#it reminds me i can just draw whatever i want and my own enjoyment is merit enough

[dandelion-roots]

[Image description: a digital drawing of sklonda and pok gukgak from fantasy high, two goblins with shoulder length straight hair and short curly hair, respectively. they're touching foreheads and embracing, both of sklonda's hands in pok's hair, while one of pok's hands is moving sklonda's bangs off her foreheads and the other is clutching at her waist. we only see sklonda's face and the look of silent grief on it. in the background on pok's half is a stylized dragon's mouth with teeth digging into his shoulder, and on sklonda's side are sheets of paper. over the background on the left is text that reads, it's okay, and then on the right side in brackets it says, (it'll be ok). End image description]

[bloodsadx]

thanks to everyone who has sent me asks and such saying i understand how to draw for being nice and stuff. i'm going to ramble about some influence/process stuff below if you want to read abt it

this might read as some kind of artistic statement or defense or something but i like to talk about this kind of thing just in case anybody can ever get anything meaningful out of my own thoughts and practices. i got to where i am after a lot of careful consideration and spending time thinking about what i like in other people's art, just like anybody else that makes art to any serious degree.

my "style" is very much a deliberate series of decisions that i have honed into being very fast for my own pleasure and enjoyment because i am very inspired by people like king terry/garo magazine/the heta-uma style, keiichi arawi, inio asano, hiroyuki imaishi, toru nakayama, phil elverum (as a cartoonist), gary panter (who was a friend of matt groening and wrote an essay about selling out that is worth reading and did a lot of stuff with RAW magazine which is one of my favorite things to think about), DIY/skatewear brand t shirt cartoons, early MSPA hussie stuff, etc. a lot of my favorite artists walk a line between constant high effort and low time investment art; often contrasting elaborately planned perspective grids or high resolution rendering with simple cartooning. asano and arawi i think are very clear and famous examples of artists that use 3d rendering and photography for backgrounds while drawing very deliberate and expressive characters on top of them. toru nakayama is really inspiring to me because he, like toriyama, has a very deep understanding of form AND cartooning and has a way of making extremely densely crafted cartoons which feel visceral and almost like plastic toys you can pick up and play with on the page. also just one of my favorite colorists. and i think hussie and arawi and imaishi are all fantastic character designers with very strong understandings of designing art styles that convey information very quickly and deliberately; i think bryan lee omalley and jamie hewlett were also big early influences on me for the same thing- they all have art styles with very clear line/negative space proportions, strong shape language, etc, and for a long time in my life i have sought to grasp a similar understanding of these things. and then i think phil elverum's fancy people adventures cartoons and just like skate brands and "shitty" DIY drawings and stuff (the album art for nana grizol's love it love it is like burned into my brain forever; seeing basquiat paintings and poems in a museum when i was 15 made me feel whatever and crazy and etc) are just something that serve as a constant reminder to me that some of the most effective art is art that is simply fun to look at, especially when it comes to making comic and cartoon art. simplicity and joie de vivre are very important to me as artistic concepts.

and i mean, i do fuck with crazy painter dudes and shit too; i was huge into goya when i was 14 and had a print of the witches sabbath taped to my wall until i was like 22, i fw waterhouse & bruegel the elder insanely. i am like a sponge for most kinds of art and i do a lot of art research all the time. most of my first book was heavily influenced by compositional techniques from pre-raphaelite painters and the iconography of egyptian & greek wall art and especially especially extremely crowded gothic art and the concept of horror vacui.

but anyway, im not really insecure about my art, i know how much effort and time and practice and research i've put in, i definitely know my strengths regarding cartooning and stuff, and i'm even more aware of where my work needs "improvement" in order to be "commercially viable." i've been in multiple positions in the past several years of taking art seriously where other people have been dismissive of my art and i've seen other people fail to capture the energy & simplicity that i am able to get in my own art, etc.

for people interested in my Process and the things that i work on to draw the way that i do, the way i have gotten whatever skills i have has been mostly through drawing the same things over and over and over (toenail, cavity, pimple, gunk, making different expressions and doing different poses); i draw in pen MOST of the time, and i have for a very long time, and i make few edits, and i focus on keeping energy and confidence in my lines; i do perspective studies, i've spent a lot of time doing gesture drawings and environmental studies inside and outside. i draw a lot of movie frames and do color studies of youtube videos and stuff like that. i remember reading some kind of criticism of post-KAWS/street art infiltration of commercial art that artists now are most rewarded for drawing literally the same thing over and over and over like their hands are printers and that the main thing artists are then allowed to do within that context is express themselves through minor variations within that key theme; i don't think im THAT rote but it has definitely informed my perpsective on what i do and what i am interested in doing. on some level i have designed my art to be easily reproducible by myself because i want to make comics and sometimes even to animate my characters and that requires me to be able to draw a lot of drawings relatively quickly. this is another reason why character designers and video game key artists are such massive influences on me, takehito harada and akiman and toshiyuki kusakihara being some huge ones i've spent a lot of time doing studies of i didn't mention previously.

and because the main way i make money at this point in my life is through screen printing & reproducing my drawings as items for sale, i spend a lot of time making my art Distinct, Eye Catching, and Iconic, to the degree of instant recognizability even on a t shirt or a sticker from far away, and i try to make my drawings strictly legible and generally focus on communicating ideas and emotions through big thematic and emotional gestures and strong colors that can be easily separated. this is one of the main reasons i havent developed as strong of a rendering/coloring habit; that kind of stuff is difficult to color separate for the purpose of solo DIY screen printing. but i've spent a pretty decent amount of time doing that stuff, and i spend time studying forms regardless, with the lines that i do use. a lot of my sketchbooks are me drawing literally the same thing over and over slightly differently until i have something that i feel is a strong enough cartoon to make into a shirt or patch or sticker design that satisfies a litany of criteria i have for what i consider strong cartooning.

anyway that was a very rambling post but i hope at least people get something out of it even if its just slight entertainment from me blowing hot air out of my mouth for 20 minutes.

[miru667]

How do you manage to stay in a fandom for so long? I'm always mario jumping from fandom to fandom every 3-6 months

Oh, so many reasons. I think I've answered this before but in a much more concise way so idk what happened here when I tried to answer again from scratch but uhhh I wrote a lot lol?? Long ramble time. 😂

I found this fandom at a point in my life when I really emotionally needed it, so I got really attached to it. I stayed because of the friends I've made in it and because of the OCs I got invested in, both mine and other people's, and every so often something invigorated my interest like a new roleplay I got to join or new concept art that got discovered.

I'm also just a really dedicated person (for better or worse) and I still have ideas that I want to get out there creatively. I don't get a lot of free time, and I rarely have energy for hobbies after work so my time passes slowly in the sense that I may still be in the middle of appreciating a thing, meanwhile everyone else has already sped through and processed it and moved on.

So I've gotta be really careful about choosing what to spend my limited time and energy on. It sometimes takes me a whole month to draw a piece of art that I'm proud of. It would be a huge waste of my time to spend so much energy on a fandom that after 3 months I think I might not care about anymore.

And like, if it's going to take me a month to draw 1 thing, what am I going to choose? Fanart of a character from a show that I just finished that I might possibly move on from in 3 months? Or art of my darling Audrey OC that I've been developing for years and whom I know will always bring me joy for the rest of my life? It's not a hard choice! Like I'm sure it's obvious by now but I really love my oc. It's gotten to the point that I look for her in every media I consume. I like characters because they remind me of her, and I like plots because they remind me of her. When I watch a movie and end up loving it, I'm not going to be drawing fanart for that movie, I'm more likely going to be drawing Audrey Grace in some way that's consciously or subconsciously inspired by that movie. I'm sure other people with beloved ocs can relate to that, too.

Back to media consumption: I'm constantly watching new things, shows, movies, letsplays, and I'm able to love them just fine, but I never participate in their fandoms (unless you count reblogging fanart as participation. I personally don't). I just don't feel motivated to and I feel like it's unnecessary. I shouldn't need to prove anything. You can appreciate media without engaging in fandom. In fact, I encourage it, because a lot of what I see in fandoms these days is just stressful, at least to me. And I don't want that stress. I'm much happier as a person when I don't have to read other people's opinions, discourse and drama over some show's themes or ships or whatever. I can just quietly revel in my own enjoyment of the show without being tainted by anything else, and my love for it is not any less valid than the person who's livetweeting their loud emotions while watching the same show and putting out fanart 1 hour after every episode. Bless them, though.

And I guess that's mostly what I do these days with the Onceler fandom, too. Appreciating it more quietly these days, I mean. It's just that...I have a fandom related oc so I draw her. And I have friends here so we do stuff together and we reference fandom inside jokes no matter what activity we're doing. If I encounter art that deeply moves me personally, I reblog it, just like I reblog art for other media on my sideblog. When anyone has a fandom history related question, I'm eager to answer because I don't want the past to be misrepresented or misunderstood. And also, since it's been over a decade, this fandom has long ago become my daily normal. I can do whatever I like but I can't really "leave" this fandom unless I delete all my social media and cut off all my online friends. And delete my memories of the past 12 years of my life as well. Just become a completely different person.

So I guess I can reverse the sentiment: I can't relate to people who hop fandoms every 3 to 6 months. 😭 All the power to you, but that's just not the way I happen to live my life, nor the way I engage with the media I consume! The Once-ler fandom was the one exception. It was special.

But who knows, anything can happen in the future. I'm not so proud that I'm purposely blocking myself from looking at other fandoms or anything. I just go with the flow! Right now I'm slowly making my way through jjba, an omori playthrough, a Plague Tale playthrough, and urusei yatsura season 2 (the new anime). Probably nothing will come out of any it except for a bunch of Audrey inspos, but again, who knows. XD I'm also going to an idkhow concert soon, and I've bought merch from their store already. Does that count as participating in a fandom? Maybe not. But now that I think of it, even if I "join" another fandom, it doesn't necessarily mean I'd leave the onceler fandom either, so maybe it wouldn't matter haha.

Thank you for the ask and thank you to anyone who's read my entire answer!

[gracieart]

Ugh please don’t draw Elucien! She feels uncomfortable around him and shrinks in on herself in his presence. I love your art sm and it makes me very sad that you would support a week that celebrates forcing a woman to be with a man she is uncomfortable with 😭

Hello anon. I’ve looked at this ask so many times, attempting to come up with a good way to answer you. But… I just don’t have anything I could say to make you happy. And honestly that’s not my job. It is not my responsibility, or anyone else's to make you happy.

I was debating not even answering this ask at all, but there are some things that need to be said here. Quite a bit actually, because I am a human being with a lot of feelings.

First off, I know that in your mind this is coming from a place of “I love your art sm” but when you frame that around your dislike for something I expressed my enjoyment of, it loses all its meaning. Seriously. It took me like four rereads of this ask to even realize you said you like my art. Thank you, by the way.

What I’m curious about is what you hoped to accomplish by sending me this. Did you think I would suddenly change my mind and not draw something I just said I was excited about drawing? Imagine:

“I kinda like this idea. I’m going to take time out of my day to create something for it because I enjoy it!”

“No don’t do that.”

“Oh you’re right. Okay I won’t create something I like. Thanks for telling me what to do, I didn’t know otherwise.”

…you can see how that doesn’t make sense right?

I think what a lot of people don't understand, especially people who haven't attempted to share something they create before, is that us artists do not owe you anything. We are not mindless machines that create whatever you want whenever you want. I create what makes me happy. I create because I feel inspired. I do not create because you tell me to. I find enjoyment in creating art and I find enjoyment in sharing it with you guys. (Although recently, not so much anymore.)

My point that I want you to take away here is this: coming up to someone and hating on something they just showed an interest in is very rude. You keep that to yourself. That's just basic human decency. Like, if someone is happy, why go out of your way to make them unhappy? In reality if you saw someone who is very happy eating their chocolate ice cream, would you go up to them and throw their ice cream on the ground, just because you personally don't like chocolate flavored ice cream? It's as simple as that and yet I will never understand why people fail to recognize this.

Now, about the actual ship. I want to keep this brief because I despise with a burning passion anything "ship war" related. I hate that term.

I have read the books, same as you. And I know all about Elain losing all her newfound boldness and all that jazz. I am well aware of everything between them, so there's no need to remind me. But what you seem to think here is that I ship her because she shrinks away from him. That is not true. I do not like them because it promotes forcing a woman to be with a man that makes her uncomfortable. No Elucien I have ever met ships them because of this. I like the idea of them because of what they could be. I like their characters and I genuinely think they would work well together, even if it is just as friends. So in the fandom here, yes, I ship them too. But in terms of canon, I believe Elriel is most likely to happen. So you don't need to worry about "losing" an Elriel or anything like that. I can enjoy both. Actually its very pleasant. Double the love, double the fanfics and fanart! You can enjoy multiple things without "compromising" your true beliefs. There's a difference between having a personal preference and having an idea of what will happen in canon. And seriously, multishipping is so fun. You should try it some time!!

Now I want to close this off by making this clear. I was once in your place. I was so closed off from anyone and anything that opposed my own ideas. There was... a lot of hatred. But let me tell you, letting hatred go is so freeing. I have met the kindest and most loving people by stepping out of the little bubble I created for myself.

So to me, there is no "ship war." There are no sides. There is no right or wrong way to enjoy things. There is no battle that is going to be won with theories and headcannons and throwing insults at people who believe different things.

I am here in this fandom because I enjoy being here. But for some reason, people like to tell you what you can and can't enjoy. Crazy, right?

(This was kind of a lot, I apologize. Anon, I am not coming after you personally for sending me this. Your ask just provided the perfect vessel for me to express my feelings on the matter.)

[spicedwatermel0n]

just dropping in to offer you some motivation, because i totally get art slumps (i just left a 3 yr long one *gasp*). if you’re feeling lost creatively but also like you’re lacking the support you need to keep going, remind yourself that art is supposed to make you happy! draw for yourself, take a break, do whatever you need to step back and view your creations less as “content” for others to consume and more as something that brings you joy to make. and if you ever feel like people don’t care about your content, who cares! post anyways! if you love what you make, people will see that and become interested, but what’s really important is that you feel fulfilled. everything you make has value, always. it’s hard getting past self-deprecation, but if you ever need motivation or want to share your ideas, my dms are open, dude👍

The issue is that I've *tried* to do this. I'm not creatively blocked or anything. A matter of fact, I haven't had art block in... Years. I have a plethora of ideas and there's always new ones I'm creating. And of course, I do enjoy art as well. Buuuuut, I've also been doing it for years only to see the same consistent thing in small fandoms: everyone else has more interesting stuff, they get tons and tons of support, I do everything to satisfy the audience and bring in this following, but literally nothing seems to work because it's all just pointing to, "your art just isn't all that". And it's even worse in large fandoms because that's basically just nothingness lmfao. Haven't been in one in ages though

I'm not gonna stop drawing. But I also can't help that I'm extremely social and want my art to be viewed by others. Humans as a species thrive off community so when there's a lack of that within their space, they tend to feel down. I have no clue what issue it could be other than what I proposed, because small fandom algorithms are non existent. You basically see it all if you're a fandom member. I've tried everything to garner support on things and it's all just. Nothing. I never get the kind of support I've seen my friends here get for the past 2 years, and I'm getting hate mail often about my work. Not to mention the shit talk I get from people.

I mean, hell, you literally just joined (back) and you've got a better following than me. You've managed to get all this attention because your art is just simply amazing. I can't get that. It's sucky knowing everything has pointed to me not being good enough to amass such a following despite how hard I try and how confident I can feel about my skills sometimes.

Once again, I'm not gonna quit or shit like that. I'm well aware that I gotta do it for my own joy and I *do*. But a child is gonna be a little upset if they notice they're showing the same group of people their art that their peers are, yet their peers get so many more "so cute!"s when they get one when lucky, regardless of the child's enjoyment of having drawn it. The same goes for any time of small community where notice isn't dictated by an algorithm due to lack of size. It's the same few people, but the same few people always prefer the talent as one might expect. I don't have what they're looking for. Just a little sad, is all.

[noelledeltarune]

raises hand. i'd like to hear about your miscellaneous headcanons :]

YAYYY ok :-] all of these are unrelated 🔥💯

i know that everyone has their own specific headcanons for who their starters are but i have always liked the idea of them having been given their haxorus as an axew as their first pokemon. i totally understand why people think of it as being ingo's with the whole mold breaker earthquake thing but especially with the whole heroes of legend and original dragon thing i think it's customary / traditional for people in unova to give children who are setting off on their journeys together a dragon to raise together. like as a reminder not to be too consumed with your goals that you lose the people who matter to you. or something. works out because i imagine dragons are typically prideful and kind of finicky to raise by nature. so making it a 2 person job is easier on all parties LMAO (their haxorus is jolly by nature so maybe less so but. yknow)

i also personally think that emmet really likes to cook. completely unrelated and i don't know why i think so but to me his love of battling translates a little as him being a guy who cares about his health LOL. he wants his team to be in good shape, so he should put in that effort too! because it's something he's very passionate about. and this applies to exercise but also food to me. it's an easy way to take care of yourself and it's nice to share food with people (<- necessary intervention to avoid ingo's 7th fast food chain burger in 4 days). + i imagine that pokemon who do a lot of battling like his do would need to eat a lot anyways, it's probably cheaper to make your own pokemon food than to buy as much as he'd need in bulk. maybe he got into making it for his team when he was younger and that translated into him learning to cook because he's already making something edible anyways LMAO, might as well do the same for himself

i think ingo likes to draw. no real reason for this one either he just strikes me as The Absentminded Doodler. never really considered himself to be super passionate about art but he is a dedicated hobbyist. in my head when they were kids ingo and emmet's parents tried to get emmet into journaling because he wasn't much of a talker and they figured it'd be an easier way to express himself. he did not really care for it and ingo took it up instead. lots of paper for writing and doodling. i imagine he sort of got out of journaling as an adult/older teen but got back into both writing and drawing more when he was in hisui. we know he's a man who appreciates physical reminders of things. less ephemeral than memories 🔥💯

i also like the headcanon that uxie is the one who stole his memories rather than it just being a result of The Dreaded SpaceTime Travel. like i know it doesn't actually make sense because how would he have possibly met uxie given the requirement of having god's blessing in your cell phone. but. OH MY GOD! IN COMES CANALAVE LIBRARY'S "A HORRIFIC MYTH" WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!!!!!!!

^ i just like it. it's also the one way i will excuse the trope of zoroark transforming into emmet because the pokemon guarding uxie's cave is. an alpha zoroark. so maybe that thing has some special powers relating to the memories it steals like it can look into them to more effectively scare people away from it or whatever. because like. hisuian zoroark can't actually read minds. LMAO. but i'll accept it specifically for ingo through this

i am known to be an enjoyer of the headcanon that emmet is a pokemon breeder as a hobby. but specifically NOT just with joltik. i think he met lenora when he was younger when she helped him revive his archen from a fossil and he works with her sometimes now as a breeder aiding in pokemon restoration. i also like to ignore the fact this would likely require a lot of dedicated training and education and time on top of his job because i can do whatever i want forever. i think that elesa's tynamo is the anime was a gift from him :-]

on a slightly related note i also think that emmet and burgh are underrated "characters who have never interacted but i think they'd be friends" guys. in my head even ingo likes to draw he's not really much of an art nerd. but i think emmet kind of is LOL. (<- queen of taking that one line where he talks about wanting to go to galar to see the sirfetch'd vs escavalier painting too far). i think they'd be bug buddies. they're both a little silly in a way that i think would be very compatible and i like imagining them as friends. 2 guys who love looking at pictures of bugs and also are professional pokemon battlers. match made in heaven 🔥💯 slightly related because burgh is the one character i think emmet actually would give a joltik to. gave him a shiny baby spider at one of his art shows and their friendship was cemented when a couple of weeks later he showed up on the doubles line with a professionally trained shiny galvantula :-]

i flip flop 100000x per day over their pokemon but specifically when it comes to the haxorus mold breaker thing i want to bring up how abilities on the battle subway are randomized. meaning that, to me specifically, it is not actually an act of malice 100% of the time. i KNOW that it was introduced in gen 6 but i think that mold breaker earthquake is more often a FUCK I FORGOT TO USE THE ABILITY CAPSULE AGAIN AFTER THE SINGLES LINE than a HA HA HA. FUCK YOU, TEAMMATE! ingo is also a guy who likes a thrilling battle and likes to win. if i wasn't as fond of the idea that their starter was axew i'd say it's a brought the wrong haxorus to work accident

i think that's everything that comes to mind for now. THANK YOU :-]

[sambeawesome]

Is there a wrong or right way to learn to draw

I was told to keep practicing to learn anatomy by class mode by learning through timing in 30 seconds and that i could learn by learning to draw realistic or that there is a mode I need to draw. I just draw by practicing to draw humans but have no goal. This is how I’m learning to draw humans Just drawing til I like it. Should I have goal? When I draw in 30 days? Or by a time period and then plan it out each time. For learning like is there any correct way to draw? To like your style and reach a professional level?

You're welcome to take my opinions with a grain of salt, since I know I'm more of an outlier when it comes to this topic but--there is no right or wrong way to learn to draw.

Basically, my rule when it comes to drawing and learning is: are you having fun? Yes? Then you're doing it right.

Can you learn to draw by doing figure drawings, anatomy studies, muscle break-downs, etc. Most definitely! I've done lots of studies like that, they can be very helpful.

Can you also learn to draw by jumping from thing to thing, style to style, medium to medium? I mean, if you've seen my art, then you know, haha. I'm not an expert at any one thing, but I'm not too shabby at a lot of things.

From your ask, but feel free to correct me if I'm misunderstanding, it sounds like you're doing what you think you're supposed to do, which can be fine. But if you're not enjoying it, I do want to bring attention to that. It's okay to not study and just draw. It's okay to fiddle around, make junky art, or just explore.

I didn't used to do studies or proper practice--my art journey started with me just drawing my favorite characters because I wanted to draw them. Will it take longer to "get good" this route? Probably. Someone could definitely reach my level much faster than I did (plus, the resources available now are MUCH more plentiful than when I first started!).

But is it about getting good fast? Or is it about getting enjoyment out of life? You could absolutely hunker down and do studies for hours every day, and you could get pretty good pretty fast. But make sure you ask yourself if it's worth it. Stuff like that isn't sustainable for long periods if you hate it. And if you hate it, you might end up teaching your brain to hate art. And I'd MUCH rather you be less good at art, but happy, than be really good, but miserable.

That said, you can definitely set whatever goals you wish. If that helps motivate you and make things fun, then absolutely do it! And as for "liking your style", imo, this is more of a current mindset thing. Just like with 'liking your art'. If you've ever had a goal at something, and you reached that goal, you may have a moment of celebration, but a new goal is often made soon after. That goal post moved. Your ideals moved.

Your art will naturally change and grow over time, and constantly seeing other artists better than us can contribute to us feeling inadequate. No matter how good you get, someone will always be better. That goal post can never be reached.

Instead, try to focus on yourself. Look at your art journey as its own unique thing, not compared to others. You can like your art or your style at any point in your journey. You can want to change your style at any point. Just keep an eye on your mental health. I have two short YT videos on this topic that might help if you need it, here and here. (I don't mean to imply this is easy, but I like to remind others, and myself, when I can, to treat ourselves better!)

This is a very long answer, hopefully some of it made sense at least, I just woke up so my brain is still a little zzzz, haha. But just some food for thought. Best of luck on your art journey :)

[dingkaigrad604]

20 objects ideas

I plan to do the poster using photographs of the real objects but mixing it with digital illustrations based of my own style as well as researched and inspiring illustrators/designers.

My huge 100 Bill belt buckle - I've worn it almost everyday and to me it represents being able to be obnoxious with expression and art yet conscious and self aware about it.

Headphones - Has helped uplift many aspects of my life and amplifies emotions.

Sketchbook and pen - My main form of expressing my thoughts and feelings through illustrations and journaling

Bamboo house plant - A gift from my dad to give me good luck with my studies.

My metal KFC bucket - A sentimental item from my first job as well as a practical item where I put my accessories

My pen tablet which I use alot to create my digital illustrations.

My smiling sleep mask - I used to wear it alot outside as an accessory. It reminds me now of a period where I first started finding myself and style with my creative thoughts and paths. It also helped me realise I don't always have to make sense of my artwork and just do it for my own enjoyment just as it doesn't make sense to wear a sleeping mask on my forehead all day instead of my eyes.

My other belts and hats - Important forms of expression

Chinese red packets - Has been one of the few traditions keeping me in touch with my relatives that I'm away from.

A half empty wallet - My struggle between prioritising the financial stability of my future or my satisfaction and enjoyment with my life and creative aspects

Super Diaper Baby Book - Helped me learn to embrace stupidity and pure fun when being creative. And to run wild with any idea you have

Acrylic paints and paint brushes - I found out during high school arts that traditional arts is not my strength and that my strong points are in digital image making and illustration. The paint reminds me that as people there will always be things you're not good at and things that you are and that you have to accept yourself for the things you cannot do and appreciate your strengths. Especially as artists, too many people are too in their own heads doubting their own abilities because they can't seperate their good and bad points.

My framed images - I have a framed image of my dad in China on my wall. Underneath is a framed poster of two American rappers and another of a photograph of a fight between Ali and Fraiser. This is a reminder to me about how my cultural knowledge and involvement is diluted as a kiwi Chinese and how it will continue to dilute if I don't do anything about it.

My mini statues of Chinese kids doing kung fu - It's hard to tell when you're actually in touch with your culture or whether you're just using it as decoration trying to seem like you're cultured. Often I feel like I'm just an imposter. These little figurines have no meaning or symbolism behind it, I simply thought it looked cool when I bought it.

The guitar in my room - Reminds me of the importance of commitment and consistency. Because It was something I bought, picked up and learnt the easy parts of guitar and then stopped playing. No skill can be developed easily you must put effort in. Though at the same time I'm happy, the skills I learnt are the parts of guitar I enjoyed playing the most so it's now also a reminder that it's okay to just have fun sometimes and not put so much pressure onto yourself and others.

The plant pot on the balcony - My dad made me draw this plant everyday to try improve sketching skills. During this process I realised this is not something I'm passionate about. It helped me realise I enjoy expression ideas from my head in an illustrative cartoon-like fashion. I really appreciate realism and the art of it but this helped me realise this isn't a path and art form I wanted to pursue.

My high school math books - Where I best expressed my love for doodling and drawing whatever comes to mind. Math classes were definitely the most boring which lead to the most drawings out of my school books.

Video Game Controller - Video games are their own form of art. Every game was created by and individual or a team of creatives who collaborated many creative ideas and refined it and continue to refine the final product. Video games were a huge source of creativity during my childhood. Interesting game concepts, characters, storylines, soundtracks, environments/settings all fuelled my creative drive growing up.

DVD's - A selection of dvd's which content set the tone for my creative ideas of lighthearted, fun and exciting (at least to myself!)

Pack of pens - A specific pack of pens My dad got me when I was younger. I'm grateful my dad has accepted me always and is comfortable with the direction I'm going in life. I've always been stressed and worried that wanting to be an artist would be gut wrenching for my parents but that wasn't the case. This acceptance has freed up so much space in my mind to focus on doing the things I want to do

Chinese Cigarettes - The smell of it reminds me of the smell of being in China. Which reminds me of one of my roles of telling my story as one of the many Kiwi Chinese artists in New Zealand.

Box of chocolates gifted to me that I will never eat - I keep it around as a reminder to how important my friends are to me and how important I am to them. I find that I have a problem where I easily forget they exist sometimes or forget how important it is to maintain connection with them and this gift is a constant reminder to myself that it is important. This in a way also shows the importance of human connection within a creative setting/world.

[serendipitous-magic]

What is your writing advice for young people who want to write fanfiction and original stories in the near future?

If this is just Way Too Much, skip to the end (#16). My most important piece of advice is there. I also happen to think #5 is pretty good.

-_-_-_-

1) Literally just write. Write whatever you want, and do a lot of it.

_-_

2) You don’t have to post everything. In fact you don’t have to post anything. You can, don’t get me wrong, but it can be intimidating to sit down and think “I will now write something that other people will see and read and judge with their eyeballs.” Because that’s probably gonna lead to nerves and writer's block. Just write down the ideas that you have, the things you want to write, whatever’s in your brain that you want to explore and expand upon and make into something. And then if you want to, share it. Or don’t share it. I have plenty of half-baked ideas and documents and random story chapters and shit hidden away on my Google Drive that will never see the light of day, for a whole number of reasons. I wanted to write it but it wasn’t ~Spicy~ enough to warrant posting, or it’s only like an eighth of a good idea, or it’s like one scene with no story around it, or it’s just something incredibly self-indulgent I just wanted to write for my own enjoyment.

Point being, don’t write for other people. Don’t write so that other people can read it; write what you want, write for yourself, and then if you want to share it, do.

_-_

3) You can pretty much ignore any and all of these for fanfiction. In fact, you can ignore pretty much any rules or guidelines you want for fanfiction. Fanfic is a sandbox. You don’t have to be a “professional writer” to post fic. No one expects you to be Stephen King or Margaret Atwood. Fanfic is just for playing in a fandom and having fun. If you wanna write a 50 chapter slow burn with very little plot aside from the OTP slowly getting to know each other, and no real stakes or central conflict, I guarantee people would read that. Really, fanfiction is the Old West of writing: lawless, wild, unpredictable, and free.

However, here are the rules you must follow:

-Separate your paragraphs. (I’m sure you know this already, but I’m gonna say it anyway just in case.) Do not post one big block of text. Make a paragraph break when someone new is talking, when the characters are in a new place, when a new event occurs that changes the scene, when a chunk of time has passed, and when there’s a major change in subject.

-I know it’s obvious, but... grammar, punctuation, and capitalization. They exist to make writing easy for readers to read, and more people will read your stuff if they don’t have to stop and try to figure out what you meant.

-Use tags and labels, as is possible with whatever site you’re using. Especially if you include possibly triggering content in your story. Again, I know it’s obvious, but it’s common courtesy. Bonus: tagging the themes and content of your story helps readers find it and read it :)

-If possible, limit the use of all-caps and exclamation marks / question marks. 99% of the time, one ! or one ? will do. If you overload the page with a lot of all-caps and long rows of exclamation marks or question marks, it hampers readability.

... That’s literally all I can think of. And, like I said, it’s all pretty basic stuff. You were probably rolling your eyes like, “Uh, yeah, Gwen, I know.” But that’s literally it. You can pretty much do whatever you want in fanfic.

That being said, here’s my advice for both fanfiction and original work...

_-_

4) A quick and dirty rule for coming up with a plot, starting a story, keeping up pacing, or maintaining tension: figure out what dreams, desires, and goals are nearest and dearest to your main character’s heart (see #16). Then set up the main conflict to be directly in opposition to that goal. It doesn’t have to be in a tangible way, though it could be. But, if your main character wants more than anything to reach the ships on the southern coast of your world and sail to a new life, make sure the main conflict immediately prevents them from doing that - in fact, make sure to send them north. If your main character just wants to keep their loved ones safe, kidnap the loved ones. If your main character just wants to date their best-friend-turned-crush, make sure they think they have no chance - or, make them cocky about it, and make sure it makes Person B determined not to ever like them. You get it. Figure out what your character most wants, and then keep them from having that. Boom - your conflict now ties in with your character's motivation. It's like instant yeast for plots.

_-_

5) If you’re anything like me, you want your first draft to be Good, despite all that advice about how the first draft doesn’t have to be good and it’s just to get words on the page, yadda yadda. And if you’re somewhat of a perfectionist (like myself), it’s easy to get stuck looking at a blank page because you don’t have The Perfect Words, and you want what you write to be Good the first time.

Here’s how I cheat that:

Instead of trying to write a Good First Draft from a blank page, hit the enter key a few times, skip a little down on the page, change your ink to red (or blue, or whatever - just something immediately identifiable as Not Black) and just thought vomit. Write whatever the hell you’re thinking, exactly as you think it. Don’t worry about it being readable, don’t worry about narrative flow for now, don’t worry about covering all the details, don’t worry about anything except either a) getting all the details of your idea out onto the page, whether that’s a lot or whether it’s just a sentence or two, or b) if you don’t have an idea yet, finding your way there.

Because this method is also very good for finding your way to ideas when you’re stuck in writer’s block.

Because of how human brains work, getting this stuff out onto the page - in all its messy, stream-of-consciousness glory - will likely spark more thoughts. As you write your original idea about the scene, it’ll likely spark more ideas. Creation begets creation. If you just start thought-vomiting your ideas onto the page, chances are you’ll think of more things as you go, and you’ll start filling out description or dialogue or tone or action or whatever, and pretty soon the scene starts writing itself.

Not sure where you’re going with the scene or which ideas you wanna use? Use a lot of ambivalent language in your “thought-vomit draft.” My pre-writing notes are chock-full of the words “maybe,” “perhaps,” and the phrases, “At some point...” and “...or something like that.” In this way, I don’t tie myself down to one idea; it’s just an idea, and I’m keeping it on the page in case I use it, but I might chuck it in the trash or change it or whatever.

And then, once your ideas for the scene (or story, or chapter, or whatever) are on the page, then go back to the top and start translating them into a “real” first draft. Use black ink, and start copy-pasting chunks of the thought-vomit up into the top part of the document and translating them into Draft 1. Separate out paragraphs where paragraph breaks should be. Add the correct punctuation and whatnot. Change “describe the lobby here - include potted plants, fancy carpet, blood stain, etc.” into an actual description of the lobby. Flesh it out, or condense, or whatever it needs. And if you’re still stuck, change back to red ink and ramble some more until you find a path that feels right, then plug that in. This keeps you from looking at a blank page, and it allows you to generate a kind of Draft 0.5, somewhere between a plan and a first draft.

You don’t have to use every idea. Like I said, jot down whatever comes to mind, put a “maybe” before or after it, and keep working. If the idea grabs you and you wanna keep expanding on it and exploring it, cool. If you just wanna jot it down so you don’t forget it and then move on, also cool. Red-ink draft / “thought-vomit draft” is your time to jump around in the timeline, add or finesse details at whatever point your brain moves to, etc. Don’t try to do it exactly in story order, because you will get tangential thoughts and ideas, and you will not remember to write them down five pages later when you finally get to taking notes on that scene. Trust me. On that note...

_-_

6) Write everything down the moment you think of it. Seriously.

“I’ll remember it when I get around to writing that scene in a couple days / weeks / months (/years).”

You won’t.

Write it down.

Phone, journal, google docs - hell, my family regularly laughs at me for grabbing a napkin during dinner and scribbling thoughts down alongside pasta sauce stains.

And then, once you have it written down somewhere...

_-_

7) Consolidate your writing ideas in one place.

Maybe this isn’t really your style, and that’s totally chill.

Buuuut, if you’re Type-A like me - or if you tend to be somewhat unorganized and you know you’ll lose track of your writing notes if they’re scattered across multiple notebooks, journals, napkins, phone notes, etc. - having one consolidated document of notes is a life saver. I keep mine on Google Docs so I can access it, add to it, and look through it for inspiration anywhere at any time. When I have one of those Shower Thoughts that I jot down on my phone or on a napkin during dinner, I set myself a reminder on my phone to type it up in my Story Ideas document later.

(Or, if the idea I had was for a story of mine that I’ve already started planning / drafting / whatever, I put it in the document for that story instead of the Big Random Story Ideas doc. You get it.)

_-_

8) Have other ways to collect and save writing ideas, besides just writing stuff down. If you like Pinterest, make pinterest boards of your characters or stories or settings or whatever. If you’re big into playlists, make a playlist for your character / setting / story / etc. Or both. Or something else. I’m not good at drawing, but maybe you are, and maybe you like to draw your ideas. Whatever form it takes, having another way to save ideas and think about your stories is invaluable.

_-_

9) Some writers can just start writing with no idea where the story is going, and they just kind of figure it out as they go. I envy those writers. And I do that sometimes for fanfiction, where the stakes are somewhat lower and the audience is reading more for scene-to-scene enjoyment (and to see their OTP kiss) than for a Driving And Compelling Narrative.

But here’s the thing: especially if you’re just kind of starting out, writing without some sort of plan is really, really hard, and will likely lead you into a slow, meandering narrative that will likely frustrate you.

Even if you think you’re someone that just can’t write with a plan (and again, I have the highest respect for pansters out there - I don’t know how you do it, you crazy bastards, but you keep doing you) - even if you think “I can’t work with plans, they’re too prescriptive, I just want to write and see what happens -”

Try at least making the most skeletal of plans.

Even if you have no clue what 90% of the story is, yet. That’s fine. But you need to have some idea of what you’re building to, even if that’s nothing more specific than a feeling, or a turning point for your character. Even if your entire plan for everything beyond Chapter 1 is, “At some point, Charlie needs to realize that Ed was lying to her.”

This is where those Draft 0.5 notes come in handy. Because, more than likely, working on your current scene that way will spark ideas for later scenes, which you can put down at the bottom of the document and save for when they become relevant. In my experience, the line between planning ahead and making a Draft 0.5 is exceptionally thin. One can quickly turn into the other.

If you’re really, really resistant to the idea of planning ahead, that’s okay. It’s not everybody’s style. But for the love of all that is holy, write down your ideas for future scenes, even if you’re a person that doesn’t like to plan and writes only in story order, because you will not remember that idea once you get to that scene.

_-_

10) You don’t have to write in order.

Here’s the thing: I’m a person that can only do my Draft 1 in story order (meaning, chronological order). I just have to be in that flow; I need to write in story order for me to best channel where the character is at from scene to scene, both narratively and emotionally.

But my Thought Vomit Draft is another thing entirely. By using the brain hack of putting my notes in red (or another color, it doesn’t matter) and going down to the bottom of the document / page and taking notes there, and then integrating them into whatever plan I have, and then translating them into Draft 1 once I get there in the story - by doing that, I can get my good ideas onto the page (and expound upon them and let my muse carry me and ride that momentum while I’m in the moment of inspiration) without writing out of order.

Maybe that’s just me. But if you’re a person who really prefers to write in story order, that could be hugely helpful to you. It is to me.

_-_

11) Emotion and motivation will do more for your story than technicalities of plot.

If your characters really care about something, and their journey through the (shaky or weak) plot is emotionally engaging, it will be a much more compelling story than a story with a “perfect” plot and unrelatable or unmotivated characters.

If your characters care about what they’re doing, and it means something to them, and their goals and actions are driven by dreams or fears or emotions that are integral to who they are, your audience will care too. If you have a perfectly crafted plot that hits all the right beats and has high stakes and fast pacing and drama - but your characters don’t connect with what’s happening in a way that’s deeply meaningful or emotional for them? You’re gonna have a hard time engaging readers.

When in doubt, prioritize character emotion and motivation over plot. Emotion is what drives story.

This power is highly exploitable. (Just look at pulp novels and shitty but entertaining movies.) You can even use it to glaze over plot holes or reinvigorate a limp narrative. Use it that way sparingly, though. It’s a band-aid, not a surgery. 

_-_

12) Evil villains are hard to write - mostly because there are very few truly evil people in the world. (There are a few. Billionaires and several big name politicians come to mind.) But by and large, there aren’t that many evil people. There are plenty of bad people, but bad people have some good in them, somewhere in there. Trying to write an evil villain is hard, because they often turn very cartoony.

Here’s a tip: it’s much easier to write antagonists who aren’t evil. Even if they’re bad people. Of course, there’s no reason you can’t write a villain that’s just truly evil - a serial killer, or an abuser, or a billionaire, or someone who legit just wants to hurt people or blow up the earth or stay in control of an oppressed population, or whatever. But chances are, it’s gonna be really hard to make them feel real, and even harder to create a plot around them that doesn’t feel forced or contrived.

Instead, try writing an antagonist / villain whose motivations and goals directly clash with your protagonist’s - but not because they want to take over the world or see people suffer. Write an antagonist who’s chaotic good, but whose perception of the situation is completely opposite from your hero’s. Write an antagonist whose only desire is to save people, and who will do anything to achieve that goal - anything. Write an antagonist who believes in the letter of the law, and will hinder and oppose the hero’s methods even if they agree with the hero’s motivation. Write an antagonist who got in way over their head and did some things they regret, and now they don’t know how to get out, and they’re doing their best but whatever they set in motion is too powerful for them to stop now.

Write villains who are human. Write a killer who thought they were doing the right thing by taking their victim out of the equation, who vomits at the sight of the body and sobs over the grave they dig. Write a government leader who truly believes she’s doing what’s best for her people in the long-term, even if it might hurt them in the short term, and is willing to endure the hatred and belligerence of the masses if it means securing what she thinks is a better future for her people. Write a teenage bully that thinks they’re the one being picked on by the world, and they’re just fighting back, standing their ground. Write a scientist who will break any code of ethics and hurt anyone he needs to - in order to bring back his baby sister from the grave, because he promised her he’d protect her and he failed. Write an antagonist who is selfish and self-centered and capricious - because in order to survive they had to look out for Number One, and that habit ain’t about to break anytime soon.

Write villains who aren’t even villains. Write antagonists who oppose the hero because of moral differences. Write antagonists who are trying to do the right thing. Write antagonists who treat the heroes with kindness and dignity and respect and gentleness.

They don’t have to be good. They don’t have to be Misunderstood Sweethearts who “deserve” a redemption arc. They can be cruel and nasty and dismissive and callous and violent and etc. etc.

Just hesitate before you make them Evil-with-a-capital-E. Because evil is hard to write, and honestly, boring to read. Flawed human beings with goals and motivations that directly oppose the main characters’ are much easier to write and much more interesting to read.

Ask why. Why is your villain trying to take over the world? What does that even mean? Are they trying to create a Star-Trek-like post-capitalism utopia, but they know that won’t happen in a million lifetimes, so they’re trying to do it by force? Are they actually super in favor of human rights, but they got very impatient waiting for the world to do anything about poverty and war, so they decided to take it into their own hands? Are they determined to fix the world - no matter the cost? Are they terrified and overwhelmed, but committed to see it through to the end? Or - maybe they’re just doing it on a dare. Maybe they don’t really give a shit about world domination, they were just a mediocre rich white guy who decided to fuck around and find out, and now he’s kind of curious how far he can take this thing. And now he’s kind of an internationally-wanted criminal, so he’s kind of stuck living on his hidden private island in his multi-billion dollar secret base, strapping lasers to sharks’ heads for the hell of it. Gross, selfish, uncaring, and dangerous? For sure. Evil? Depends on your definition. See, now we’re getting somewhere.

_-_

13) It’s tempting to let the plot control the characters. It’s easy to drop your characters into a situation and see how they react. But here’s the thing: that doesn’t drive plot. In fact, it bogs down pacing. Instead, try to build you plot off of your characters’ actions and decisions. Let your character build their own situation. Not to say it should go they way they wanted it to go; in fact, usually, their grand plans should go to hell very quickly. But having the characters take action and make decisions, and letting the plot develop based on that, is much easier to make compelling than making a rigid series of events and then trying to herd your characters into them.

_-_

14) Having trouble justifying a character’s actions? Consider having them make the opposite decision, or having them approach the situation in a different way. For example: you need your character to go meet the bad guy, for plot reasons, even though there’s no way it’s not a trap. If the character goes, readers are gonna be groaning with their head in their hands, because c’mon man, that was really fucking stupid. But he’s gotta go, because the plot needs that. Two ways you might handle this: a) He knows it’s probably a trap. He decides not to go. The plot conspires to get him near the villain anyway. Or, b) He knows it’s a trap. But he needs to go, for (insert reasons here). So, he approaches it in an unexpected way. He brings backup, recruiting a side character we met earlier in the story. Or he arrives on the back of a dragon, because ain’t nobody gonna fuck with a dude on a dragon. Or he goes - early, and ambushes the villain. It may work, it may not. He may get himself kidnapped anyway. But it moves the plot along without having Stupid Hero Syndrome.

_-_

15) This is a legit piece of advice: if all of this sounds overwhelming, literally just ignore it and write what you want. For real. Writing should be fun, and every single writer operates differently. If you’re sitting here like “I’m getting stressed just reading this,” just flip me a good-natured bird and get on with your life. I promise I won’t take it personally. Same goes for literally any other writing advice you see. Lots of rules and guidelines can very quickly make anything thoroughly un-fun. Just write. If you’re passionate about it and you do it for long enough, you’ll start figuring out the tips and tricks on your own.

_-_

16) Here’s the best piece of advice I can give you: know your characters. More importantly, know what’s important to them. Build their personality and decisions off of that, and build your plot off of their decisions.

I see a lot of character building sheets that ask a shit-ton of questions like “What’s their most prized possession?” “Do they like their family?” “What’s their favorite food?”

And while these are good questions, my problem with this type of character building is that if you start there, with the little stuff, you’re building on nothing. IMO, to make a truly strong character (not strong like Inner Strength, strong like effective), you need a strong foundation.

Here are the things you must know about your character:

a) What are their greatest fears / deepest insecurities? And I don’t mean “wasps” or “heights.” I mean the deep shit. I mean fears like “living a meaningless life,” or “turning out just like their parents,” or “that no one will ever love them,” or “being powerless.” You may say, “But they’re really scared of wasps! They fall into a wasp nest when they were little and got stung so much they almost died!” Great! That’s a fantastic bit of backstory. They should absolutely be afraid of wasps, and that should absolutely be an impediment later in the story. But dig deeper. What about that event actually scarred them? Was it the helplessness? Stumbling around, swatting at the air, not being able to do a single thing to stop what was happening to them? Was it that they were alone, and no matter how loud they screamed, no one was coming? Was it the bodily horror of feeling themself turn into an inhuman creature as they swelled up from the stings, unable to move their fingers or face normally anymore?

And don’t forget insecurities, because those factor in, too. Are they deeply insecure about their identity? Do they believe, deep down, that they’re ugly? Did they grow up poor and they’ve always been really touchy about that? Why? Dig deep. Figure out what really, really bothers them.

b) What are their hopes and dreams? What do they truly want out of life? What do they consider the most valuable to their experience here in this thing called life? Is it the freedom to forge their own path and be independent? Is it the approval of their family or peers? Is it a home? Is it knowledge, or understanding? Spiritual fulfillment? Is it deeply important to them that they contribute to their community, or protect those they love? What do they need in order to feel truly and deeply fulfilled in life?

Figure out those two things (each one encompasses several things, btw, you don’t have to stop at just one for each), and then use that to inform how they behave and the types of decisions they make within the story. 

It also informs character behavior and personality. 

Let’s say we have a character who’s afraid of helplessness. They’re probably gonna be the person that always wants to do something, try something, no matter how hopeless the situation seems. They’d despise just sitting and waiting, probably, because it makes them feel powerless. They might even be the person that makes rash decisions and acts impulsively and puts themself in danger unnecessarily, because in their mind it’s better than being at the mercy of fate. This is one way you could use a character’s personality to inform their decisions, which in turn helps to inform plot.

Or, let’s say we have a character whose greatest fear is being left behind or forgotten. We may have a chatterbox on our hands. They might be obnoxious. They might love the spotlight, constantly vying for attention no matter the situation, because deep down they’re so afraid that they’d be forgotten otherwise. Or, it may go the opposite way. They may be so afraid of people leaving them that they’re terrified of bothering people. They don’t want to do anything that could annoy people, anything that might give people a reason to leave them. They might be exceedingly polite, quiet, accommodating. A push-over, really.

These are two nearly opposite types of personalities, both stemming from the same core fear/insecurity. You can go a lot of different ways with it. But if you build on that strong foundation, you’ll have a strong character, and a stronger plot.

Likewise, the structure of your story can and should inform the design of these character traits. If you need your characters to team up near the end, it may be impactful if you give your main character a deep fear of commitment, an insecurity about being unwanted or left behind, and make them highly value independence and freedom. That could make their team-up for the final battle very meaningful. Conversely, you can use your character’s deepest fears and desires to help design the plot. Is your character deeply insecure about voicing their opinions or taking a stand, because of trauma they faced in the past? Make them face that. Build that into the climactic third act. Give them the big inspirational speech where they stand up and talk about what they believe to be important, what they think the group should do. And then design that character arc to run through the story, giving you more handholds and stepping stones, more pieces of foundation on which to design the plot.

In this way, character should inform story as much as story informs character. It’s a feedback loop.

Bonus: if you build your character and your plot off of each other in this way, it automatically starts to build in the foundations of that emotional investment I mentioned earlier. If your character’s decisions are based on what they most want and do not want in life, you basically have your character motivation and stakes pre-built.

Note: you need to know these things about your villain, too.

-_-_-

I’m genuinely sorry about the length of this, lmao. But you did ask.

Best of luck!

Edit: I forgot an important one:

17) Start when the scene starts and end when the scene ends.

What do I mean by that?

If your notes say “Danny asks Nicole out after school and majorly flubs it,” start the scene when Danny approaches Nicole after school. Better yet, cold-open the scene on “I was wondering if, you know, you’d wanna. You know. Hang out some time?”

Don’t start that morning when Danny goes to school, unless you’re gonna cover the school day in like one or two sentences. Don’t spend whole paragraphs going through the school day, unless it’s to cover other plot points first (in which case apply these same guidelines there), or if the paragraphs are there for a specific reason, like to illustrate how stressed he is and how it seems like every little thing is going wrong. Even then, trim the fat as much as possible. Expounding and describing everything Moment-to-moment is for the meat of the scenes, not the leading-up-to and coming-away-from.

Here’s my rule of thumb: study how and when movies cut from scene to scene. Movies have exceptionally strict, limited time for storytelling; they’re excellent examples of starting a scene when the plot point starts and ending when it’s over. If you can’t picture a movie showing everything you showed, start the scene later and end it earlier.

[xlbrh]

Genshin Impact - Small things they do to show their love

notes : so i’ve been trying to think of an idea for a long story to write for one of the characters, but i’ve been having a little bit of trouble :( if anyone has any suggestions i’d love to hear them! hopefully i’ll be able to come out with an introduction or something soon 

in the meantime i wrote this up, so i hope that you guys enjoy!

Genshin Masterlist

warnings : none

format : bulleted, headcanons. fluff

pairings : diluc, kaeya, childe, zhongli, xiao, albedo, aether x gn! reader

word count : 1426

everything under the cut-

Diluc:

during your nightly walks around mondstadt, he notices how chills can rack your body, especially when the wind blows

he’ll remove his jacket and drape it around your form, no matter how much you may protest

sometimes his arms will circle around your waist, drawing you towards him in an effort toto keep you warm until you get home

if you’ve been out adventuring close to the dawn winery, he’d invite you to the manor to share a meal or drink, whichever you’d like

whatever you desire, he’ll see to it that you receive it – most of the time he wouldn’t even ask you due to how well he can read you and your actions

when you try to refuse his offers, he’ll tell you ‘just let me look after you, my love’  

when you come to visit him in the angel’s share, he always has a seat ready just for you

he’ll keep a blanket and some books under the bar, since he knows how you like to curl up in the corner, engrossed in your reading

if you’d like he’ll come and sit with you for a short while, bringing a drink of your choice over while you tell each other about your day

Kaeya:

kaeya is the kind of man to call you every pet name under the sun

whether it be sweetheart, darling, love etc. he loves to use these types of names for you frequently, as a form of affection

he loves your reactions to them, especially when your cheeks flare up and you turn away out of shyness – he finds it extremely endearing

he would offer to train you in swordsmanship, regardless of whether you can already wield a sword or not

he likes to not only see your strength grow, but also offer you a way to protect yourself since he cannot be with you at all times

kaeya takes pride in the training sessions you have, after all they give him another reason to spend even more time with you

he loves for you guys to have matching things, no matter how small they may be 

for example, he’ll buy you a bracelet to wear, one that matches with one on his own wrist as well

jokingly he once bought you an eyepatch to match his, but he finds it sweet but hilarious when you’ll wear it around him sometimes

Childe:

since this man is a literal walking wallet, he has no problem with spoiling you with gifts

whether that be a necklace you’ve had your eye on, a new shirt because you ripped yours in battle, or a book he knows is the next in the series you enjoy

when asking him why he leaves you so many small gifts, his response is just ‘well, because i love you, of course!’

if you ever get hurt during a battle, he’ll be the first to help you

whether that be taking down the enemies if you haven’t already, or tending to the wounds you’ve received

he’d work with utmost caution, wrapping each wound gently and finishing them off with a kiss on top

when strolling the streets of liyue together, childe ensures that your body is connected to his one way or another at all times

whether that be intertwining your hands together, an arm loosely wrapped around your waist, or stopping to give you a brief peck on the forehead

he has no qualms in showing the public that you’re his – something he makes you well aware of

Zhongli:

he knows you love when he tells you stories of his past and the history of liyue, and he enjoys telling you about them

he finds the childlike wonder in your eyes adorable as he tells you tales of adepti and archons alike

zhongli will try his best to make them as entertaining as possible for you – drawing you in with every word he uttered

he likes to play with your hair, and for you to do the same to him

if you have longer hair you can guarantee he’d be braiding and styling your hair in all different ways, adorning it with hairpins he’d purchase for you

if your hair is on the shorter side then he’d love to run his fingers through, stroking your hair and massaging your scalp until you fall asleep with your head against his chest

if there is anything in particular that you take a big interest in, zhongli will try his best to research around it – even though he probably has the knowledge anyways

he wants to be able to talk to you about things you’re interested in, as well as share in the enjoyment that you get from it

he would leave small notes to you when he can’t always be around you, sometimes with small facts he learned of

Xiao:

he would for sure watch over you if you ever go on a long adventure, no matter what other duties he may have to attend to

expect to see a good few hilichurl and treasure hoarder camps abandoned thanks to his interference

‘anything to ensure your safety’, he thinks

some nights, when his duties have been fulfilled early, he’ll try his hand at preparing a meal for you to share

of course nothing especially fancy! After all he doesn’t have to eat himself – its all for your enjoyment

if he struggles he’d probably reach out to verr goldet some help

just imagine him setting a small picnic up on the wangshu inn rooftop iM WEAK

once xiao finally becomes accustomed to physical contact, he’d make an effort to hold your hand a lot more often

lightly squeezing it or tracing shapes with his thumb every now and again

if you’re lucky he way even take his gloves off – just to feel that warmth from his hand can be very comforting indeed

Albedo:

you’re literally the only person he will listen to when he is engrossed in his experiments

as we know he tends to block out the rest of the world when he is deep in though

but as soon as he hears your voice of concern asking if he’ll take a break to eat, you wanna bet he’ll be leaving his office in an instant to join you for lunch

he does the exact same for you when you’re hard at work, so he appreciates the way you always look after him

when out looking for more specimens to analyse, he stumbles across his fair share of flowers

of course he knows which are your favourites – he knows everything about you, after all – so he’ll be sure to pick some to bring home to you

when giving them to you, he mentions ‘well, they reminded me of you, so i thought you’d like them’

if you ever get ill for some reason, albedo becomes your personal doctor

he’ll spend hours preparing serums and medicines for you to alleviate your pain – but will never let you out of his sight while doing so

he’ll ask noelle if she can fix up some food for you in the meantime, since at every free opportunity he’s sat at your bedside, hand in yours as he whispers words of comfort to you

Aether:

aether is always ready to make you something to eat whenever you’d like!

he for sure has a small section of his brain dedicated to learning of recipes that he knows you enjoy, no matter how simple or complicated they may be

will make sure that you always have some lunch ready to take with you wherever you go, even if it means he had to wake up early and travel halfway across teyvat to bring it to you

he will bring you back numerous treasures from his travels

sometimes he’ll ask the locals in whichever area he’s in if they can craft the raw materials into something that you can treasure

there would be a shelf in your room specifically for aether’s gifts, where he’ll occasionally point to each one and tell you the story of how it made it’s way back to you

he makes sure to let you know how grateful he is to have you by his side

every time you do something for him, no matter how small it may be, he’ll thank you and let you know how much you mean to him

when on his travels he makes sure to write letters and send them home to you – just because he’s far away doesn’t mean he’s not still thinking about you

[seriouslysnape]

To the Limit

__

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Slight smut. Use of safeword. Language.

Request: Hi! Can u make Severus × Reader when the reader use the safe words for the first time because idk maybe it's too much for the reader that day or smth else you like..Thankyouu 💕💕 love ur writings btw ❤❤

A/N: Here we gooooooo. Reminder, everything is consensual.

Word Count: 2,947

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.”

__

Severus has always been flexible in the bedroom. Yes, Severus Snape is versatile in the sheets and has more love making skills than you originally would’ve given him credit for. Sex with Severus can range anywhere from slow and careful where praising your body is his main objective, to fucking you so mercilessly that stars are dotting the back of your eyelids with each hard thrust.

Sometimes, you don’t have to establish what kind of theme your sessions will take on. If Severus comes home angry from a long, obnoxious day then you very well know that a rough fucking will get it out of his system. When you’ve just watched one of your favorite romantic drama Muggle movies that have sent you into tears, he knows that something more unhurried is in order so you are reminded of how much he loves you.

Other times though, there isn’t really anything that determines the kind of sex you’ll be having. If the mood is right for both of you, then you often will just figure it out from there. 

Severus’ return on Friday night from a long week of classes was coated with his desire for you. You could practically feel the hard sexual tension radiating off of his whole being. From the moment he walked in the door, you knew what tonight would hold for the both of you. More than likely, it’d be a whole lot of rutted fucking and orgasms until neither of you had any stamina left to give. Normally, a seed of excitement would be planted and begin to grow in your core at the thought of being touched by him, but you didn’t feel it this time. 

It had been a bad week to put it simply. Work was weighing you down and you had taken more hits than you were used to in a five day time period. Exhaustion had riddled you, and stress has gotten the best of you. Emotional breakdown was the only way you could describe how you were feeling. You really weren’t feeling up to what Severus wanted to do. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when his hands and lips were on you, moving to all his favorite places on you.

His voice was silky smooth in your ears as he uplifted you with how he had been thinking about you all day, and how he wanted to be with you when you weren’t around. It wasn’t Severus’ fault that you had a bad week, and it surely wasn’t all his fault that he was this turned on. The way he gripped your legs with his strong hands was an indicator that he wanted to go well into the night, which your tired state wasn’t a fan of. But you loved Severus, and you always wanted him to be happy and well pleased. So you figured you could handle a couple of coarse rounds to satisfy him.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Once access was granted, Severus leapt onto you without hesitation. A tornado of clothes being removed whirled around the room, your shirt and pants ended up on complete opposite sides of the room. Hot and unruly kisses were shared, marks were left on your necks, and no part of you went unattended. 

Admittedly, the first orgasm was actually enjoyable. Severus’ fingers were knuckle deep in your needy cunt and pumping vigorously as he found all the best spots. The strenuous activity melted some of the week’s stress from your conscience, your mind being stripped of all your worry as it clouded with ecstasy. Severus thrived off of the moans and noises of delight that he was drawing out of your throat, perfecting his movements to give you an even stronger release. Severus worked you to your finish as you came around his fingers, slicking them with arousal and relief. 

He left lazy kisses over your breasts while you took a moment to recover, preparing yourself for the next round that was undoubtedly on its way. Tiredness had plagued you long before Severus had even walked through the door, and you had suddenly been robbed of even more energy, so you were confident that you might not get a proper orgasm this second time. But the moment Severus slid you onto his dick and stretched your walls the way only he knew how to, you knew that you were going to cum whether you felt like you could handle it or not.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You loved seeing Severus so enraptured in waves of pleasure and gratification, but you were beyond fatigued. Still, you bounced up and down on his lap over and over again, your already sensitive clit throbbing with each rub of his fingers. Severus’ other hand guided your hip movements to meet the way he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot just right.

When you came this time, your sound of release was more of a strained cry than a content sound. Severus didn’t seem to notice, since he was too focused on the intoxicating feeling of filling you with his own finish. You popped off of him before he was even emptied out, the rest of his fluids landing on your inner thighs. You fell onto the bed next to him, your breathing much heavier than usual. 

You were totally tuckered out with absolutely no hope of another round. Your muscles ached and your bones were wiped out. Although, you felt a queasy feeling of despair when you saw that familiar look of lust in Severus’ eyes. He spoke lowly, his voice echoing in your ringing ears.

“I’m not through with you yet, love.” He purred.

Usually that would’ve sent a whole mess of arousal through you, but you were too worn out. But Severus usually didn’t last more than three rounds, so this would for sure be the last one. You thought you could push through so he could at least get his release, but this third go round wasn’t a good feeling for you at all.

With your arms above your head and the pillowcase below your head in your fingers’ death grip, you turned your head to the side to fight through his persistent hard fucking into you. On a better day, you’d be all over this and relishing every moment. But now your eyes were screwed tightly shut in discomfort, for each time you opened them Severus would only be able to see the whites of your eyes. The thumping heartbeat in your ears was deafening and your entire body was stiff and rigid, but not in a good way. You wanted to tough it out so at least Severus could finish, but it was just too much for you tonight. 

You had to tap out.

“Polyjuice!” You squeaked out, your voice raspy.

In an instant, you saw any expression of lust wiped straight from his face. He pulled out the millisecond that the word registered in his head, his face stricken with worry and concern at the first time use of your agreed safe word. Severus’ heart dropped at your whimpers of displeasure, his brain reeling and raking over what had gone wrong. 

“[Y/N], what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically.

“I-I just...”

Shaky breaths and uncomfortable whines were the only noises you could seem to make. You sat up from where you were laying down, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face as you began to cry. Your emotions were all over the place, and it didn’t help that you were overstimulated and overworked. Severus went to pull you to him, but withdrew his hand. Upsetting you further would absolutely crush him, but he needed to know that you were okay.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered out.

The yowl of approval was enough for him to feel fine with carefully wrapping his hand under your arm and dragging you across the mattress to where he was kneeling on the middle of the bed. He pulled the covers over your skin to keep you from getting cold from the loss of heat from being active. You buried your head into his bare chest, your tears leaking and falling down his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Sev. I’m really sorry.” You sobbed, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin.

“No, no, no. Don’t ever be sorry for telling me to stop when you’re not comfortable,” He reassured; “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

The shake of your head brought relief upon him, but he was still worried. He rocked you in his arms until your sobs died down enough to where you were coherent. Severus was getting ready to ask you once more what was wrong, shifting you so he could see your face. When moving you, his hand accidentally brushed against your swollen, sensitive clit and you wailed out pathetically. Severus’ pale face went even whiter.

“Oh, my love...I worked you too hard, didn’t I?” He queried.

Severus would always admit that sometimes he’d get into the zone and completely drown everything else out. He wouldn’t really be able to tell how hard he was pulling in and out. It was rare, but from time to time you’d have to ask him to soften his thrusts or slow his pace when he got too rowdy. But you had never asked him to stop completely until now. He feared that he had seriously pushed you over the edge this time.

“It’s not just that.” You confessed with a sniff.

Severus had drawn your head back to gaze into your bleary eyes. The tear tracks being swiped away with his thumbs as he cradled your face. 

“What is it then, sweetheart?” He asked with wonder.

A fresh set of salty tears pooled and fell down your cheeks, but for a different reason.

“I’ve had a horrible week. Nothing has gone right,” You explained croakily; “I wanted to make you feel good and I thought it might make me feel better...but I’m just exhausted and I couldn’t handle it tonight.”

You fell apart into another set of choking sobs and gut wrenching cries, prompting Severus to bring you back into his chest. He stroked your skin and left kisses so light that they were ghostly. 

“It’s alright, angel. I wish you had told me before that you weren’t feeling up to it,” He consoled; “You’re worth so much more than sex. I want you to tell me sooner next time if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your nod of understanding offered a wash of comfort over him that you were calming down steadily. He hated that this happened. He knew that was the whole reason for your established safe word for when things went south or things got dicey. He just never thought you’d ever have to use it. He felt absolutely terrible. 

“I’m sorry, Sevvy. I really wanted you to get off, I just-”

“Please don’t apologize for this. This is my fault. I should’ve seen how tired you were and how I was being overly hard,” He said; “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

The sniffles from your nose had increased as you tried to flush down all the drainage from your crying. Your tears had stopped as you sat up from his body, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. The red blotches in your puffy eyes were pinging at Severus’ already guilty conscience. He saw the littered hickeys across your neck and breasts, and how your lips were swollen from his severe kisses. He had rocked your burnt out body to the max.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we go get cleaned up, and then we can get into bed. Then you can tell me about your week if so wish.” He suggested, cautiously guiding you off of the bed.

“I think I just want to get a bath and get some sleep.” You said, barely able to stand on your wobbly legs.

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.” He smiled softly, hoping it’d offer you some kind of solace. 

Severus ran you a hot bath, filling it with all of your favorite scents and smells. Your stance was still despite your shaking legs, and you seemed to be staring off into an endless trance. You slipped into the tub when it was ready, sinking down just below your nose under the bubbles. Normally, Severus would be sitting across from you or you’d be snuggled up on his lap, but he wanted you to have some space for a bit. You were honestly too tired to object. 

He simply casted a charm to freshen himself up, finding and selecting his favorite pair of sweatpants and soft shirt for you to change into. Your eyes were closed, and you had just begun to drift off to sleep when he re-entered the bathroom, changed into some casual day time wear, despite how late it was.

“Here are some clean clothes for you, pretty girl.” He remarked, setting the folded sweats and shirt on the end of the tub for you to get when you got out.

You only gave a light nod as a response, your eyes following him as he stood awkwardly. He was unsure of what to do for you now. He thought that you might want the bedroom to yourself for the night, which was fine because he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he had pushed you so hard anyway. He placed himself on the floor by the tub, sitting with his legs criss crossed over one another. It was quiet in the room, the only sounds were the occasional gentle splash when you moved your leg or arm. His eyes were still full of worry, and he was kicking himself big time now.

“I’m so sorry...” He breathed out, running his fingertips dragging leisurely your damp arm that you had resting on the ledge of the bathtub; “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sev. I promise.” You responded, wishing he wouldn’t take this so hard.

When it came to you, Severus took everything to heart. There weren’t many things in the world that made his heart beat with a purpose. You were the single person that allowed him to want to get up in the mornings. The thought of hurting you was enough to break him down. If he could have it his way, you would be indescribably happy with every passing moment of every day. He never wanted you to feel anything other than joy. 

But he knew that life would never allow it.

Your eyebrows dipped when you noticed his attire, wondering why he wasn’t in his own sleepwear. It was much too late for him to go anywhere.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, your voice thick with weary.

“I’m going to go back to the school. I have some grading to do.” He half-lied.

It was true that he did indeed have a stack of papers to be assessed, but that wasn’t the real reason why he felt like he wanted to leave. Severus Snape grading on a Friday night when he had the opportunity to be cuddled up with his lover? He’d choose you every time.

Now you felt bad for causing him to scurry off. You wanted him there with you regardless of what had happened.

“Severus,” You called out tenderly, reaching for his face; “I don’t want you to leave.” 

A genuine look of doubt flashed over his features as his head lulled into your hand.

“I think it would be best if you got some good sleep tonight. I’ll just be in my office so if-”

“Stay with me. Please?” You requested, the thought of sleeping without him was disheartening.

A sigh of awe expelled from his chest. He couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes and slightly pouting lower lip.

“Okay, okay.” He agreed.

“I think that some boyfriend snuggles will make me feel a whole lot better.” You spoke rather cheekily.

He hummed affirmatively. The sound of nestling up with you was impossible to turn down. He took your hand from his face and kissed your palm gingerly, holding the warm skin to his lips for a brief moment. He eventually stood from the floor, but stopped when you held your arms up.

“Help me up?” You asked with the first genuine smile of the evening.

He chuckled, obliging and lifting you effortlessly from the tub. The warm towel was heavenly as you dried off, changing into the clothes that Severus had left for you. Severus went and changed as well, laughing to himself when he exited the closet to see you already curled up. 

The sheets draped over him easily when he laid next to you, waiting for you to nuzzle up to him. He held you close and flush to him, thanking his lucky stars that you were okay.

“My sweet girl...” He hushed out, noting that you were just seconds away from falling asleep; “I love you.” 

You mumbled out a sleepy “I love you” in return before drifting into a deep slumber to snooze off the night’s drama. Severus, as expected, didn’t sleep much that night to ensure that you were sleeping soundly and comfortably. He still felt dreadful, even after you had told him over and over that he didn’t hurt you. The weekend to follow was filled with Severus doting and cherishing over you every chance that he had, trying to make up for what had happened. You were the light of his life after all.

And he prayed that he’d never see that flame go out.

[mirakumiruku]

Fit for a King

Happy birthday daddy 🥺

Alpha!Todoroki Enji x Omega!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Contains: Omegaverse au, Fantasy au

Heels clacked against the intricate tile, the sound amplified and echoed by the high ceilings and empty expanse of the hall. Keigo had a permanent smirk on his face as he approached the king, taking an overly deep bow when he had come near enough. “Good morning, your majesty. I hope your day has been wonderful thus far?” “It was,” Enji grunted, tapping his fingers idly on the red velvet armrest of his throne. “Why do you feel the need to disturb me, Takami?” “Is it so wrong to wish my king a happy birthday?” Keigo pouted, batting his eyelashes before quickly returning to his usual smarmy expression. “In all seriousness, I brought a gift.” Enji stayed silent, but the quirk of his eyebrow was enough to prompt Keigo to continue. “I know your lovely queen is off on… personal business, so I can only imagine how lonely you must feel on your special day.” He whistled, turning back to beckon to someone that had peeked into the hall. An omega scampered into the room, falling to their knees beside Keigo, keeping their eyes trained on the tiles below. The lesser alpha hummed in approval, a hand stroking over the top of the omega’s head. “I recently happened to come into possession of quite the adorable little omega, poor thing’s pack was late on their tax payments.” He glanced back up at Enji, searching for a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Quite well trained, probably for the alpha of the pack to claim in the autumn. I prefer being a little more hands on with my training, though, so I figured this would make a delightful present for you.” ~ You shivered in place as the blond alpha spoke, your clenched fists resting on your knees while you made out abstract patterns in the tile below you. Some part of your consciousness was screaming to get up and run, there were no chains keeping you there, yet you stayed rooted in place by the threat of capture and the heady alpha scent radiating from the throne. You could tell based on aroma alone that the man was powerful, the notes of musk, cedar and smoke invaded your nostrils and sent you into a lightheaded haze, only brought back at the nudge of a boot into your side. Lord Takami had finished talking, and seemed to expect something of you when he nodded his head towards the king. You crawled closer to the throne, stopping at the base of it before bowing your head to the ground, your arms stretched out in front of you. A show of submission. “See? Knows exactly how to treat an alpha. Though I’m sure all the omegas act like this when you’re around, your majesty.” You could practically hear the grin in Lord Takami’s voice, his remark seeming to be only half joking. The king stayed silent, though. Instead, he snapped his fingers to gain your attention, prompting you to slowly raise your head up and sit back on your knees. Your face flushed bright red when the king patted his thigh, imploring you to sit in his lap. You obliged, straddling just one of his thighs with both of your own. You stayed still and compliant while he inspected you, taking you by the chin and turning your head from side to side, gave a gentle tug to your hair, ran his hands over your sheer cotton tunic and gave a few testing squeezes to anywhere that was particularly soft. “What’s your name, little one?” The king spoke softly to you, his voice rumbling with a growl deep within his chest, almost a purr. Once you had mumbled out your name, he tilted your chin up until your eyes met his own turquoise gaze. After a moment though, his eyes trained on Lord Takami, who still stood behind you. “You’re still here?” His voice was much more aggressive now, and though you knew the anger wasn’t directed at you, it still made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. “I just wanted to make sure you accepted my gift, your majesty.” Lord Takami paused for a moment, likely while he bowed to the king. “But if you’re satisfied, I’ll happily take my leave. I hope the rest of your birthday is… enjoyable.” With that, the clacking of high heeled boots faded into the distance, and your stomach dropped at the realization that you were completely and utterly alone with such a powerful alpha. “I can tell you’re distressed, omega.” The king’s voice had returned to its pleasant rumble, sending a comforting vibration through your body. “What are you afraid of?” Your voice was meek, you weren’t sure if you were really allowed to speak. “I… I don’t know, your majesty.” The king hummed in thought, one large hand coming to absentmindedly stroke your hair. “Whatever it is, I can assure you that you’re far from danger while you’re inside these walls. Unless…” The hand stopped, coming to rest on the back of your neck. “You must be afraid of me, aren’t you? I can assure you, as many horror stories as you may have heard, I can be quite agreeable. So long as you behave.” A rumbling laugh shook out of his chest, and you let out a soft whimper at the veiled threat. “Y-yes, your majesty.” “Keigo said you were trained, is that correct?” You gave a small nod, not meeting the alpha’s eyes. “Well, then,” He leaned back, spreading his thighs apart and resting his hands upon your hips. “Care to demonstrate your skills for me?” You quivered under his intense gaze, but your body moved of its own volition in the presence of the alpha, slinking off his lap to rest on your knees before him, trembling fingers rising to pull his length from the confines of his trousers. You found yourself admiring the king’s cock, already starting to drool from the sheer length and girth of it, the veins running just under the skin, the red tip leaking precum. A soft grunt brought you back to your senses and you leaned forward to service the alpha. Your tongue darted out in little kitten licks along the underside, teasing the prominent veins and taking the opportunity to gaze up at the king through your eyelashes. Your mind was fogged with his tantalizing aroma, the musk filling your head and sending your omega into a tizzy, the only word running through your mind being the desperate whine of alpha, alpha, alpha. The king above you let out soft grunts with each lick, a strong hand coming to rest on your head, tangling his fingers in your hair. You felt yourself slowly ascending the length of his cock, coming to rest at the head, giving one more lick to the tip, cleaning it of precum. “Such a good omega,” He growled, guiding you closer to the head, “But I’m sure you can do much better than that.” You nodded eagerly, taking the head of his cock into your mouth and letting out a sweet moan at the taste. You were sure if the salty, smoky scent were connected to anything or anyone else, you’d be positively disgusted, but… when it only serves as a reminder of the virile alpha you were servicing, it set your nerves on fire. You knew that there was no way you could fit so much as a few inches of the alpha’s cock into your mouth, considering it was nearly thick around as your wrist, and about as long as your forearm. It had you drooling anyway, and you’d be damned if you were to give up. You bobbed your head over what little you could take, covering it in a slick coat of drool and precum, and drawing more low groans from the king. Your persistence caused you to choke more than a few times before you found yourself being pulled off by the hair, and brought you up to look into those intense turquoise eyes once more. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, don’t you?” When he was met with an eager nod, the alpha hummed and positioned your slick hole over the head, ignoring the desperate bucks of your hips. “Patience, omega.” You let out a pathetic whine, but brought your hips to a still, and for a moment the only sound that filled the hall was your tiny whines and pants. That peace was soon disrupted by your loud moan, when the alpha thrust the first few inches into your entrance, guided along by your slick. You’d barely even taken a quarter of the length, and you already felt so full. “I-it’s too much, alpha…” you whine, landing face-first into his chest, the fabric muffling your whines. “Take your time, little one.” He purred, and you felt the rumble surge through your body. You thought he’d immediately grab your hips and fuck into you, but were pleasantly surprised to find him rubbing circles into your back and releasing a calming scent, allowing you to slowly drop onto his cock. It made sense, you supposed. An omega in pain sent out quite the sour aroma, and even if he didn’t mind, it would be an issue if all the alphas in the castle came to your rescue. You didn’t know how long you slowly sank down onto his cock: five, ten, twenty minutes? The seconds seemed to slow while your walls parted to make way for the massive alpha’s girth,until finally you felt your thighs finally connect with his. “A-alpha… your m-majesty…” You whined, fists clenching in the expensive fabric of his shirt. “Enji.” He growled, an enormous hand coming to rest on your back. “Huh?” You glanced up, eyes in a haze. “When we’re alone, you have permission to call me Enji.” The rumble in his chest was soothing, and sent a tremor through your body, finally ending in electricity in the nerves that lined your walls. “Yes, Enji…” With a pleased hum, Enji placed one hand on each of your hips, and slowly lifted you up a few inches, before easily thrusting back into you. You let out a yelp at the sudden movement, but your walls clenched in excitement at the notion of finally being fucked by the alpha. He gave a few more thrusts like that: shallow, gentle, trying hard not to break you. You were a gift after all, he’d best be careful with you. Soon enough Enji released moans in tandem with your own, and you could feel the air around you heating up. Each slap of skin against skin echoed off the marble and tile, surely to be heard by anyone that happened to walk by. His thrusts soon began to quicken and deepen, each time brushing along a spot inside you that made you see stars. Your tongue hung out from between your lips, only to be captured by Enji as he pulled you into an eager, open-mouthed kiss. It was surprisingly tender, and the alpha tasted like smoke and warm spices. Notes of cinnamon and ginger lingered on your tongue when he pulled away, and you couldn't help the dazed grin that graced your lips. Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly take anymore, you felt a bump against your entrance: Enji’s knot. Taut skin pulled around a bulge as big as your fist, pressing into your warm, slick hole with each thrust. “A-alpha, Enji, it won’t fit…” You whined, staring with wide, watery eyes up at the king, to which he only responded with a smirk. “It always fits, omega.” As if on cue, the knot finally squeezed inside you, practically with a ‘pop’. You let out a high keen when it finally breached your walls, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you finally came. If Enji weren’t already near the edge, your release would have surely sent him over it anyway. The gorgeous view of your trembling body and the ecstasy on your face had him shooting ropes of thick, hot cum deep into you, enough that your stomach ballooned out ever so slightly to compensate for it. When you both finally came down from your high, you flopped forward and softly panted to regain your breath, while Enji rubbed gentle, comforting circles into the small of your back. “You did very well, omega.” He hummed, his other hand brushing over your slightly distended belly. “We’ll have to make sure none of this comes out when my knot goes down… can’t have you making a mess, now can we?” He chuckled, leaning back against the throne. Soon enough, his knot deflated enough for him to finally pop out of you. He quickly slid your now-discarded tunic underneath you to catch any drips, before tucking his cock back into his pants. He stood up, wrapping your nude body in the soft silken fabric of his cape, before carrying you out of the throne room and down a secluded hallway, presumably to a bedroom, or perhaps a washroom. You couldn’t care less, though, your eyes slowly slipping shut as you were lulled into a nap by the alpha’s warm scent. On the way back to his bedroom, Enji stopped a servant. “Send a letter to Keigo thanking him for the gift, I’m sure I’ll get much enjoyment out of this one.”

[pedros-mustache]

loquacious

summary: you’re not normally this expressive.

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ or i will fight you): protected sex (not specifically mentioned), kinda sorta cockwarming, dirty talk, .2 seconds of cumplay, breeding kink if you squint. also: language, x fem!reader.

a/n: there is no plot, but i very much enjoyed writing this prior to my three hour thesis presentation tomorrow. v much would enjoy smoft sex with ezra. also: sorry mom

it’s simple, unrushed this time. 

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and two pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble. 

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building. 

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now. 

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep. 

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“shit. you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just...” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time. 

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates. 

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so big.”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but fucking fuck—i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.” 

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat. 

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as... pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.” 

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest. 

tomorrow’s worries can wait.

[iamnotoriginalphil]

Good Girl (Wilhemina Venable x f!Reader)

Synopsis: No single person has ever enchanted you as much as Miss Venable. All you want is for her to feel the same. 

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: smut

**GIF not mine**

You’d always had a thing for authority figures. You’d had countless crushes on teachers, had lusted after your boss for an embarrassingly long time, and any woman in a cops uniform could handcuff you whenever they wanted.

Miss Venable outshone them all.

You’d never met anyone with such an aura of authority in your life. Just seeing her could make your mouth go dry and your stomach tighten. You wanted to get down on your knees for her. She was making your time in Outpost Three both heaven and hell.

Your fingers tripped along the spines of leather bound books, the library quiet in the afternoon hours. The others, congregated before a fire, had left you to your own devices, choosing to complain about the conditions rather than accept their new reality. The song, the constant loop, was playing and you mouthed along to the words, unconscious of it in these moments when you were alone. Your mind was focused on the way Miss Venable’s eyes had glittered over dinner the night before, the firelight bringing life to the usually hard to read expression on her face.

There had been a moment, when Coco was complaining about something or other, when your eyes had met hers. You’d given her a small half smile and her chin had dipped. It had sent a thrill through you that you’d never experienced before. You’d had to look away before you’d done something stupid at the table, like swear your life long loyalty to her in front of everyone. You hadn’t been able to even so much as look at her since then.

“Are they not to your liking?”

The voice was sarcastic but the tap of the cane had you jumping around, pressing your back to the shelves. A tilt of the head and you were ready to spill your deepest secrets to the red haired woman if only asked for them.

“No I… I,” you tried to get out but your mouth was dry.

Something sparked in her eye and she took another step forward. You tried to press back against the shelves further but they were already digging into your flesh. She stopped in front of you, both hands clasping her cane, her face inscrutable.

“You?” she asked, her voice low, making you squeeze your eyes closed.

“I’ve already read them,” you said. You squinted your eyes open. Her eyes were roving over your face. You felt your skin heat up under her gaze.

She nodded, turning away from you, perusing the shelves across the room from you. You turned your back on her, assuming that was a dismissal from her. She’d done worse when done with the other Purples. You pulled a book at random from the shelves, not bothering to look at the title before turning to walk out of the library.

“Wait.”

You froze, the absolute command of that single word making the place between your legs throb. The tap of a cane and you turned. You saw her murmur something to herself.

“If you have read them all, what would you recommend?” she asked.

“Oh.” You felt your eyes grow a bit wider, “I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for. There’s a lot about the Salem witch trials if that interests you, or a lot about plants if that takes your fancy. There’s not much fiction, but over in the corner are some books teaching Latin.”

“And you have read them all?” she asked.

“There’s not a lot to fill the hours with,” you said, “and sometimes I can’t sleep.”

She gestured to the book in your hands, “is that a particular favourite?”

“Um.” You finally looked at the title. A book on the witch hunts in Europe, “it’s very informative.”

“Read it to me.”

She turned, taking a seat in one of the chairs, firelight flickering over the planes of her face. With her back to the fire her expression was nothing but shadows.

“Well?”

You jumped, hurrying over to the other seat. You cracked the book open, your eyes flicking up to her then back down. You blinked, then began reading, your voice hesitant. You saw her eyes close and you took a deep breath, continuing stronger.

You don’t know how long you were there, how long she had you read out loud to her. It was hard to tell if she enjoyed it. At some point her eyes opened, watching you intently, but her expression gave nothing away as to how she was feeling. All you could go off was how you felt, which was as if you were caught in an intimate moment you hadn’t prepared for. Soft voice, firelight, and the attention of a beautiful woman had you ready to flee and ready to remain as long as you were wanted. The warring sides of your brain kept you from enjoying the moment.

After time had passed, pages and pages gone by, she held up a hand, silencing you. She stood and you hurriedly followed suit, the book shutting with a loud clap in the otherwise silent room.

“That is enough.”

“Of course, Miss Venable.”

You bowed your head as she passed you and without another word she swept from the room, the tap of her cane growing faint. On weak legs you sunk back down on your seat, pressing your hand to your cheek. Your heart was thrumming hard and fast and you felt light headed. Already you were addicted to her presence.

That night you found a book outside your door. A book you had never read before.

The next day brought Gallant in the library, complaining about the lack of any interesting books but an insistence on lounging in one of the arm chairs. This led to Coco searching him out where they both took up a loud conversation about missing Vogue. You gave up five minutes into the conversation, searching out a quiet corner of the facility to try and hear your own thoughts.

And to read your gift.

You took to carrying it with you. Having it out of your sight for more than a few minutes had you feeling itchy. You read it cover to cover, your fingers running over the ink and paper and leather. By touching it, it felt as if you were touching the woman from who you’d received it. It was the closest you’d ever get to her with the rules in place.

She found you in a quiet corner of the Outpost, a place usually only frequented by the Grays. You sat in an alcove, your legs curled under you, book open in your lap. The soft leather against your fingertips and the comfort of familiar words filled your heart but the tap of the cane on the floor had your heart fluttering. You looked up, watching her approach.

“A new favourite?” Her voice had you ready to please.

“Non fiction can be stimulating but I’ll always be fonder of fiction,” you said.

“You seem unable to put it down,” she said, “or has it become a safety blanket as a child would carry?”

“More that I don’t trust the others with it,” you said.

“You think they would do something to one of your possessions?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“I know Coco sends Mallory in to find out people's secrets,” you said, “it won’t end well if they think I’m hoarding anything. Even if it’s something they don’t particularly care about.”

She took another step forward.

“And I believe the original owner may want it back,” you said.

Long fingers plucked the book from your lap, a disdainful look crossing the face at the title but the corner of the mouth quirked up. You devoured her face, your eyes roving over the high cheekbones, the full lips, the dark eyes. You wanted to know everything that was passing through her mind.

“Have you enjoyed it?” she asked, her eyes meeting yours. A thrill went down your spine.

“Very much so,” you said.

Her fingers curled over the cover of the book, holding it to her chest. You felt yourself flush, imagining it was you she was holding close. You could imagine her heart beating against your skin.

“It’s not his best work but he has a way with words I’ve always found elegant,” she said. Her eyes felt as if they were boring into yours, drawing answers from you that you had no idea she wanted. You were willing to give them to her. Whatever they were.

“Do you enjoy poetry?” you asked. Her eyes squinted but obviously she did not find it too distasteful a question.

“Occasionally,” she replied, slowly, considering the words coming out of her mouth, “most poetry I find insipid but there are a few I’ve found enjoyment in.”

“There’s a small volume of poetry I found tucked under my mattress when I arrived. That book reminded me of it,” you said, “perhaps you would like to read it.”

She tapped her cane on the floor, making your mouth fall open. You planted your feet on the ground, folding your hands in your lap to keep her from seeing them tremble. She tilted her head, her eyes running down your body then back up until she met yours.

“Lead the way,” she said, slow and steady.

You rose on shaky legs, giving her a quick nod. She held out her hand, letting you step in front of her. You felt your hips swaying an extra amount as you walked in front of her, hoping she was looking but assuming she wasn’t because she was above that kind of thing. You couldn’t stop your body from giving her the signals.

You paused in front of your room, turning to look over your shoulder at the woman following behind you. She tilted her chin up and you turned back, grasping the doorknob. It opened smoothly in your grip and you pushed it open. You didn’t bother to invite her in, automatically lighting the candle by the side of your bed. The soft tap of the cane and a quiet click had you stiffening.

“It’s, um.” You turned, “it’s still under the mattress.”

“Are you expecting me to lift it?” You could tell by the note in her voice that the answer should be no.

You lifted the mattress, pulling out the thin volume. The worn leather and the hand cut paper was exactly where you’d left it, small enough to fit in your hand. You turned, jerking back when you found Miss Venable much closer than you were expecting. You fell on the thin mattress, wincing as a spring stabbed you in the ass. She chuckled, something in her face softening.

“I’m not going to bite,” she said.

Her fingers brushed against yours as she took the book from your hand. She didn’t bother looking at it, turning on her heels and walking to the door. She opened it then turned back to look at you.

“Unless you’d like me to.”

Since then you hadn’t been able to think of anything else. Her teeth sinking into your skin, leaving marks to be seen later, the pain and pleasure mingling together. All she had to do was give you a look and you had to press your thighs together while you tried to catch your breath. And from the way her lips would curl up every time she knew what she was doing.

A few weeks after that incident you found your book of poetry outside your door, plus a thick, well worn paperback, the first of its kind you’d seen in the Outpost. You looked both ways out the door, finding the hallway deserted. You picked up both, a hint of lavender clinging to the pages. You ran your fingers over the raised lettering. Another by the same author.

You stayed up all night reading.

You brought it with you to breakfast before slipping into the library, wanting the silence to wrap around you. You sank into the armchair, running your fingers along the edge of the pages. You could see some of the pages had been dog eared and in one place you could see the vestiges of pencil underlining a sentence.

Your head jerked up when you heard the tap of a cane on the stone floor. The dark figure of a beautiful woman emerged from the shadows. You watched as she began to look at the shelves, completely ignoring you.

Without thinking you began to read from the book aloud in a soft voice. You kept your eyes trained on the words, not wanting to look at the woman. If you did then it would all fall apart and you’d lose your voice. You kept going until a finger rested on the book, gently pushing it down into your lap.

You looked up into dark eyes, able to see the firelight flickering in them. She grasped your chin in a tight grip, and you felt your heart jump. Her eyes darkened as your tongue darted out to wet your lips.

“You’re such a good girl,” she murmured, “all for me.”

Her thumb swiped along your bottom lip. You made a noise in the back of your throat and a smile curled at the corner of her mouth.

“If I asked you to debase yourself in front of me, you would, wouldn’t you?” she asked.

“Yes Miss Venable,” you said.

She let you go, pushing your face away. She took a step back from your sitting form, the mask slamming back into place. Voices began to draw closer from outside. She turned back to the shelves, her back stiff and chin high. You sniffed and stood up, fleeing from the room, not sure you could handle another second with the cloying atmosphere of desperate want. You almost slammed into Mallory in your rush, a quiet chuckle following you all the way back to your room.

You fell back on your bed, ignoring the clamouring voices in your head. You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to get your breathing back under control. You couldn’t stop the heat in your cheeks and you knew you were in hell. And Miss Venable was the devil.

You tried avoiding her after that. It shouldn’t have been so difficult in a place as large as the Outpost but she seemed to be around every corner. With the rule about copulaton you had to get over whatever hold that authoritarian woman had on you before you were shot in the back of your head for wanting her in every way. But she wasn’t making it easy.

You’d finished reading the book she’d lent you, trying to draw it out as long as possible. The longer you were reading it, the longer you could keep a piece of her with you. It was sitting on your nightstand, burning your brain with shame. You knew you had to give it back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to knock on her door and hand it over. You couldn’t bring yourself to face her, alone, without fear of being interrupted. Every night you looked at it before blowing the candle out, that well of shame overflowing in you, knowing you had no right to the book, but unable to give it up. Once you did, it would be the end of whatever was going on.

You were frozen, unable to move one way or the other.

On one of those nights, when the images of what if were running through your head, and your heart hurt so much you thought it might kill you, you rummaged under your mattress for the poetry book. It was wedged in tight, taking a few tugs to free it.

You pressed yourself against the cool stone wall, your knees at your chest. You rested the book balanced precariously on your knees. When you opened it to your favourite poem some dried pressed lavender slid from between the pages. You picked it up with your thumb and forefinger, careful not to crumble it. The scent of lavender surrounded you, making your heart ache.

Looking down at the small piece of lavender, kept in your book, marking your favourite poem, it made something in your brain crack. It must have because you stood up, snatching up the paperback, and stormed out of the room.

Everyone knew where Miss Venable’s room was, and thankfully for you, people tended to avoid that area of the Outpost. You stood outside the door, staring at it, listening to your heartbeat in your ears. You raised a hand, watching it tremble. You knocked on the door.

It took a while to open and as you waited you considered turning around and running back to your room. Seeing her in flickering firelight and a satin nightdress had the breath knocked from your body. She looked at you with inquisitive eyes.

“It’s past lights out,” she said, “you're supposed to be in your bed.”

“I’d rather be in yours.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, your eyes widening and ice filling your veins. Her face hardened for a moment before her hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. You tried to jerk back but she pulled you forward into the room, the door slamming behind you. You were shoved back against the door.

“I’m so sorry Miss Venable. I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it. I’m so so sorry,” you said. She tilted her head, not giving anything away as she looked at you, “oh god I’m so sorry. Please don’t kill me.”

“What’s that in your hand?” she asked, not letting go of your wrist.

“It’s your book. I came to return it to you,” you whispered.

“And climb into my bed?” she murmured.

“No, I- it wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to,” you tried to say.

“That is disappointing,” she said.

“What?” You felt as if you were on the back foot. It didn’t make sense. She was looking at you with those unreadable eyes, her lips pressed together.

“I was hoping you were going to debase yourself for me,” she said, “or are you not my good girl?”

You squeaked. She gave you a slow smile, her hand dropping your wrist to wrap around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. Your mouth fell open and the book fell to the floor with a thump.

“Or were you waiting for me to bite you?”

She bared her teeth at you. Your hands settled on her hips, feeling the soft material against your skin and the warmth of her body. You tugged on her but she didn’t move a step.

“Answer me,” she said.

“Yes Miss Venable.”

“You were waiting for me to bite you?”

“I was hoping you would,” you said, your cheeks aflame. Her eyes darkened, turning molten, smouldering at you, “in fact it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

Her head descended, warm breath fanning over the exposed skin of your neck. Her hand slid into your hair, tangling in your locks, pulling your head to one side. Her lips pressed to your jugular and you thought you might die. A warm tongue ran over your skin, tasting you. You made a strangled little noise and you felt her chuckle against you. Your fingers reflexively tightened on her hips.

“Only good girls get rewards,” she murmured into your skin.

“Tell me what to do,” you said, “please.”

“Touch yourself.”

She took one of your hands off her hip and pressed it between your legs. You jerked against your fingers, surprised how sensitive you already were. You pressed more insistently, a little gasp falling from your lips.

You tugged at your skirts until they were up around your hips, your hand able to gain better access to your panty covered core. She tightened her hand in your hair until you felt it pull. You whined, feeling her teeth scrape against your skin. You slipped your hands inside your underwear, your finger beginning to circle your bundle of nerves. A breathy moan escaped your lips. Her teeth pressed more insistently into your skin.

You bucked against your own fingers as you pressed down on your clit. Her teeth sunk into your neck, deep and hard. You whined, reaching out to Miss Venable, slipping your arm around her waist. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of her night dress. Her teeth sunk in deeper, not letting go as pain turned to pleasure, shooting down to your core in a wave.

She brought her hand down between your legs, knocking yours away from your heated core. You whined until her fingers replaced yours. She hummed into your skin, collecting the wetness on her finger. Your knees trembled.

Her tongue ran over your bruised skin as her finger plunged into you. You moaned, your head falling back against the wall. Her teeth sunk into your shoulder, leaving another bruise for you to find later. Her palm brushed against your clit and your hips jumped towards her.

Her pace was slow, tortuous, but adding another finger had you making a strangled noise in the back of your throat. She pressed you back against the wall, pinning you there as her fingers thrust in and out of you. It was the only thing keeping you upright. She sucked hard on your pulse point.

You were panting, the pressure building in you. Her face was hidden in your neck, her teeth all over you. Her thumb pressed down on your bundle of nerves. One of your hands landed on her shoulder, fingers clutching at her. She murmured something into your skin, the fire licking at you. Your thighs were trembling.

“Come for me, my good girl,” she whispered, her breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

It crashed into you, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your bloodstream. You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat. She nipped at your collarbone as her fingers slowed. As you came back to yourself you realised how tightly you were gripping her. You let her go, flexing your fingers. She stepped back, holding up her fingers to show you them glistening in the flickering candlelight.

“You’ve made quite a mess,” she said, “clean it up.”

You opened your mouth, sliding your lips around her digits, tasting yourself on her skin. She hummed, her dark eyes watching you, studying you, making you flush under her scrutiny. You grasped her wrist, drawing it away from your mouth, your tongue lapping at the rest of your juices, never breaking eye contact with her. It might have been the candles, but you thought there might be a blush high on her cheeks.

“Good girl,” she murmured.

Her other hand came up, resting on your throat, her thumb running over one of the bite marks on your skin. You hissed, surprised at the sting. She drew her hand back, a drop of your blood lingering on the pad of her thumb. Her tongue darted out, catching it before it slid from her skin. It shouldn’t have sent a thrill of arousal through you again.

“I found the lavender,” you said, “how did you know that was my favourite poem?”

She quirked an eyebrow. While you waited you pressed a kiss to her palm, your thumb running over the pulse thrumming in her wrist. You could feel it racing, despite the calm look on her face.

“It was my favourite too,” she said.

You offered her a small smile, “it was nice seeing something natural down here.”

“Consider it a gift.” She cupped your cheek, her thumb running over your cheekbone. You nuzzled against her palm, pressing a kiss to the knuckles of her other hand, her wrist still in your hold. Her eyes were sparkling.

“Now return to your room,” she said.

She removed her hand from your cheek and pulled her hand from your grip, turning away from you. Her red hair swayed against her back, lit up by the candlelight, and all you wanted to do was wrap your hands in it. You gulped. You had never wanted another person as much as you wanted her.

“And if you’re a good girl tomorrow I might let you return the favour.”

You’d never moved so fast on shaky legs before.

[northofdespair]

Well. This was going to be a 500-character anonymous ask. I had no plans of using this forgotten Tumblr account. And then I wrote 2k in one sitting this afternoon.

So, Clem, this is for you! Hats off for drawing me out of the abyss to pen a little pseudo-fic for my favorite pairing of all time. Forgive (m)any mistakes and the informal style, I suppose I really could have refined it, but I wanted to get this out here before it went to collect dust with the rest of my 30k+ of Obikin WIPs due to crippling perfectionism. 😅 I will say it’s a bit angsty and a departure from Anakin finding Obi-Wan’s fighting nothing but sexy… there is nothing to say he didn’t in the past, but my brain just went on auto-pilot and this is what happened. Hope you get a little enjoyment out of it anyways! 😘

For those of you who have not read it yet, you’ll get a lot more out of this post if you read @obiwanobi’s posts here, here, here, and here. <3

~*~

So Fight Club AU, right? What if Ahsoka and Anakin make their way down to the lower levels, following a lead on their latest undercover assignment. They decide to split up to search for what they’re looking for and Ahsoka soon finds herself weaving through the cheering and jeering crowds of a club that is far too loud and flashy. She peeks curiously over the tops of various creatures’ heads to see what they’re shouting about and sees a human and a Devaronian trading blows. A fight, whatever. They happen all the time in the lower leve-IS THAT MASTER KENOBI?!

That is DEFINITELY Master Kenobi and boy, she’s never been one to rat out fellow Jedi, but even if he’s grinning like a madman, he is hurt, and oh she is getting Anakin right now, because she doesn’t know exactly what to do, and Force knows that if Obi-Wan will listen to anyone, it’s Anakin. He’s not far away, and when she drags him into the club, he goes a little pale at the sight of Obi-Wan in the ring, standing victoriously over his opponent. 

 She thinks that he’s going to go get him, pull him aside and do something to fix this, but suddenly someone else in the crowd spots him. Suddenly the cheers and taunts are directed at Anakin, and Ahsoka has no idea what the kriff is happening. All at once Anakin is being pulled and pushed, and then both of her Masters are in the ring, eyeing each other up and down and squaring off. Obi-Wan flirts with Anakin as though he expected him to be there, as though he were an enemy, and her jaw drops as Anakin flirts back. Anakin quickly glances at Ahsoka over the crowd, and they begin.

 It is both everything and nothing like watching them spar at the Temple. She sees all the ways in which they are familiar with each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but here the graceful arcs of lightsabers have been traded for brutal, bare-knuckled blows. They sweep under and over each other, deftly avoiding blows as much as landing them, and the crowd loves it. She spares a glance at the bookie, who looks like the tooka that caught the mouse-droid.

 As the fight goes on, Ahsoka realizes two things. 

 One, this is not the first time that they have fought in this ring. Even for Jedi–an identity that they are suppressing extremely well considering the circumstances–they are altogether too at ease with the brutal hand-to-hand combat. The way they dance around each other and strike viperously quick would be beautiful if it weren’t so horrible. It is certainly awe-striking, and while all Jedi are trained in hand-to-hand, she’s never seen them fight like this.

 Two, Obi-Wan is incredible. Anakin is holding his own and powerful in his own right, but even after knocking that Devarionian to the floor, bruised, bleeding, and tired, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a force to be reckoned with.

 In a flurry of movement, Obi-Wan pins Anakin to the ground, just managing to overpower his former student despite his injuries. Ahsoka can barely see over the crowd as he sits on top of his Padawan, then offers him a hand up. She can’t discern their expressions, but they do not say anything to each other and make their way out of the ring, going in vaguely the same direction. 

 Ahsoka presses her lips together and follows Anakin to demand what in Sith Hells just happened. Suddenly the mysterious bruises that Anakin had started showing up with–the ones that he thought he was hiding well–make some sort of surreal sense.

 She catches up to him in an abandoned alleyway seven blocks or so away from the club and opens her mouth to lay into him, but before she can draw breath, Obi-Wan’s figure melts out of the shadows from the other direction. Neither man has seen her, and something about the intense look on Obi-Wan’s face makes her slip into the shadows herself. 

 She has to slap a hand over her mouth to tamp down on a surprised squeak a second later as Obi-Wan takes Anakin by the shoulders, slams him into the wall, and kisses him hard. Anakin kisses him back, hands coming up to scrabble at Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and breaks the kiss to get out, 

 “Wait, Obi-Wan,“ he gasps as Obi-Wan bites at his neck and Ahsoka wants to flee, but she feels rooted in place. “Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, she- hhhn- stop, would you?” He finally brings his hand to the side of Obi-Wan’s face, catching his attention for long enough to realize that he’s serious, if a little dazed. “Ahsoka saw us fight.” 

 His voice is quiet, but Ahsoka has always had good hearing, even for a Togruta. Obi-Wan freezes, and the two stare at each other for a long moment, breathing heavily into each other’s space. 

 “She led me to you because you were hurt,” Anakin whispers, and the tender concern on his face as he brushes a thumb over Obi-Wan’s swollen cheekbone is enough to cause Ahsoka to avert her gaze. 

 “Anakin, you know-“ Obi-Wan’s voice is different from any time she’s ever heard it, deep and rumbling with an emotion she doesn’t... quite want to think about, but Anakin cuts him off. 

 “I know, Master. I know. But she was worried, and I don’t... think she was wrong to be,” it comes out hesitant, and she looks up to find that Anakin looks like he’s prepared to flinch away from a blow. 

 Before tonight, Ahsoka never would have thought that her Grandmaster was capable of dealing any such hit to Anakin, but Anakin’s split lip and blackened eye prove her wrong. She still can’t believe it, and her heart tells her that even now he would never hit Anakin outside of the ring or the training salles, but it’s a hard thought to reconcile with as her Master stands before her with such prominent injuries.

 Obi-Wan stares at Anakin again before sighing softly. “You don’t want to fight. You don’t want me to fight,” he says, and it’s a flattened-out question. Anakin bites his lip, wincing at the painful reminder of the cut there. 

 “Not- not like this,” he whispers. “Obi-Wan, I... I know that this is an escape from everything. I’m not saying it’s even bad, Force, I’d be one hell of a kriffing hypocrite to tell you that. I know I’ve given in to my own methods of escape, but Master, I-“ His voice cracks and he breaks off, working his jaw as he stares at Obi-Wan with an expression so open that it hurts. “I have you now, and you’re- you’re all I ever wanted. You’re all I need. Obi-Wan, if I’m not- if I’m not enough, then tell me how-“

 Obi-Wan cuts him off with a kiss, raking his fingers through Anakin’s golden curls and holding him there. Anakin’s eyes flutter shut as he lets out a whimper from the back of his throat, and Ahsoka has to avert her gaze once more. She’s intruding on something so viscerally personal, but she still cannot command her feet to move. 

 So she listens to the sound of lips parting for little kisses that make a larger whole, that bring a low moan from Obi-Wan’s throat in answer to Anakin’s desperate pitch. She listens until they part, and then risks a glance up at her Masters. 

 They are somehow closer than before, foreheads resting together with their eyes shut, breathing each other in as Obi-Wan strokes Anakin’s hair and Anakin shivers. 

 “Dear one,” Obi-Wan whispers. “You are enough. I… was afraid, my love.” Anakin’s eyes open in shock as the confession falls from Obi-Wan’s lips. “I was afraid that this... was the only way I could have you. It’s different down here. What happens here stays here, and I thought-“ 

 “Obi-Wan. I only ever came down here in the first place because I want you. All the time. Force, I want you so badly it hurts. I don’t want this to stay here. I- do you really-“ 

 “Yes.” 

 Anakin chokes a laugh and fixes Obi-Wan with a fondly exasperated look. “You don’t even know what I was going to say,” he accuses, resting his head back on the wall. 

 Obi-Wan leans forward to pursue him, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his mouth, then another directly on his lips. “I do, darling. Of course I do.” 

 And as Ahsoka watches Anakin’s expression change from incredulity, to wonder, to overwhelmed adoration, she knows that her Grandmaster was not simply speaking of knowing the question that never left her Master’s lips. 

 “Me too,” Anakin whispers, voice thick, and Ahsoka can see the shape of Obi-Wan’s grin even from the severe angle that her perspective offers. 

 Anakin smiles back and flinches again as his lip pulls taut. Obi-Wan hums and reaches up to brush his thumb over the wound.

 “Not a good look on you, is it, darling,” he remarks. 

 Anakin scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully. 

 “You should see the other guy,” he smirks. 

 “Ha, ha,” Obi-Wan intones dryly, and Anakin laughs. 

 They sober quickly, and Ahsoka holds her breath as the air and the Force around them seems to charge once more. She knows by the look on Anakin’s face that he’s working towards saying something, and Obi-Wan runs bloodied fingers through his curls in patient strokes.

 “I won’t tell you to stop,” Anakin finally speaks quietly, looking down between them. 

 “But you want me to,” Obi-Wan matches his volume and sincerity. 

 After a moment, Anakin nods quietly, still averting his gaze from Obi-Wan’s face. Her Grandmaster lifts Anakin’s chin with a gentle hand, and their gazes meet once again. 

 “I meant it when I said you are enough, my dear. This habit... if I’m honest, it started when I failed to release certain feelings into the Force. The fighting cleared my mind and it was a good physical release. I don’t need it. Not if I have you.” 

 Anakin’s eyes grow wide, and Ahsoka thinks that she sees tears glimmering in his eyes in the low light. 

 “The Code, Master,” he croaks softly. 

 Obi-Wan shakes his head and strokes Anakin’s chin before tapping it lightly and resting his hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. We’re good at that, you and I. And we shan’t break the Code if we’re simply in a relationship, you know that.” 

 Anakin squeezes his eyes shut, and tears at last track down his cheeks. “It’s not just a relationship. Not to me. I- I love you, Master. I’m atta- attached. I’ve struggled with this all my life and I can’t let go. Of you, or Ahsoka.” 

 Her heart skips a beat at her name, then warms with a sad fondness for her Master. Oh, Anakin... he really thinks that Obi-Wan doesn’t know? That she doesn’t know? They do and they love him right back just the same. Ahsoka hadn’t truly known about the nature of her Masters’ feelings for each other before tonight, but she had suspected. Both she and Obi-Wan love Anakin with all their hearts.

 “Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan pulls him into his arms, and Anakin clings to him desperately and buries his face in his throat. “Dearest, love is no trespass, and attachment can be conquered. It is a part of human nature. It is nothing to fear. I am sorry I ever led you to believe otherwise, Padawan.”

 Anakin gasps a single, muffled sob into Obi-Wan’s throat, and his Master presses a kiss to the top of his head. They stay like that for a while, rocking slightly back and forth and holding each other tightly until Anakin’s breathing evens out.

 “You’ll stop fighting, then?” Anakin asks softly. 

 “Yes, dearest. I’ll stop,” comes the quiet affirmation. “And Anakin,” he steps back slightly so they are both looking each other in the face once again before murmuring, gentle as a spring breeze, “I love you too.”

 Anakin’s face crumples before a smile overtakes his expression and he lets out a tiny, overjoyed laugh. Obi-Wan’s hands slide up to frame his face once again and draw him into a gentle kiss that slowly deepens. They break apart to smile at each other before coming together more urgently than before, and Ahsoka knows that it’s time for her to go.

 She lets out a little breath–hopefully silent–and steps backward out of the alley. Once she has crept well away, she slumps against the wall herself. She... she’ll probably have to tell Anakin what she has witnessed. She really hadn’t meant to eavesdrop for so long, but she had needed to hear that promise from her Grandmaster almost as much as Anakin himself. As it is, she breathes out a sigh of relief knowing that for the moment they are both safe, happy, and that better times are coming. For all of them.

  They’ll figure this out together.

[maddiewritesstucky]

Playing with babies? 🥺 (I’m not even a kid person... and yet...)

...Nonnie, you have no way of knowing this, but you have hit me where it counts.

FRESH. HELL. 😩

Alright, let’s do this. Gird your ovaries and your brovaries and whatever else you need to, you just asked an ECE teacher to pop off about her softest Steve being good with babies 😭

Silver Steve is about to get paternal as fuck 💕

Bucky has spent enough time around Steve to know that Steve likes children. Not in a ‘yeah they’re okay, I can tolerate them’ kind of way - but a real, active enjoyment of them 

He sees it in the way Steve’s smile goes all gooey for babies passing by them in strollers or in close proximity to them when they’re out in cafes; when Steve makes silly faces at them in line at grocery stores to hear them laugh, and when he makes conversation with the braver little ones who wander over their way and play nearby when they’re spending time in the park 

Steve is good with children, and so clearly loves being around them  

But that does not prepare Bucky for the devastating reality of witnessing Steve actually playing with a child, when he lets himself into Steve’s house on a regular Thursday afternoon with the spare key Steve gave him...and finds Steve mid tea-party with the neighbours 18month old daughter

“What’s going on in here?” Bucky’s entire insides turn to mush as he takes in the scene before him - Steve cross-legged on the floor, holding the world’s smallest tea cup, whilst Leah babbles away, swinging her teapot around in the vague direction of Steve’s cup

Steve looks up at the sound of his voice and there’s a big, soft smile on his face - although Bucky knows it was already firmly in place before he walked in - and then Steve turns his attention back to Leah for a moment to cue her with a happy gasp of “Oh, Bucky’s here! Yay!” before he starts talking to Bucky

“Sweetheart, did you get my text? This was really last minute, Shelby had to go pick up Alistair ‘cause his car broke down on the way home from work, and she asked if I could just watch Leah for a while, they shouldn’t be too long—”

Steve is rattling off his explanation, but all Bucky can focus on is the way Leah has plonked herself in Steve’s lap and grabbed one of his hands to investigate how much bigger it is than her own

Steve’s letting her trace the lines of his palm with her tiny fingers and his other hand is absently sweeping through her almost-curls, and it all just strikes a very new, very Significant chord within Bucky 

“I don’t mind at all,” Bucky goes to join them on the floor, pecking a soft kiss to Steve’s temple and saying hi to Leah, who is far too interested in the span of Steve’s fingers to care about his presence much

Bucky already knew that Steve has a good relationship with this young family next door, knows that Steve has babysit for them on occasion when they’ve been in a bind. Bucky’s even met them a few times himself when Steve’s been talking to them over the fence, and the time Alistair came to borrow Steve’s weed eater, and once when Bucky made way too many cookies and Steve suggested they take some next door

So he’s seen Steve interact with Leah before, in fleeting situations. But this is the first time he’s really watched how Steve is with this tiny person, and it’s...magic

Steve is effortless, making conversation with Leah that has her genuinely lighting up, even though Bucky only understands maybe every fourth word she says. Steve is so animated, laughing at smiling right back at her when she cues him to, entirely and joyously being part of this minimally comprehensible exchange

Steve is endlessly patient, following Leah out to the back yard and crouching in the grass next to her; talking about the trail of ants she’s spotted, gently reminding her that her hands are too strong to touch them, so it’s kinder to just look

Steve is comforting, when Leah starts to get noticeably anxious over how long it’s taking for her parents to come back. Steve quietly offers his open arms, palms up, waiting for her to accept the invitation before he scoops her up and holds her close against his chest, rubbing her back soothingly and telling her she’s safe and it’s okay to miss Mom and Dad, because they’ll be back soon 

Bucky’s heart is cracked open wider than he ever thought possible

Of course he’s pictured a future with Steve, they’re at that point now where there’s a sense of ‘we’re in this, this is going somewhere good.’ But watching Steve with Leah, watching his radiant kindness and inherent gentleness and love just pour out of him for this child who isn’t even his...Bucky suddenly knows in a very deep and real way, that he wants this future with Steve 

It’s a quiet, peaceful sort of realization. He knows this is something he doesn’t have to rush, knows that Steve is every bit as invested as he is, and he’s safe to let things unfold in their right time 

...But he also knows, with that same quiet sense of ‘right’ that there’s a step he’s ready for right now, and he’s pretty sure Steve is there too 

He waits until that night, long after Leah has been picked up by her very grateful parents; after he and Steve have had dinner, when they’re laying together on the couch, his head on Steve’s chest while they half-watch a documentary about the Loch Ness monster

Bucky tips his head up, shuffling himself until he can properly see Steve’s face.

“Hey Steve?” he says softly. Steve hums a ‘mm?��� drawing his fingertips sleepily up and down Bucky’s spine, and Bucky waits for Steve to look at him before he speaks again.

“...Do you wanna live together?”

Steve looks at him for a moment, and then he’s reaching for the remote to switch off the TV and turning his whole, very-suddenly-awake attention on Bucky

“Are you...is this you asking, or is this hypothetical?”

Bucky knows him well enough now to know the almost-smile sparking at the corners of Steve’s lips and his eyes is him trying to rein himself in, to not get over-excited before he has all the information

It just makes Bucky’s own happiness bubble up even brighter

“I’m asking, Steve,” he smiles, shifting so he’s on top of Steve, “...do you want to live with me?”

Steve’s face breaks out into an expression of pure joy, and he cups Bucky’s face in his hands to pull him down into a kiss

“Oh my god, sweetheart...yes, I do want that, I want that so much,” he kisses his joy all over Bucky’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead, “have you thought about where? Do you want to move in here, or did you want to find a place somewhere together...?”

“I want to live here, this is...” home, is what Bucky wants to say, because it’s true - he’s got a drawer in the bathroom and a bedside table in the bedroom. Steve keeps his favourite kind of coffee in the cupboard all his favourite snacks, and Bucky’s favourite scented soap in the bathroom. There’s a set of Bucky’s clothes here and some of his books and he always forgets his laptop charger here

But more than that, this is the place where Bucky feels most at ease. He walks in the door and he feels his whole body physically relax, like it knows it’s somewhere safe

This is the couch where Steve holds him in the evenings, and over at the dining table is where they exchanged their very first (rather comical) I love you’s

The kitchen is where Steve taught Bucky how to make the perfect French toast, and the bedroom is where Bucky learns time and time again just how much his body is capable of feeling, and right here in this living room, not four hours ago, is where Bucky came to know deep down in his soul that his ‘forever’ looks just like Steve Rogers

This is home, so that’s exactly what Bucky says

Steve wraps him up tight in his arms and smiles so big into the kisses he plants on Bucky’s face, and he points out that Bucky’s already got a key... Steve has just been quietly holding out for him to want to use it every day 💕