the little gift. It contains a lot of paper and other art supplies that y/n had talked about a lot with Gilbert but also some things he had only mentioned when talking to Cole because Cole actually knew a lot about drawing. That means that Gilbert actually talked to Cole only to find out what he could put in the gift Box for y/n. After admiring all the new pencils and the beautiful new paper he immediately gets up to hug Gilbert. "Thank you so much!! Thank you. Really. I love it! I- thank you. This is so sweet and thoughtful!" he says starting to thank him knowing that he could never express it enough. "I will definitely draw you first!!" Gilbert has to laugh at the pure happiness (a/n: is that a word? Serious question) radiating from his friend. "I'm really glad you like it! And I've never had someone draw me before so i'd definitely feel honored"

[7l-eclipse]

I’m not someone who draws a lot, so i here are my sketch of today now that I got motivations :D I wasn’t sure how to draw Neptune so he’s just a bit triplicated x) Saturn was the hardest to draw!

No soy alguien que dibuje mucho, así que aquí están mis dibujos de hey, agora que tengo motivación :D No estaba tan segura de cómo dibujar a Neptuno así que esta un poco triplicado x) Saturno era el más difícil a dibujar!

What gave me motivation and my mood while I was reading x)

Lo que me dio motivación y mi ánimo mientras leía x)

Full page, if you want to try and read it!

Página completa, si quieres intentar y leer la!

[eternalwritess]

i hope i'm not requesting anything at a bad time; i guess i'll take a romantic matchup for hazbin?? i know helluva's in tje same universe i'm just. uegj,

Pronouns: they/them/theirs; anytime i shoot for they/he i forget 2 seconds later, it's like there's just a single semi-visible crumb of man inside that i can rarely beat in a footrace i'm sorry. He's There.

Sexuality: gay (nblm/mlm/achillean)

Personality: gonna be real with you, i am. honestly kind of a nervous wreck?? i'm trying my best not to be so timid or insecure to such a degree but anxiety is something i struggle with Horrendously and i? die,

might also be a lil depressed and a lil lost in life but we're not talking about that today—

if i manage to feel comfortable enough with someone though i can definitely either be a complete doofus or very clingy (or in a romantic context, touch-starved) and very,,,, puppybrained?? as they say??? a

Hobbies: aside from venting my emotions through baking and being a bit of a bookworm or library-mouse, i tend to draw somewhat often (even if it's kinda. b a d) and i've been on a stream-watching kick as of late?? i may also touch a video game from time to time, but like. don't a lot of us

Pet peeves: off the top of my head, when people try accusing me of shit i didn't do, fake people, when people handle time travel plotlines Like That (you know what i'm talking about), mother's day

idrk man it's hard to recall pet peeves for me when i'm not Completely pissed or salty, i hope that's sufficient💦

i'm sorry if i butchered the format i have n o idea how this is gonna look as a submitted ask 🏃‍♂️

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴!

i wasn't really given much to work with so sorry if its kinda short and inaccurate

You probably met at the hotel and just needed someone to talk to and Charlie wasn't there so he decided to listen to you

He'd most likely talk with you over your anxiety and try to calm you down if things get too bad

"Deep breaths"

As for venting he's heard it all and knows how to deal with it all so he's more than willing just to listen to you and give you advice from there.

He's not that big into electronics but I'm sure that you might be able to get him to watch a few streams with you if he's in the mood

He wouldn't mind the clingyness very much as long as it doesn't become paranoia or anything harmful to the relationship or such

You and him might discuss books every now and then and he would try and give you reccomendations even if they might be a bit out of style

"Have you read?..."

He likes your drawings and likes watching you improve and will gently tease you about them and then say how good they are and how you've improved

Husk isn't a fake person at all and is more of a down to Earth person

He's very honest and will most likely never lie to you if he does it's most likely about him being an overlord because he's embarrassed or with his contract with Alastor just because he doesn't want you to get worried

But even if he did and you found out he would apologize and you might go through a rough patch but thats about it

Over all it would be a very caring relationship <3

[aealzx]

I want to watch the universe expand.

---

“Hey.”

Leo’s voice was uncharacteristically soft to anyone who didn’t really know him, dragging Donnie out of his dusty fog of a mood just a little bit. He didn’t have a response, just looked over at Leo while wrapped in a cocoon of his favorite blanket, an empty mug held loosely in his hands. He would say he wasn’t in the mood, but he was almost begging Leo to antagonize him, make some snide remark, pull him out of the slump he was feeling, get him to retort back.

Instead it was the other side of Leo. The softer side.

“You look tired. Have you eaten yet?”

Leo looked sympathetic. Gentle. Leading with a light touch on the elbow instead of his boisterous grip on the wrist dragging his poor victim behind.

Donnie’s gaze fell as his shoulders raised in a shrug. He didn’t remember. Did he eat today? He remembered crackers at some point, but that obviously wasn’t enough. Another heavy weight on his already sagging shoulders.

Leo was quiet for a moment too long, just watching. Then he moved forward, cupping his hand under Donnie’s mug and trying to slide it away from him. “Are you-.... Willing to trust me, for a moment? I want to show you something.”

The obvious change in method of technique made Donnie’s eyes narrow, lips pressing together for a moment. Any other, regular moment he would have declined. Any other moment that wasn’t the quiet of the night smothered by smog over everyone’s mood. A smog that didn’t seem to want to leave. But this moment, Donnie just nodded and relinquished his grip on the mug.

A flash of teeth betrayed Leo’s smile as he quickly moved to the kitchen. “Stay right there, I’ll be right back,” he bid.

And Donnie complied. Fingers tugging the blanket a little tighter as he watched the empty space where Leo had gone. It took about twenty minutes before Leo returned with two mugs in his hands steaming with the smell of chocolate. “Hold this,” Leo directed, handing Donnie’s full mug back to him. “I already sent the other two ahead to get their wiggles out sooner.”

The comment made Donnie furrow his brows, confusion replaced by reluctance as Leo drew a katana and sliced open a portal. He didn’t want to go anywhere noisy right then, and pulled back to express his wariness.

Leo just chuckled, and held out his once again open hand. “Trust me. It’s a perfect night in the middle of nowhere.”

Okay, that was even more confusing. But at least it held the subtle promise of solitude. So Donnie graciously took Leo’s offered hand and let him pull him through the portal.

He hadn’t been expecting the ocean. The soft rush of waves crashing against the sandy beach below his feet. It was warm despite being night, and Donnie could hear the faint laughter of Mikey and Raph in the distance. Not quite out of view, but far enough to be quieter. Leo’s hand in the corner of his view caught Donnie’s eye and beckoned him to follow it, a finger silently pointing up and bringing Donnie’s gaze with it.

The salty air prickled his tongue as Donnie drew a slow gasp as the sight before him. The middle of nowhere indeed. No light sources were even close to the area to drown the sky in their pollution. Which meant the stars were free to shine the glory of the night sky as far as the eye could see. He barely felt Leo’s hand resting under the mug in his hands again to keep it from slipping from slackened fingers. The soft chuckle turned into a quiet whisper as Donnie’s mind tumbled from its confines to stretch towards the galaxies in view.

“Take your time.”

_____________________________

I had to get this out of my head |D There’s a bunch of songs by Sleeping at Last that are titled the numbers 1 through 9, and correspond to the Enneagram personalities. The text in the pic is the first line of Five, which I feel like fits Donnie well. And since I don’t think I’ll get to drawing anything for the others, these are the songs I feel fit them:

Raph - Six

Leo - Two (this one partially inspired the mini story)

Donnie - Five

Mikey - Seven