#it was indeed a bit more than a sketch

[s0up1ta]

ANYONE ELSE WANT A PIECE 🤬🤬😡👹🗣️

alt versions under the cut:

couldn't decide so take all of them

edit: I MADE A DESKTOP VERSION !!

[porcelainbirdss]

the mourning dove syndrome

summary: Mydei remembers trying to capture a bird when he was still a child — his hands reaching out to grasp its small form, the frantic flapping of wings suddenly piercing through the stillness of the air as he huffed in frustration. perhaps you were just like that — elusive, untouchable, forever slipping through the spaces between his fingers.

cw: fem!reader, painter!reader, very suggestive towards the end, toxic interpersonal relations, cannibalism used as a metaphor, Mydei is kind of possessive, slight masochistic urges on his side, if anyone is wondering how Mydei’s hairstyle looked like, click here. || wc: 6k

the late evening’s cold wind made you shiver as you pulled the coat tighter around yourself, taking wide steps towards the enormous building, it’s skillfully decorated columns slightly obscuring you from the ongoing gale. you just came back from a trip — searching for new inspirations is an inseparable part of an artist’s life, and you started to feel pretty drained with work too. after a month of escapades and constant sketching, you returned to Okhema — the first thing that greeted you was an invitation to a charity banquet.

even though you wished to unwind after your excursion, the organizers kindly requested you make a few paintings, which will be later sold in auction. since you were usually amiable, you agreed. they even offered you housing, saying the views were indeed spectacular, and the unconventional structure of their gardens would certainly bring you a peace of mind. you honestly doubted that, because you deemed their piece of land as rather mediocre.

still, you were already here, and you couldn’t back out — you pushed the gigantic door open, hearing the clacking of your elegant shoes as you stepped inside the hall. upon noticing your presence, the organizers and some other people instantly flocked to your side, chirping how glad they were to finally see you. you smiled politely as you shook their hands, one of the employees taking your coat to cloakroom.

your head was starting to pound.

the cream of society. perhaps, if you squinted, you could consider yourself one of them too — they surely perceived you as such, looking at the way they gathered around you, showering you with compliments, cheering at how beautiful your attire was, or how they loved your hairstyle. you nodded every time, thinking you could never associate yourself with them.

vanity. greed. hedonism. zeal. those were the words you could use to describe them. whenever your paintings got hung up at expositions, they’d try to analize their depths, sputtering up philosophical nonsense, pretending as if they were some experts. who said art was meant to be understood in the first place? it is created by humans for humans, and all you have to to do is enjoy it. the simplest truth flied over their heads as they pondered over the canvases meanings, thinking you’d definitely agree with their interpretation.

anyway, it’s no use getting irritated over something of such trivial nature.

you finally had the room to breathe after an hour of small talk, sitting by one of the long tables — the food was acceptable, more visually appealing than actually tasty, but you appreciated the intricate look of the dishes nonetheless. as you chewed on the steak, your gaze flickered over to a blonde man across you, seated just a few chairs away — Mydeimos. he was already staring at you, perhaps a bit absentmindedly.

when your eyes met, you cocked one eyebrow at him, slowly turning your head away when you decided the impressive frescoes on the ceiling were much more interesting than his golden irises. his vision was focused on you from the start, and you anticipated him coming up to greet you, however he did not such thing. it irked you a little, as you haven’t seen each other for some time now — you expected the man to at least say hello, yet Mydei seemed too occupied with standing in the corner, talking to some individuals as he kept ogling you.

even so, you couldn’t say you were exactly mad at him. he was often like that — a bit reserved, and distant, and so you understood why he didn’t say a word to you. your relation with him was… well, hard to describe. you liked each other, then you did not. you said you two should stop, but you continued. you told him it wasn’t anything meaningful — and by the look in his eyes, you knew he agreed, yet at the same time not. you’d tease the life out of him, and the man still would circle around you — if he were an animal (perhaps a wild cat), you could almost see his tail lashing like a whip in irritation, while his ears remained coyly pressed against his hair.

you smirked under your nose, feeling his unrelenting stare on you. Mydei was slightly odd in his nature, but so were you, and maybe that’s the reason why you continued your weird charade with him. when you first looked at the man, two years ago, what did you think about? he was magnetic, and the bone structure of his face was gallant. you remember his poorly contained frown, and how his eyebrows tugged together, creating a crease in-between. how sharply his eyes scrutinized you from above the edge of your canvas as you struggled to capture his unique beauty, constantly demanding he turns his head at a different angle.

as your eyes returned to him, you thought his current expression was incredibly similar to the one he graced you with when you met.

"good day to you all!" you smiled politely, greeting the rather big group of people as they walked into your workplace. the Chrysos Heirs. they requested you paint a group portrait of them — for what reason, you didn’t know, but it was none of your concerns. your keen eyes quickly scanned the whole crowd, embedding the contours of their faces in your memory — three girls of red hair (whose names you had at the tip of your tongue, although you couldn’t be bothered to remember them, nor tell them apart), lady Aglaea and Castorice along with two other men… one of them being the crown prince of Kremnos, if you could recall correctly. Mydeimos, was his name?

well, at least you knew some of them. it was unlikely to be so ignorant towards the most respectable individuals of Okhema, alas you moved in only recently — and truth be told, none of those people was of any importance to you.

"i’ve already prepared everything, so why don’t you step inside?" you offered, shoving the maroon curtain to the side, revealing a rather spacious room, filled with easels and canvases varying in size.

"again, thank you so much for taking up our request, miss [name]." the blue-haired man chimed, "honestly, i wasn’t sure whether you’d agree. after all, there’s so many of us!" he laughed, and you nodded in response, thinking the sum of money they will have to pay for the painting is definitely going to last you at least three months.

you shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing your paint-stained apron and securing it around your waist. "it’s no problem for me, really."

"miss [name], where do we stand?" one of the little girls asked excitedly, already trying to strike a pose. it would seem everyone was in a good mood, maybe except for that prince with an ever-present brooding expression.

"we already talked the composition over with lady Aglaea, so i’ll tell you soon, alright?" you smiled at the three of children, unsure of how you should be treating them. they were… much older, at least that’s what someone told you — but you couldn’t bring yourself to converse with kids the same way you’d talk to adults.

you fell silent for a while, studying the light and shadow of the room, ultimately coming to the conclusion that you should push the two big chairs somewhere else. as you busied yourself with the task at hand, Mydeimos stepped forwards.

"should i help you?” he offered, and you barely held back a scoff.

you shook your head sternly. "no sir, i’ll manage. you’d only get in my way." you huffed out, trying to find the best placements for the heavy things.

the man blinked at you, as if you were the first person in existence to ever refuse him — his friend patted his arm with consolation, obviously trying to fight through the snicker forcing its way onto his lips. you payed no mind to their quiet bicker, finally positioning the seats the way you wanted them to be.

"alright!" you clasped your hands in satisfaction, "lady Aglaea and Castorice, please sit down. girls, you should stand in-between the chairs. yes, perfect." you hummed, already envisioning the color palette you’ll use as you observed everyone take their assigned places.

"what about us?" the blue-haired man questioned, and you cursed yourself for not remembering his name.

you took a seat by the easel, picking up your most trusted pencil. "you stand behind. put your hands on the backs of the chairs." you instructed, your eyes glued to the sketchbook. "i’ll start by preparing an initial drawing — then, i’ll make another one and lay down the colors. after i’m done, you can go home. it shouldn’t take me longer than two weeks to finish."

you explained, finally looking up from the blank page. upon receiving no further questions or complains, you began planning everything out, slowly blocking out the silhouettes of your clients. everything was going smoothly until Mydeimos’ turn came — you stopped the movements of your hand, squinting at him.

"sir, move a little to my left." you said, looking into his bright irises. he did as you pleased, and so you resumed your work — once you were done with the general outline, you started to sketch out the faces. it was the most important part of the process, and so you turned the page, placing meticulous detail into their structure.

sophisticated features of the two women were especially pleasant to draw, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you put emphasis on the round cheeks of three redheads. Phainon — you managed to catch his name, thankfully — was also quite easy to capture, his contours rather boyish and innocent-like.

as for the crown prince — you felt as if you picked up a pencil for the first time in your life. sweat of irritation crawled up your neck, and you gritted your teeth in utmost concentration, struggling to transfer his sharp eyes onto the paper. no, that wasn’t right, they don’t look like that — you erased with fervor, ultimately deciding to scrap the whole sketch.

"could you turn your head to the side, sir Mydeimos?" you asked, and he complied without question. no, no, that wasn’t what you were searching for either. "never mind, look to the right."

you sighed, the grip on your pen tightening. "no, the other right."

his eyebrows narrowed together, albeit no complains fell from his mouth. he was oddly quiet for someone who carried themselves with such pride — most of your models would have already started to discuss your ways, insisting you make up your mind.

you stuck out your tongue in engrossment, flipping to another blank page. high cheekbones, strong jaw, those brows that kept knitting into a frown — and the eyes. you huffed, erasing again. you should just give up, and pray for the best, but your perfectionism didn’t allow you to.

"look straightforward." you demanded. Aglaea and Castorice glanced at each other expressively, and Phainon chuckled under his breath.

Mydeimos turned his head in your direction, perhaps a bit too rapidly. he was irked, but so were you. as you studied him with great attention, you thought you didn’t like the way shadows encompassed his face. "tilt your head up — no, not like that — okay, that’s too much, look at me again. yes, good… on the other hand, no.”

Phainon cleared his throat, amusement laced through his tone. "miss [name], since our dear Mydei is causing so much trouble to you, why don’t you just paint the portrait without him?"

Mydeimos sent a warning glare towards the second man, and one of the girls sighed in resignation, as if she was sure they’d start another clash. you shook your head, getting up from your seat.

"absolutely not." you disregarded his half-joke proposal, rendering the distance between you and the prince. everyone looked at you in anticipation as you firmly placed your hands on the man’s broad shoulders, urging him to turn his torso.

his eyebrows rose in surprise when you started changing his positioning. "hey, i’m not some doll—"

"hush." you silenced him, stepping back to look at the bigger picture. slightly better, but still not it. you proceeded to grab his jaw (quite gently, so it took you aback to see his grimace deepen), and tilt it at your desired angle, until it was ideal. "hm, let’s say i’m satisfied now. don’t move your head."

after you sat down, all of them instantly seemed to straighten up, as if afraid you’d waste another ten minutes on altering their poses too. Mydeimos’ nerves simmered quietly, his irises drilling holes through your forehead — you decided to ignore him, instead focusing on sketching out his features again.

it took you some time to capture the palpable fierceness, and you felt almost bad, because even though you put your everything into this drawing, it was lacking. you leaned back on the chair, ultimately deciding there was nothing you can do — your skills went as far as they could, and that distinct beauty bested you.

after the prolonged process of mapping out everyone’s faces, you finally began to paint, blocking out the shadows and most prominent color values. still, your thoughts nagged you, berating you for not being able to do something as simple as drawing a face. it definitely deflated your ego — previously, you were absolutely sure there wasn’t a thing you couldn’t do — well, as it turns out, your ambitions have been challenged.

what difference was there between him and all the others? when the man first stepped into your workplace, there was nothing about him that caught your attention. however now, as you placed the paint on the tall silhouette, you felt yourself press the brush harder than necessary, nursing your lower lip between your teeth. in contrary to your clients talking with each other, he remained in gravely silence, his eyes constantly boring into you. you wondered about what was going through his mind at the moment — was he offended? angry? embarrassed?

you wouldn’t know, because soon you got up from your chair, announcing you were done.

"excuse me, are you miss [name]?"

a voice coming from your right snatched you out of your reveries, and you swallowed, placing the cutlery down. you looked to the side, noticing an unknown face smiling at you — he donned a rather stylish hairstyle, and you couldn’t deny the man’s handsome features. still, he looked plain boring, and if you were to draw him, you’d probably fall asleep in the middle of the process.

"yes, in the flesh." you tried to force your lips to curl upwards, returning the gesture. you were not in the mood for talking, and you’d prefer to finish your meal in peace.

his smile widened. "is that so? oh, i can’t believe how lucky i must be to sit next to you." he cheered, and you nodded in response, holding back a sigh of exasperation.

it’s not like you had anything against people coming up to you, and expressing their opinions towards your artwork, but that man irked something in you — he was leaning in way too close for your liking, and his breath reeked of expensive wine. did he get drunk already? looking at the way his cheeks blushed, it was possible.

when you didn’t answer, he pushed himself even closer, making you roll your eyes. "say, miss [name], are you perhaps looking for a model for your new exposition?" he asked straight in your ear, way too loudly. gods, you could hear him clearly, he didn’t need to be so up close!

"i’m not sure. i was thinking of focusing on nature this time." you explained, your nails starting to tap the table’s surface. you felt overly hot.

the man scoffed, his expression twisting into a mocking amusement. "oh, you can’t be possibly serious! nature is—" he paused, "it’s boring, truth be told. don’t waste your talent on something so mundane."

you felt his arm snake around your chair’s back. "is that so?” you mused quietly, your fingers itching to take the nearest glass of water and spill it across his expensive attire.

"yes, i can assure you." he said. "humans are much more interesting. and, if i may be so bold, i was actually thinking — maybe you should use my face?” he offered, confidence radiating off his body. it would appear he didn’t know the taste of rejection.

"so you wish to become a muse of mine?" you asked, feigning contemplation.

he nodded, perhaps a bit too excitedly. "oh, it would be an honor, miss [name]! you know, i could show you things you haven’t dreamt of, make you feel things you—"

the moment you sensed his breath against your neck, your hand shoot up, demanding he backs off. the man blinked, leaning away from you. your eyes flickered over to Mydei, who was watching your interaction for the whole time — at least that’s what you thought, looking at his scornful grimace. you smirked under your nose, sending him a knowing smile which practically screamed you’re jealous, aren’t you?

you took a sip of your wine, clearing your mouth from the aftertaste of the steak, that you apparently weren’t meant to finish. "i’m not interested in your offer, so please, let’s end this conversation here."

"but miss—" he began, almost desperately, though you could hear the underlying spite gathering in his words, "why? who do you think you are, acting as if— hey, wait!"

you slowly got up from your seat, ignoring him. you were fed up with the whole banquet, and this person especially made the cup of bitterness overflowed. you turned on your heel, starting to walk out of the big hall. it wasn’t long until Mydei got up too, tailing after you — you stopped behind a pillar, leaning on the high construction as you waited for him to catch up. with his wide steps, it didn’t take too much time.

"who was that man?" he immediately questioned, evoking a scoff out of you as you scrutinized him from under your lashes.

"how about a 'hello' first?"

"answer me, for gods’ sake." he demanded.

"what does it matter to you?" you shrugged, absentmindedly playing with your necklace.

Mydei leaned a bit closer to you, so that he wouldn’t have to scream over the crowd’s clamor. "did you even see the way he was looking at you?"

you felt the corners lips itch upwards. "yeah, i happened to sit right next to him, so it would be hard not to." you responded sarcastically, tugging at the leash of his chagrin.

he crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing at you. "and?"

"and what?"

"don’t play fool, [name], he was practically undressing you with his eyes!" he seethed, and you had to fight the urge of laughing him in the face. honestly, Mydei wasn’t the kind of person to get so worked up over nothing, but when it came to you, he was acting like a guard dog — and you found it incredibly endearing.

"i don’t know… as i said, what does it matter to you?" you pushed, curious of what he would say.

he huffed in irritation, gripping the bridge of his nose. "can’t i be concerned? sometimes you’re such an airhead, even i get worried."

"you get worried about every man, it would seem." you chuckled, but upon seeing his scowl deepen, you decided to drop it for now. "well, never mind. he was annoying me too. everyone here is so…"

"brainless."

you laughed genuinely now, nodding along to Mydei’s words. "you read my mind. since we’re on the same page, why don’t we go to the guest rooms? i need to take a breath."

he agreed without hesitation, and so you pushed yourself off the pillar, beckoning at him to follow you with your finger. you traversed a rather long staircase, finally finding yourself in the living sector, so you reached into your purse, pulling out the key to your room. the wind outside seemed to take up on its strength, and you were almost grateful for being inside — though you’d much rather just lie down in your bed, sipping on some savory drink.

you stepped into the dimly-lighted space first, Mydei trailing after you. it was quiet in the contrast to the ongoing party downstairs, and you sighed with relief, taking some of your hair accessory out — the ornaments were lovely indeed, but they kept tugging, making your whole scalp hurt. you threw them on the desk’s surface, instantly feeling better.

"what are all the canvases for?" the man questioned, gesturing towards the things scattered by one of the walls.

you looked into his eyes, deeming they appeared much more alluring in the low, warm light of your room. "the organizers asked me to paint them something. they will sell it on an auction." you explained, your tone bordering on monotony.

Mydei dragged his feet closer to you. "do you have anything in mind? well — it’s not like you have to create anything special. people will fight over your art anyway."

you hummed in contemplation, smoothing out the wrinkles of your attire. you had no idea of what to make, and honestly, you didn’t bother yourself with even pondering upon the topic — but now, when your keen gaze studied Mydei’s tall frame, you thought you’d definitely want to paint him. somehow, he was more striking than usually, and your fingers itched to grab a brush at once. he was your damnation of sorts — you attempted to sketch his face a multitude of times, yet seldom came up with anything satisfactory. even photography couldn’t capture the way shadow and light softly fell onto his features, a vivid contrast to the fire of his eyes.

if you could, you’d sit him down, and draw him until you succeed — until it was the perfect picture of reality, an ideal visage, a mirror. there was something so special about Mydei that didn’t allow you to catch a breath, shoving you into an endless circle of fascination. the blonde locks with scarlet strands woven through them, the honeyed irises with wide-blown pupils, and the way his lips stretched upwards, as if talking to you was the most entertaining thing in the whole world.

you took a step forwards, wrapping your arms around his neck, tightly, just like snakes do. "you know, Mydei, i might have an idea." you whispered teasingly into his ear, pressing your thumb to his pulse point, feeling at how rapidly it was drumming. the man failed to grace you with response, his vision flickering over to your mouth. "why don’t i paint you?" you offered lowly, dragging the tip of your finger beneath the strong bone of his jaw.

you couldn’t finish the trail of your whole thought before the man’s lips crashed into yours, desperation palpable in the way he didn’t even try to start out gently. you snickered into the kiss, deepening it, pulling at his hair a bit aggressively — the moment you felt Mydei’s hands on your hips, you immediately took a step back, separating yourself away from him with a mischievous smirk.

it was something you both often did. kissing. you perceived it as casual, an act between two friends who were bored enough to step into that direction. it didn’t carry any special meaning to you, nor could you remember how it exactly started — it could’ve been when you kept annoying the life out of Mydei, and some kind of resolve snapped with a sickening crack in the back of your minds. a silencer, of sorts — perhaps if he presses his mouth into yours, you’ll finally shut up. maybe if you draw blood from his lips, he’ll stop frowning at you like this. if you devour one another, all the feelings of ire and dissatisfaction could possibly be gone.

he breathed, obviously not satiated, his eyes following you as if he were a starving animal. you loved that look. "what do you say? do you have the energy to model now?" an innocent smile tugged the corners of your lips upwards as you batted your eyelashes at him, slowly circling around his silhouette.

"i could refuse simply to spite you." he sneered, though it lacked in any real bite. "you’re full of attitude, did you know that, [name]?"

you shrugged, stopping in your tracks. "many such cases, and i don’t see you complaining about any other." you hummed, the tone of your voice laced with something frivolous.

"why should i? there’s only you."

there’s only you for me, is what he once said, but you couldn’t remember the time, nor circumstances.

"alright, Mydei, no need to be stubborn. i’d like to paint you. the canvas with your face on it will be sold to charity.” you coerced, wondering why it was of so much importance to you. "isn’t that wonderful?"

the man sighed, giving in. "fine. but don’t make me sit for ten hours straight."

you held back a triumphant smile, starting to set up your easel and the paints — as for the surface you’d be working on, you chose the biggest one. once it’s framed, it will probably look beautiful.

you turned to him, already deep in your element — the light falls from here, so it shall scatter across his features nicely, and the maroon color of the walls will bounce off his skin, creating a pleasant hue. your eyebrows knitted together in contemplation as you studied Mydei. everyone knows what he looks like — you needed a twist.

"what?" he finally questioned under your unrelenting stare.

"i’m going to braid your hair." you decided at once, swiveling to your vanity, and picking up a few ties along with bobby pins. yes, that’s what you were looking for — a new hairdo. "sit down on the bed." you instructed, grabbing a comb along with all the other stuff, and seating yourself behind him.

when you started to undo his little braid, he tilted his head to look at you. "is this necessary?”

"absolutely." you assured, starting to run the comb through his locks. you tried to be as gentle as possible, the corners of your eyes crinkling a bit when you watched the red and blonde mixing together, slightly curling at the ends. "i already have a hairstyle in mind, so don’t go and try protesting."

"oh, i would not dare." he huffed out, and you were sure he was frowning, even though you couldn’t see his face.

you continued to brush the cascades of hair, stopping once you were sure there was no tangles in them — you separated the locks in three sections, carefully measuring the needed amount. with the help of your comb, you let his bangs and the layered strands frame his face, placing it exactly the way you wanted to.

then, you grabbed another handful of hair, and made a thick braid, curling it around the crown of his head, so it looked like some kind of band. you secured it with two pins, your skillful eyes scanning if everything was alright. for the whole time, Mydei was — perhaps unknowingly — leaning into your touch, his back slumped. you giggled breathily under your nose, having to hold up the weight of his skull in your palms as you worked. still, you kept your touches rather brief, and fleeting. you were aware of what effect you had on the man, his seemingly stone-bound resolve crumbling into rubble the second your skin met with his. it was quite amusing and, truth be told, endearing — so there was no way you’d cease your teasing.

Mydei barely held back a scoff of disappointment when you retracted your hands from his scalp. at first he wasn’t entertained by the idea of donning an intricate hairstyle, yet as you interwoven the strands of his hair between each other, he couldn’t help the lull of peace mixed with something else washing over him.

he didn’t like the thought, but it is possible he was infatuated with you — the man’s senses bending to your will, not his. it was almost pathetic, the way you could effortlessly keep him coy. what is there about you, that makes you oh-so magnetic, and unique? maybe how you carry yourself, or how you always seem to find a thing more worthy of your attention than him. it drove him crazy — your attitude, and the lingering touches of your fingertips. you weren’t together. you probably won’t be, but once your focus landed on anybody else, Mydei felt a choking squeeze in his gut, the unpleasant tingle of jealousy filling up every fiber of his body. it stung — but pain is a sensation, and sensations are to be enjoyed.

even though you spent two years together, he didn’t know much about you. what were your favourite flowers? if you told him, he’d most likely grow them in his lungs — that’s the degree of which your alluring presence encompassed him. he fell low, and sometimes he was sure he could strip himself bare of his flesh, becoming naked only for your eyes. he kept trying to court you, being at your every whim — alas, what is the joy of giving if the person of your attraction is never going to be pleased?

he felt you tug the last section of his hair into a loose bun, and he thought you were akin to a dove. how graceful, and delicate you were, only to flap your wings with strength before flying away, somewhere up in the overcast sky. slipping through his fingers, being there, yet at the same time not — pulling at his emotions, tying them together like a noose.

you didn’t love him, and still, he loved you. maybe one day you’ll prove to be his doom.

"i’m done." you announced in that quiet, soothing voice of yours. to be honest, you were quite satisfied with your work — the hairstyle wasn’t overly complicated, and you purposefully made it a bit messy to showcase the fierce nature of your model. something sophisticated, or slicked back wouldn’t suit him.

Mydei nodded in understanding, the words unexpectedly slipping from his mouth. "i missed you while you were away, [name]."

your eyebrows rose slightly in surprise, and you leaned a bit closer to him, pressing your chest against his back. "is that so?" you hummed, slowly hooking your arms around his neck. he missed you — what a trivial thing to say. you didn’t think of him at all during your trip, way too occupied with tasks of more importance.

he didn’t answer, instead turning his torso in your direction, his hands already seeking you out. he grabbed you with more fervor than usually, his fingers digging in-between your ribs, evoking a deep inhale out of you. Mydei chased after your lips, and you wholeheartedly expected him to clash into you the same way he did earlier, but the kiss turned out to be much tender. you smiled, pulling yourself even further into him, feeling at the way tension grew in the air.

upon the lack of oxygen, you pulled away, still keeping your forehead pressed against his. "what’s gotten into you?" you panted, carefully stroking the top of his head, afraid you’d ruin the coiffure you worked so meticulously on.

"nothing." he murmured lowly against your jaw, starting to plant kisses along it. his hot breath caused shivers running up and down your spine, and so you gripped his shoulders a bit harder, pressing your nails into the man’s muscles.

he trailed down to you throat, biting at the sensitive skin, leaving bruises behind — even though you couldn’t see them, you were sure they were prominent, and wouldn’t disappear any time soon. unfortunately, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

the need in your body arose, heat spilling over your abdomen in rapid succession, the same way waves clash against the shore, leaving pearly-white foam behind. "Mydei, everyone’s—" you stammered, sensing his palms slide down to your hips, "everyone is going to see my neck."

you felt him smirk throughout all the biting and sucking, his canines dragging over your pulse point. "that’s good." he announced, almost nonchalantly.

you were sure that if he wanted to, his teeth would snap around your windpipe, tearing you open and devouring you whole. and perhaps you were right, because as Mydei kept kissing your throat, while his palms roamed your body, he could only feel desire mixed with something primal, something much more deep-rooted — hunger.

you wanted to fall onto the mattress, but his strong arms fixed you into place, his mouth trailing lower, and lower, until he finally met with the neckline of your clothing. he listened to your heart for a short second, engraving its fast rhythm into memory, breathing in your scent, the kind that makes one’s head woozy and swirling. Mydei wondered whether this love he holds for you will kill him, or make him whole.

his hand found its way under your lap, making your breath hitch, and you wanted to berate yourself for having so little sway over your body. the man’s gaze was dark, sultry in a certain way — as if he was all appetite, the longing tangible in his touch. you both dangled on a single rope, which was threatening to crack at any given moment, letting you spiral down into the black chasm of delight.

the man glued you away from him, sitting you firmly on the edge. you blinked twice at his action, however the whine of complain died on your tongue when he slid off the bed, kneeling in-between your legs. his touch was controlled, but desperate all the same when his fingers slipped under your knees, spreading your thighs apart. you were still fully clothed, yet you could already feel his summery breath through your attire, and it drove you crazy.

once he looked up at you from the cold, hard floor, you swore you saw a glimpse of something akin to worship flash through his irises, as if he managed to find his sense of life in the crooks of your figure.

he looked so beautifully, with his hair tied, and kneeling by your legs, licking at his own lips with a thin-running patience. you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, wanting to sketch the scene and hang it on your ceiling, hovering just above your bed, so whenever you woke up, it would be the first sight to greet you. the piercingly sharp eyes, dripping with a burning ache, and the golden strands framing his cheekbones perfectly.

Mydei effortlessly hooked your calves over his shoulders, pulling his mouth closer, so painfully close it was torturous, and you thought — what would happen if you said those three words that he oh-so obviously yearned to hear?

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part (4) - Died In Your Arms

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word count: 5.3k

-Oh I, I just died in your arms tonight, it must've been some kind of kiss, I should've walked away-

This was a good life, hot chocolate, paper taped to the desk as you drew your third sketch of the building you had in mind. Away from all the worries and for a moment free from any obligations.

“How’s it going?” your mom came up to you and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Mom, you shouldn’t-“ she didn’t wince, her back didn’t hurt, yeah, it would end soon, and you desperately wanted it to continue. Wanted things to get better, wanted her to be healthy again.

Your phone had other ideas, as the alarm rang and the sound of it startled you awake. Curse your need to constantly change your alarm ringtone, otherwise you’d get used to it and sleep right through it. This new one was ridiculously awful, like someone constantly ringing the bell, but it got the job done. “Am I ever going to wake up well-rested again?” you wondered, feeling like you barely slept a wink. You just couldn’t get used to this house.

Well, considering the tales about it, maybe that wasn’t that strange.

Or it was just the reasonable explanation.

As it was, last night your exhausted body just collapsed onto the bed and you fell asleep, and then got woken up by the chill of the night, because of course you were too tired to cover yourself. What followed was you spending way too long trying to warm up. Winter River indeed, it really was cold. Why couldn’t this be some pleasant warm place, somewhere you could still go around wearing short sleeves instead of already needing several layers of clothing.

The only thing worse than the cold was the Chihuahua that was also in the house. “Why the fuck would I let her be on my mind first thing in the morning?” you slapped your forehead, now even more annoyed. Of all the people you could have thought of at the start your day, it had to be her.

Annoyed, you threw the covers off and immediately came to regret it as the cold air made you shiver. On second thought you should probably stay in bed a bit longer, so you went back under the covers into the warm escape from the chilling cold. You swiftly unlocked your phone and figured you might as well check up on your mom and Alex. You sent each of them a message asking how they were and if everything was fine and put your phone away. It was still too early to call them and if you had to be awake it didn't mean you had to wake them up too.

~X~

Halfway through the day and a lot of packing later, you sat down at the table exhausted with the hot cup of tea in front of you. You really needed that as the warmth of the tea seemed to seep into your very soul. Actually, you also needed a blanket around your shoulders and the nice warm fire accompanied by perhaps movie. It's been a while since you've watched ‘Kill, Baby, Kill’ and you were really in the mood for it after these past few days.

Seeing your favorite movie again would probably make your life a tiny bit better.

No, instead of that you had to deal with someone rather happy getting inside the house with an obvious bounce to their steps. You raised your head, confused and for a moment even terrified that someone actually broke in and just didn't care about making noises. And then that someone walked through the door into the dining room and you would have been a lot happier if it was a burglar.

No. Instead it was the fucking Chihuahua what a wide, frighteningly bright, and happy grin on her face and the world was going to end any moment now. You were fairly sure, and not at all being too dramatic, that Astrid Deetz, also known as Chihuahua, being this obviously happy was one of the eleven signs of the apocalypse.

“Oh, of course you're here. Well, it doesn't matter, not even you can ruin my mood,” she just  walked past you, still happy, and not throwing insults at you. She didn’t do anything! Absolutely nothing! Not even glaring at you and you could not remember the last time you were this frightened.

You scrambled to your feet and rushed outside. “Delia!” you cried out hoping the woman would have some kind of help for you maybe some medicine for hallucinations or a plausible explanation or anything really as long as it helped. You desperately needed someone to convince you that just made what happened up in your head!

It was all in your head. There was no other explanation, which made it even more concerning because Astrid Deetz being in your head and part of your hallucinations was not a good sign for you. Frankly, at this point you had no idea which was worse, Astrid being happy or you thinking about the damn Chihuahua to the point of hallucinating seeing her happy.

~X~

“Damn it Delia, why couldn’t you just get this delivered to the damn house?!” you hissed, a lot like the creatures inside the box you were currently carrying. You knew you had fear of heights before, but apparently you also had a fear of snakes. Which was made a lot worse by the sounds the snakes were making and you were praying that the people Delia bought the snakes from didn't scam her and actually defanged them.

Sure, in theory you were safe. The box was sealed, and safe, but your brain still came up with frightening scenarios. As safe as the box probably was you were still frightened that they would somehow find their way out and bite you and you did not want to die due to snake bites.

‘How many times am I going to risk my life in one single week?’ you wondered, and you really shouldn't have because you had a few more times before the end of this trip.

You finally reached the house and couldn’t have been happier to see it as you rushed up the stairs and set the box on the table for Delia to do whatever she intended to do with the snakes. You really hoped she wouldn't make you go with her because at that point you might actually think staying with Rory would be more pleasant. And just to be safe you immediately turned to Delia when she walked into the room. “I'm done with the snakes, I did my part the rest is up to you,” you urgently informed her before she could get more great ideas.

Delia just laughed. “They are defanged, don't worry,” apparently they were, you weren’t about to check.

You slumped slightly, doing your best puppy eyes to get her to let you stay out of this. “I am still not comfortable around snakes, so please don’t ask me to help you with them,” well at least she didn't look like she would push you to join her as she smiled and patted you on the shoulder.

“Come on, I'm not that cruel,” she smiled at you and then shook her head in amusement at the relief showing on your face. “I thought it would be a good experience is for you to watch, but it’s fine if you don’t. Oh and Y/N, you can rest tonight, you don't even have to go to the wedding,” she was telling you one good news after the other. “We have a few more things to do tomorrow morning and then you can go back home,” Delia surprise you but maybe you should have expected it. She had her moments of kindness and you've been on the receiving end plenty of times, despite all the less pleasant, more dangerous and difficult moments you had with her.

“Thanks Delia, I really appreciate it,” you told her as Astrid joined the two of you.

“Snakes?” Astrid looked at the content of the box, surprised by what she saw and for once you couldn't blame her. Personally, you didn't quite get why Delia got them herself but she wanted them and she got them. Something about Ancient Egypt and Pharaohs from what you understood.

“Actually asps,” Delia corrected her, and you had to admit she actually sounded excited about them.

“Why? Are they a wedding gift for Rory?” Astrid asked, hopeful that the answer would be yes.

“Now that would’ve made it worth carrying them,” you knew that wasn’t their purpose but  no one could force you to stop happily imagining Rory freaking out over the snakes.

For the first time since you've known her, Astrid actually didn't have a rude remark or an insult for you, and actually just rolled her eyes with a smile which was almost freaky but not exactly an unwelcome change.

“Too late they've be defanged, guaranteed harmless! And they're for me.” Delia shattered your dreams well, yours was never even allowed to begin because you knew from the start what she wanted to do with them. Still for a moment you could hope that she would at least use them as a prank. It’s not like they were one se only! She could use them for more than one thing. After all, she already got them, why not just use them on the bastard as a very funny prank. It would not change anything about the snakes, and they could still be used for the ritual thing she had in mind.

Well, you were left with only your dreams.

You left the two of them to check if there was anything left unpacked, you were just about to head back upstairs when Lydia rushed down and you turned around, not sure how to react to the frantic woman.

“You got your wish, we're leaving! Pack up your things, I'm driving you back to school,” Lydia seemed absolutely frantic, like she just saw a ghost, which, well, she was supposed to be able to see them. You watched from the stairs as she went by you and toward the front door

“Wait! What happened” Astrid called after her.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Lydia denied answering Astrid’s question.  That actually made sense, especially if it had something to do with ghosts, which this house apparently had at one point. So going by their relationship and the issues Astrid had with her mother you guessed it was something paranormal in question.

Delia, however, did not make that connection. “Oh you're calling off the wedding?” she went after Lydia outside and just for a moment you and Astrid exchanged looks do you just shrugged finally realizing that you couldn't even begin to try and have a normal conversation with her. That's how used you were to just fights and banter and insults and everything that came along with this hatred between you.

Eventually you just pointed at yourself then point upstairs and then point at her and outside. The message being clear, you would, rather regrettably, check up on Rory while she would go and check up on her mother.

To that Astrid, just as unsure of how to interact with you like a normal human being, just went and gave you a thumbs up and you both went your separate ways, one up the stairs to the attic and the other outside to talk to her mother.

~X~

Lydia was stuck in the office, just contemplating everything about her and Astrid’s relationship.

Apparently, her daughter was not gay. In fact, she had a date with a boy. Her first date was with a boy, not with the girl as she expected it would be. Did Lydia really mess up that much that she wasn't even capable of seeing how things actually were? Her daughter, who she believed was gay and actually had a crush on you and was just unable to properly act up on those feelings, threw her a curveball and was going on a date on Halloween night with a boy she met 2 days ago.

How did she miss the signs?

Her concerns were now even bigger because, unlike you, this boy was a complete unknown for Lydia. She didn't know his full name, she didn't know his parents, granted she didn't know your parents either but that was beside the point, she didn't know how he spent his time, what his interests were. She didn't know anyone who knew him, and she was now overthinking it and panicking and was getting even more nervous and afraid for her own daughter because this was a mess, and she was disappointed in herself as a mother for mistaking her daughter’s sexuality.

Maybe Astrid was just bisexual. Maybe. Maybe Lydia just got so deep into preparing for a girlfriend that she forgot that there were other options, all equally daunting for her as the mother of a child that would soon start, that actually just stated dating, and find her own love and heartbreak and everything Lydia herself went through all those decades ago.

Also did her daughter actually just tell her that she crashed through the fence and that's how she met the guy? Like it was just something people did for fun? How did that even happen?

Lydia began breathing deeply, huffing and taking very loud, very deep breaths. She could not go down that train of thought.

~X~

He liked her.

Jeremy liked her. Astrid knew that much, she could see signs that he wanted to kiss her, that he really didn't want to spend any time handing out candies to the kids and instead actually wanted to spend time with her.

And she, at least logically speaking, wasn't opposed to the idea. At least it would prove to her that some feelings she may or may not have were, in fact, not real and just her heart playing with her brain so she would kiss him to prove her heart wrong.

Astrid let him approach her, she felt his hands on her, hugging her and she hugged him back, and he held her like he hasn’t been touched in years. Like he was desperate to feel someone’s touch, someone’s kind and positive touch. Astrid could almost feel his breath on her lips and then she just couldn't do it, because there was an infuriating Barnacle plaguing her thoughts at that very moment.

She pulled away, separating from him even though she knew how it looked. “Sorry I just I think we are rushing too fast into this,” she apologized and he seemed understanding at first. At least from the looks of it, he just turned to the window and looked rejected “I'm not saying I'm opposed to kissing you eventually, but we just met two days ago,” she tried to cheer him up but then he turned to face her.

“No, you’re right, I'm- I'm sorry I just got excited because you can see me and for over 23 years no one saw me and I just thought we had something,” she must have heard him wrong but then she looked down and saw it.

He was floating and that's when she realized all the stories her mother told were actually true and she was actually seeing a ghost these past few days

~X~

You were in the living room, with everyone aside from Astrid and Rory, plus Jane, just lazing around on the sofa and texting Alex. You weren’t in a costume, you had no intention of dressing up for the Halloween.

The truth was, you kind of hated Halloween. Well hate might be a strong word, mostly reserved for Astrid and maybe another thing or two. No the actual word you were looking for regarding Halloween was more like indifference brought upon by that's one time you got dressed as a pumpkin and got teased for by your classmates.

It wasn't fun. It was actually horrific and ever since then you just didn't bother celebrating Halloween. So, what if Astrid was currently on her ridiculous date? It had nothing to do with your current mood. Even if you did hated the guy more than you hated her for some reason. You should have felt sorry for him, after all he was the one who had to deal with being on a date with the Chihuahua.

So, no, you did not care about Astrid being on a date with some random dude.

You just realized you’d be all alone. Delia would be at the cemetery doing whatever she seemed to want to do with the snakes and Lydia would be preparing for her wedding and Rory would be giving out the candy. And you were fine with that. You would just be hanging around on the couch in the living room waiting for Delia to sign all the papers and then you could just go ahead and leave, just start packing what little things you brought here and get ready to go back home. Luckily Delia promised she would arrange a car to come pick you up.

“Where's Rory?” Lydia asked out of blue, almost as if she was asking out of obligation, because she should know where he was and not because she actually had to know where he was. Especially since she had Chihuahua’s first date to worry about.

“Supermarket swapping out the candy I bought for carrot sticks, because Rory loves to fun suck everything even Halloween,” of course Delia did not miss a single chance point out the kind of person Rory was, because Lydia apparently couldn’t see him for who he really was. Even if it didn’t change anything you figured she did feel the need to, in her own way, warn her stepdaughter about him because as far as you knew telling Lydia that Rory was not who he was presenting himself as wasn't working. “Gotta run, see you at the church,” she turned back to Lydia and with a hopeful look added. “Unless you're calling off the wedding.”

“No Delia,” Lydia sighed and just noticed Delia was leaving, that was how focused on Astrid she was. “Wait, why are you going to the cemetery?” Lydia asked. It just crossed your mind that she in her panic earlier today did not see the snakes Delia bought.

“To commune with my dear husband spirit,” was all Delia needed to say. She quickly waved at you and was on her way leaving you alone with Lydia and Jane and from the looks of it, Jane was going to leave soon so that would just leave you and Lydia alone in the house for a while. At least until she would go and get Astrid. Oh, and until Rory came back.

Still, it could be fun. You haven't had the chance to be on your own wait the Lydia Deetz and you actually were curious about her. And it had nothing to do with maybe not wanting to be alone while a certain Chihuahua was on a date with a guy she met two days ago, while she spent so damn long hating you. Yeah, that had nothing to do with it.

Nothing at all!

You did not care where that stupid Chihuahua was or how quickly she fell in love like dumb ass.

“The closest we ever got to Disney was when Astrid dressed as Cinderella’s dead mom,” you absolutely did not filter out what Jane mentioned about her daughter and scouts or whatever group her daughter was in and you absolutely did not think Astrid’s costume sounded exactly like her.

Jane said something something fruit salad mortgage something something non triggering and then asked the question that was annoying the hell out of you, that is, she asked where Astrid was.

Lydia had this soft, yet somber smile on her face. “On a date,” she said, like a parent learning to accept their child was growing up. “Her first. I think I'm more nervous than she is. The boy lives over on Jefferson,” Lydia really did sound nervous when she said that, and you guessed between their rocky relationship and all the things that happened Astrid’s first date at this moment wasn’t something Lydia was entirely prepared for.

Something something perfect sales records something something on the market for years something something once more you're pretty much tuning out the words of the woman the Deetz family hired to sell their house. And you were doing good, tuning her out, that is until she said three words: the murder house and you immediately sat up and stopped texting Alex. A sinking feeling inside of your guts was almost telling you to pay attention because you just had a bad feeling about what was going to they said next.

“Murder house? Which house?” Lydia asked now frantic and you sort of pieced together that's maybe the house show left Astrid at wasn't that far off from looking like a murder house. Because if the house looked normal and if Lydia you got to see the parents or that boy she would not be looking this afraid right now.

“125,” James said and just from the look of Lydia's face you knew that was the house Astrid was in and so you jumped to your feet and rushed to get the car keys.

“Fucking hell Chihuahua, what did you get yourself into?” just as you've got the keys you saw Lydia rushing out. “I'm going with you!” you quickly told her and followed after her into the car. The woman was clearly in shock but all she cared about was just getting to Astrid, nothing else mattered.

You did not dare to tell her you would get there in time. You had no idea how all of this worked, sure you believed in ghosts and you've been seeing glimpses of strange things throughout your life. You still had no idea how any of that actually functioned. You had no idea if they could harm Astrid.

If the guy she was with was bad news then she probably was in danger and especially if Lydia, the most competent person to judge if her daughter was in danger from ghosts was also panicking. “He killed his parents 23 years ago!” okay, Astrid was definitely in danger. “If I just didn’t let her into that house, if I just went in with her! What kind of mother am I if something happens to her-“ Lydia was mostly talking to herself.

“Hey, wait, wait, don't go there you couldn't know!” You tried to get her to calm down. “You're the expert but you couldn't know! Just focus on saving her so you can berate yourself later,” you needed her focused because if she wasn't, you had no hopes of getting Astrid back in time. And you really, as much as you didn't like Astrid, did not want her dead or in danger.

~X~

The moment the car began slowing down in front of the house you just ran out, without even waiting for it to stop and ran up the stairs ignoring the for sale sign in front of the house. You ended up bursting through the doors so hard the handle might have gotten a bit damaged because the doors were old.

You stumbled when you entered the house, you felt sick for a moment when you saw the man. But you did not see him clearly, it was like there was a mist around him.

"Astrid!" Lydia yelled and it snapped you out of your confusion. That man was a ghost, mist meant ghost, at least at this stage of your ability to see ghosts. So, you rushed right through the woman going down the stairs.

"Wait! Deetz!" you yelled as loud as you could as you ran up the stairs two steps at a time. You saw the light and broke through the door, but Astrid just walked through something.

"What the? Barnacle?" your eyes met and you reached out to her but the ghost guy grabbed her forearm and pulled her along and the portal closed before you could reach out and grab her hand.

"Astrid!" Lydia cried out, but it was too late as well.

If only she reached out to you. For the first time since you met her you cursed yourself for not being at least civil with her. "Damn it!" you slammed your fist on the old table, right next to some thick book. "What do we do now?"

Lydia grabbed the book on the table, your outburst probably caught her attention. "Come on, I have a crazy idea," you saw uncertainty in her eyes, fear that maybe not even what she had in mind would be enough, but she had to hope. You both rushed down the stairs, every second mattered and you couldn't waste time on just talking. "Can you drive?" she asked, clearly intending to go through the book.

"Of course," you nodded and ran to the car, starting the engine once more as Lydia sat down next to you.

~X~

You had no time to waste, as you drove around the house and parked the car right in front of the entrance to the house, not even caring that you would somewhat block the path for the kids. They could avoid the car, it didn't matter, you just had to be quick and find a way to rescue Astrid, so up to the stairs you drove.

“Y/N?! Where’s the rush? You're nearly drove into the house!” Rory exclaimed as he was on top of the stairs preparing to hand out the candy to the kids, but you just ran past him not really wasting a moment to stop and chat. You didn’t even turn the engine off, just parked the car.

Lydia gave him some excuse or whatever as you both rushed upstairs. She already told you where to go so you just grabbed the crowbar on the way upstairs and started removing the boards Delia and Lydia put there just an hour or so ago. By the time Lydia came up the stairs as well you were almost done and you both pulled the last wooden board out of the way and went into the attic and from that point on you could only watch her as she found the solution.

The first thing that caught your eye was the small scale model of Winter River, done in amazing detail, and if things were any different you would have spent hours studying it.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” she took a deep breath. “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice!” you had no idea what was going on as she repeated that word? Name? Whatever it was three times.

And then the freakiest thing happened the mist slash smoke surrounding the paranormal vanished from your vision as the zombie-looking guy with green hair and striped suits and rather unhealthy-looking skin emerged from the Winter River model. “The juice is loose,” he said and vanished, only to appear right next to Lydia.

“I need you to tell me what this means,” she skipped the formalities and just showed him the pages of the book she found in that room where Astrid was.

“Let's have a look,” he pulled out a magnifying glass. “Long story short, your daughter is screwed,” well, fuck! “She decided to trade lives with a boy, he gets to come back while she's stuck on the other side, permanently. One way ticket to the Soul Train,” this guy, Beetlejuice, explained and you were just absolutely confused about what was going on. Afterlife actually existed, and people could come back.

More importantly… “She did what?! Why would she do that? Who does that?” you demanded. Astrid was smart! What did that ghost offer her to make her accept giving up her life? Or did he just outright trick her? “Shit, we need to get her back,” you turned away from Lydia and Beetlejuice and ran your hand through your hair, not even sure you would make it in time.

“The Soul Train?” Lydia asked for further explanations.

“That's right! The last stop, The Great Beyond,” he said and you just leaned back against the wall. Was there even anything you could do at this point? Astrid was on the other and you were over here in the living world. But then again Beetlejuice was from that other world. Was that why Lydia called him? Because he could somehow move the two of you into the world of the dead?

Wait, were you about to go into the world of the dead for Astrid? Not knowing the risks, or the consequences, or if it would be dangerous? You knew nothing about it, it was a complete unknown that you weren’t even sure existed five minutes ago!

Somehow you knew the answer was yes. You would take all those risks to take her back, because you plain and simple couldn’t live with yourself if you just let her die.

“Can we go in after her?” You asked as you once more turned toward Lydia and Beetlejuice.

“Quid pro quo, I want something in return,” while he replied to you he was looking at Lydia, as if he would only accept something from her.

Maybe those were the rules? Since she summoned him?

“Of course you do. What do you want?” Lydia asked ready to give him anything he asked for as long as it would save her daughter.

“Well I've got this ex-wife-“ Beetlejuice began and you've spent enough time with Delia and you knew a tangent when you saw one.

“Get to the point!” You exclaimed. Each second could be vital in keeping Astrid alive, and you did not want to waste it on his tangents.

“You want me to marry you,” Lydia knew what he wanted, and you just turned to look at her because what the fuck was that about? How would that even work? All of this was too much and the only reason you were keeping your sanity was because you had a goal in mind.

You weren’t sure you’d be keeping your sanity for much longer as so you watched this Beetlejuice act like getting married was Lydia's idea, like she just proposed to him because she wanted that. And then he made her sign some contract because apparently, he needed that in writing. You were in the most absurd situation possible and you half- expected to just wake up and see that everything was fine. Like this was all just a fever dream and you would wake up go to the work at the library you'd see Astrid there being annoying and being a Chihuahua and getting on your nerves and not on the way to swap lives with a ghost and die.

“What's the plan on getting in?” Lydia had enough of his bullshit as well and just demanded to know how you all would get in.  

Beetlejuice just vanished again and appeared in front of the wall, crouching and drawing a bomb with the fuse. He then just went and lit his thumb on fire. This was all absolutely ridiculous because the drawn fuse just lit on fire and the bomb exploded and instead of looking outside of the house you were looking into some office.

“Deetz, you're gonna be the death of me,” you said, ready to just go through.

“Trust me kid I know the feeling,” Beetlejuice said.

“I did not ask,” fuck it, you were going in, and you were not getting out without Astrid.

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Masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

[moodymisty]

Please please please PLEASE produce some nsfw with female reader Alexis Polux Propaganda. I need some Imperial Fist content.

Author's note: HMNGNGNGGGGG POLUX TIME

Relationships: Alexis Polux/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Praise kink, Polux is a good boy™, Rough-ish sex

"I'm surprised to see someone so young here,"

A voice speaks, and you don't entirely realize they're talking to you until they come up on your left side with an expectant look on their face.

"You look a bit too well dressed to be someones servant," You aren't quite a fan of the way he seems to examine you like a painting, but you assume he just isn't familiar with social gatherings. Many of the people in these circles are always examining for weaknesses, valuable information, so the feeling isn't entirely new. You just aren't used to it.

With a soft smile you nod to say hello despite him not giving you the same courtesy, holding your parchment close to your chest.

Your drawings had been going well, documenting the progress of the Palace has been no small feat, and the few picts you've taken will go along will with the various sketches you've been working on.

"Well, I'm usually not on Terra, But right now I'm here on business. Imp-"

The man cuts you off, letting out a noise. You're not sure if he's a commissar out of his regalia or a lord, not that it matters in the end.

"Ohhh! That's surprising."

You wonder why he thinks that.

"You don't seem like a young lady who would be part of the fortifications of the Sol system," It takes a lot in you to keep your place- to not roll your eyes - and just smile and nod.

"Well, looks are deceiving sometimes."

The man smiles and nods, seemingly amused your answer.

"Indeed they are."

You look away from him and over the massive and ornate railing at the view below you, spires and twisting paths of gold weaved between endless construction. Your primarch has been hard at work, and the pict you decide to take will serve as a useful thing to add to your ever growing documentation.

The man looks at you amusingly as you do it, but oddly enough doesn't ask why.

"How long have you been out here all alone?" He looks at you curiously, his chin tilted upward just slightly as he casually crosses his arms.

You think on it for a moment. You aren't meant to be here for the current meeting, it just happens to be going on in tandem to your arrival. You also haven't been alone for most of it, though your guardian- you can't think of any other word to call him, even if guardian doesn't quite fit - has been absent as he left to give orders briefly.

"No more than an hour, I think." The man throws out a hand, gesturing it vaguely in your direction.

"An hour out here? how about you come and get a drink with me? At least take a break and warm up before you come back out here." You politely shake your head and take a step back, still holding your parchments close to your chest.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have the time to take a break, I'm quite busy."

He waves off your refusal. "Nonsense, have you even been to a Terran gathering? There's plenty of things I'm sure you've never seen before. Have you tried wine?"

You haven't, but your interest to do so is nonexistent under this context. Desires aside, you have work to do; Dorn and his men hold your work to a high bar and won't be fond to see you slacking off.

"I haven't but I really need to get back to my work, or my Pri-"

The man reaches for you hand and while he grasps it gently, the gesture is unwelcome.

You notice two Imperial Fists passing by as you tug your hand out of his own and back away, scowling at him. The closer Fist that passes you by looks at you, and moments later you hear the distinctive crackle of the vox device in his helmet turning on as he continues by. It's a soft sound you've gotten used to, in your time close to astartes.

"Surely your work isn't important enough to not enjoy some company. I am far too bored of the people who only seem to chat because they want something."

Despite his lament seemingly authentic he seems to want something from you, hence his forcefulness. he reaches forward once again to put a hand on your arm and you back away, but you accidentally back yourself between him and the railing- cornering yourself.

"I told you, I am here on business and I am really not interested in-"

You hear something to your left, the thundering of heavy footsteps - and the both of you turn to see the source.

A wide surface of bright yellow armor is what you see, spanning far wider than you and far taller, as well. It makes you overjoyed, you know who he is- while the man looses all the blood in his face at once.

“Let go of her.”

Polux doesn’t need to do much more than speak and the man removes his hand, as now it's suddenly as if you're on fire.

Polux stands in the same realm as the primarchs in height in his armor, and even someone used to being around space marines would find themself more than a bit intimidated by him by just his presence, let alone being the object of his displeasure.

You know he's far kinder than his off-putting visage implies, but both you and Polux are fine with not letting anyone know about it.

"Thank you, Polux."

The man seems surprised by you saying the marine's name so casually, and the way he looks down at you. He looks at you as if he knows you, which given how rare it is for astartes to interact with baseline humans, is more than a bit unusual. His short, cropped blonde hair is stuck to his head in weird ways, after so long underneath his helmet.

You turn to him, fingers flexing around your notebook as you take one side step in Polux's direction.

"I was trying to say I am here on Imperial Fist business. I am one of the remembrancers for The Fists documenting their fortification of Terra." Polux stares at the man, and his neutral face accidentally serves to frighten him more. Despite you knowing the astartes is almost what you would dare consider shy, his stalwart, wrinkled face does not imply that in the slightest.

"And I am quite busy doing so."

The man swallows, playing with his teeth while shifting his jaw nervously.

"Oh I am, so so sorry. I never meant to intrude on Fists business, I was only trying to offer a nice lady a d-" Polux ignores the man; Looking down at you.

"Are you alright?"

You know if you say you aren't Polux will more than likely drag the man somewhere to be punished for his misdeeds. But you're fine, and find the whole idea a bit too time consuming to deal with. It's not as if he did anything horrific, besides being far too pushy and irritating. Given your status as remembrancer mouthing off to someone who might possibly be a high lord wasn't something you can do either, less you risk getting your head rent from your shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ok. Just a little handsy."

Polux only needs to take one look in his direction and gesture, almost as if the man is a wild animal, to dismiss him, and he walks off with a briskness in his step.

Now alone with Polux you soften significantly; While he doesn't do the same visibly, you can tell in his tone of voice and eyes that he is somewhat less aggravated.

You give him a sweet smile, ignoring the chilly breeze penetrating your clothes. He must've gotten the vox that the Fist sent when he walked by, probably knowing a fight was brewing. He looks down at you with that stoic but soft expression.

Even as battle hardened and massive as he is, something about Polux is almost, gentle.

"Thank you so much for saving me, Polux. I needed that."

His face changes just the slightest bit. You don't know why, and you can only assume he finds your thank you thoughtful. You don't imagine he hears the words that often.

Reaching forward he grasps your shoulder with his wide gauntlet, and starts to push you along. You nearly stumble over with how much ground he expects you to cover in one step, almost loosing hold of your parchments.

"We should return to the Eternal Crusader."

When you returned to the ship, it had taken Polux 45 minutes to remove himself from his armor.

Record time; Given his size he wears custom armor that takes more effort- and thus time - to remove.

It had taken only fifteen more to return to his quarters, dragging you along. Once you got there, there was only roughly 40 seconds before the sound of the door locking, and Polux picking you up, and throwing you onto his cot.

Your clothes didn’t survive the minutes after- they became tattered ribbons on the floor as Polux made a strategic path to his target.

He had such a logistical way about it; his bred traits cause him to treat every scenario with stoic and almost taciturn attitude.

He thrusts into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with an embarrassing loudness.

“Thank you for saving me, Alexis,”

The sentence goads him on hitting a deep part of him, and you feel the way he drives his cock even deeper into you. He’s pressing you into the cot, laying on your stomach back arched to present yourself to him. Polux is almost uncomfortably wide at his hips and torso, you can barely spread your thighs enough to allow him close enough, unless he puts your knees by your ears.

“Why must you find yourself in trouble every time I turn away from you,”

You let out a sharp moan as he drives himself into your particularly deep, and the thick base of his cock stretches you even wider.

“It just finds me, I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He lets out a soft groan and you swear your feel his cock throb inside of you at the praise.

Polux has always had trouble recognizing his own skill among the other Imperial Fists. His skill is never enough, and he always doubts his place as belonging to his late brother. Your words fan a fire inside of him that only fuels with the acknowledgement that he has done his duty to the utmost of perfectionism, and never once faltered.

“More, please more,”

He grunts with effort as his massive forearms cage your body, his hips slapping against your ass. You know you're going to be covered in bruises that you'll have to cover, find excuses for, but you couldn't care less. You nearly squeal as the head of his cock bullies his way deeper inside of you, feeling like it’s at your belly button. His cot isn’t meant for this kind of abuse and creaks unhappily, threatening to crumble under the weight and strength of nearly 400 kilos of muscle and fat.

Why did you have to pick the biggest Imperial Fist that’s ever lived? Polux swallows your entire body in his shadow, and the overwhelming heat he exudes stifles the air with the hot smell of sweat and sex, combined with the odd chemical smell of an Astartes.

In an odd way it’s begun to stir something in you, and at times you at the way your body betrays you and begins to get hot at the worst of times.

Your hands desperately attempt to reach for anything to hold on to, one gripping his forearm and feeling his hair on your palm. You can feel the almost painful tightness in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer, gritting your teeth.

You have to be loud enough that it can be heard in the halls. You dread the idea of the serfs hearing their newest, brightest and shiniest remembrancer getting getting absolutely fucked out of her mind by one of the Imperial Fist's most stalwart and immovable men. But you can’t find the ability to be quiet- not when the Astartes is trying to force his cock impossibly deeper with each thrust as his balls slap against your cunt.

His brow furrows tight as he fucks you like it’s a singular goal, giving no mercy or gentleness.

The painful twisting vice in your stomach finally snaps when you cum, what little strength you had to keep your hips tilted upwards fails. You go nearly limp, and Polux is forced to move a hand to grab your hip and hold you up to continue trying to drive himself closer and closer to your cervix.

The way your soft walls clench around him almost stops the marine dead, and you can hear the hiss he lets out through his teeth.

This is only the third time he’s fucked you, and the first time he’s initiated it. The feeling of nerves and neurons unused being stimulated in such a way is almost overwhelming to him, and he isn’t sure if he enjoys the way his body almost takes control from him in that desperate, primal effort to finish.

He grips your hip tighter and fucks you harder with little regard to your limp and well fucked body, cumming inside of you not a few moments later. Buried to the hilt you feel the hot pooling of cum inside of you, and the way his cock twitches with each spurt.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the feeling of your abused cunt fluttering around nothing, and beads of his cum leaking from you.

You feel the back of your thighs ache in pain, and you’re sure they’ll be bruised wonderfully in a few hours.

“…Are you well?”

Polux says with an almost out of place concern as you lay limp on his cot. You nod and try to turn on your side beneath him.

“I’ll, I’ll be ok.” You don’t know if you will be right away; Your lower stomach aches as your cunt tries to recover from his abuse, and you’re sure sitting down or doing anything strenuous is going to be painful the next few days.

Polux furrows his brow, shifting his thin lips.

“I, do not like how unclear my mind gets during my… time, with you.”

You wish you could explain to him that’s normal, but to a man who’s known nothing but the machinations of a crusade, of standing stalwart and logical in the face of unknowns- desireless - you don’t know if you ever could.

“Do you want me to leave?” You look up at him, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

You attempt to adjust, but the motion puts tension on your aching muscles and causes you to grimace.

“You’re hurt? You lied?” Polux looks at you sternly, and you shake your head.

“I’m just really, sore. And bruised.” Polux shifts and moves to stand, further motivated when you hiss in pain again.

“You need the Medicae.” You quickly speak up. “Would you like to explain to them how you, an Astartes, fucked me so hard I can’t walk, or should I?”

Polux stares at you stone faced, a thinking expression that would be funny, if not for the embarrassment you implied.

“I… I will go to the apothecary and say you injured yourself and need salve.” Polux shifts his jaw, and you can see some of his more shy personality come through. “I will, forgo the details.”

You can’t help but smile a bit before he leaves, watching as the man storms off task at hand, and leaves you to wait.

[vicolette]

Beyond Brushstrokes !

– A/N : I love him so much

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, mentions of pet names, fluff (are these even real warnings)

"You need… pencils?"

"Yep!" You immediately nodded your head and showed him your empty paint tubes, before raising an eyebrow at what he had just said. "Not pencils, but paint tubes! And maybe also a few new brushes… but I have tons of pencils!"

"I know," Lamine chuckled nervously at your excitement to go shopping, knowing how much you loved to draw and how many art supplies you have in your room. He had always found your sketches fascinating in school, which is how you both have met – through art.

He doesn’t understand anything about art, though. You, on the other hand?

Well, if it wasn’t about color theories or having to draw anatomy, then you were an expert.

"Sure, we can go. Just when?" As he shrugged his shoulders in agreement, you beamed with joy, your smile lightening up the whole room, or rather place, since you both were walking home together from school.

"Right now?" Your suggestion made him ponder for a second, thinking about what he had planned for tonight. Lamine wanted to drop you off at your house, then go to the gym and lastly go home, eat dinner and shower. That was what a normal day looked like for him, at least.

Nobody would notice if he skipped just one day of training or gym, right?

"Yeah, sure."

As soon as you both stepped inside an art store, Lamine regretted his decision.

Nothing, truly nothing, made you pay attention to him, your focus merely on the various options of art brushes. He stood behind you, trying to ignore the whispers behind him of some strangers, who thought that he was the Lamine Yamal.

And he, indeed, was the starboy of FC Barcelona – the one, who was in the spotlight in each match and one of (if not) the best youngsters in the whole world. Lamine was used to getting recognized by both fans or haters, was used to people showering him with compliments and unnecessary attention, and he thought that it was annoying.

However, whenever he tried to quietly call out your name, in order for the others in the store to not confirm their theories, you’d just continue looking around. It made him frown as Lamine stared daggers at the back of your head, until you finally turned around.

"We should go–"

"Which one do you think is the best?!" Two acrylic paint pens were shoved to his face, both of them almost the same dark blue color as the other, yet he only needed to see the big smile on your face to feel even more jealous.

Jealous? Of art supplies? You’re kidding.

"Take both," The confused expression on your face afterwards made him want to pinch your cheek and kiss you right here, but instead, he just placed a hand on your lower back, which got you a bit flustered as a little bit of blush started to appear on your face. "You can decide which one you would take later on."

It took you a while to figure out whether meant by that, the recognizable sound of 'ooh' leaving your mouth before you nodded your head again and dropped the two pens into the baskets.

The rest of the shopping was spent with him beside you, wanting to hold you at all times and not letting go of you even once. While the baskets grew fuller, you were even more happier than ever and were over the moon, grateful for being here.

"Alright! I think that’s it," Once you had exclaimed that statement, you had expected him to show you the basket and let you choose which ones you didn’t really need. Instead, the hand lingering on your back left, which you noticed as you turned around and saw how he was walking away.

"Lamine?" Now, you had trust in Lamine ever since you two got into a relationship – hell, even when you both were still friends, but at that moment, you narrowed your eyes in suspicion and wondered, 'What did I do wrong?'

Nonetheless, you knew that there were strangers around, so you couldn’t just call him by his name in public, instead opting to go for some pet name.

"Uh… darling? No, that sounds stupid," While you were opting for which nickname you were going for, Lamine had already returned with a brand new bag from the shop, making you squeal as you saw how cute the design was. "Oh my god, that’s so adorable!"

"I know, right?" Lamine stood there rather proudly, showing off the bag as he took in your focus on it. Just then, you realized that the basket from earlier had been replaced with the lovely bag, looking up to see Lamine already staring at you.

At that moment, the realization firstly dawned upon you.

"Wait, I was supposed to pay!" In response to your surprise, Lamine chuckled softly and ruffled your hair, letting you hold the bag as you saw that he had bought everything. The guilt made you stare at it for a second too long, yet Lamine was quick to notice and reassure you.

"Money is no problem, let’s just get outta here," The pout on your face was still present while he dragged you outside the store, but you couldn’t help but feel grateful for having him. Not due to the money, yet because he valued your attention and wanted it.

A cold breeze hit you both as the normal weather of late February made you shiver, to which Lamine draped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer.

Going home and relaxing with you sounded really good to Lamine, but when you suddenly stopped walking to stare at something, he followed your gaze, only to immediately frown at the foreign sight.

"Oh hell no."

"Oh my god, is that a new art gallery?!"

– A/N : Tysm for all the likes on my last posts!! The support makes me smile every time ahhh

[freneticfloetry]

In grand celebration of ACD’s birthday, the Red, White & Royal Box is officially live!

The RWRBox comes in two separate sizes, and each is chock full of FirstPrince jewelry, collectibles, and custom ephemera. Full details are available in the listing, but here’s a peek at each box, as well as a few of my favorite things.

Both boxes have decorative inside lids. The Curated Collection box sports a stylized “you and me and history” quote alongside firework art reminiscent of the collector’s edition cover, while the Complete Collection features a framed FirstPrince portrait by @ambiguouspenny, backed by architectural sketches of the White House and Kensington Palace and flanked with yellow and English tea roses.

(It is literally impossible to do that portrait justice in a photo. I keep trying, but it honestly has to be seen in person for full impact. The veladora art, meanwhile, has been my lockscreen for months.)

The canon ephemera was painstakingly recreated from real-life examples. There was no Wimbledon in 2020, obviously, but Alex’s gold-foiled pass is based on two recent tickets to the Royal Box. For Henry’s gold-embossed invite to the White House, I studied past State Dinner invitations until my eyes crossed (and went through four rounds of typesetting revisions to find the perfect Copperplate font). And as for his little souvenir from the Olympics… that was based on an actual ticket to a Rio 2016 diving event (not the finals, but still — I swear you can find anything on the internet if you just go far enough down the rabbit hole). Dates on the tickets are completely book accurate.

Both pieces of post-canon ephemera feature messages from Alex to Henry. Had to lean into my fanfic roots somehow.

Each bracelet comes with a set of standard charms by default (their initials, a wedding cake, a love letter, and either an aquamarine — their joint birthstone — or a silver heart and red, white, and royal blue glass pearls). Customization-wise, there are almost forty additional charms to choose from.

The silk ipê-amarelo blossoms are from vintage garlands made by a local vendor and sadly not available anymore. Which is tragic, since they’re absolutely perfect.

With a few exceptions (the trinket box, room spray bottle, noisemakers, and portrait frame) the non-print items included in each collection were all sourced from small businesses and independent creators.

The stash of vintage and antique Austens amassed for this is probably out of control. They’re all hardcover and in fantastic condition, and span all titles (though it is, admittedly, pretty P&P heavy). The latest is from 1980, but the earliest thus far is that amazing pocket edition of Sense & Sensibility, which is from 1913.

The linen & room spray is skin-safe, though (for me, at least) it’s much more an atmospheric scent than a wearable one. For the record, the notes are “bergamot, clean linen, fresh cut grass, roasted coffee, a dash of cinnamon, and a whisper of smoke.” One of these days I’ll stop spraying my room down with it every night before bed.

Henry’s journal is covered in grey suiting tweed and has a tiny silver fox foiled on the cover, which makes me irrationally happy every time I see it.

Alex’s (lurid teal) “Hoe Dameron” kimono is fully embroidered, not screen printed. It does indeed have pockets. :)

I know I’ve teased this project twice already, but after months of building it bit by bit, it’s amazing to have it done and out in the world. I love these boys, and I’m so excited for the fandom to see everything inside. And to anyone who actually does order a collection, i just want to say thank you here — as a multiracial AfroLatina with my own ally to questioning to queer journey, Alex and his story mean so much to me, and I loved getting to bring it to life in this way.

You can find the Red, White & Royal Box here, with a full breakdown of what’s included in each collection.

A portion of each sale benefits the Broadway Youth Center, which provides basic needs, health and social services, and gender-affirming care to LGBTQ+ young people here in Chicago experiencing homelessness and housing instability.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask away — my comments and inbox are open. :)

(And for my fellow Tarlos folks: you’re up next.)

I am once again tagging the FirstPrince mutuals: @rmd-writes @welcometololaland @three-drink-amy @orchidscript @firstprince-history-huh @never-blooms @liminalmemories21 @cha-melodius @lightningboltreader @danieljradcliffe @actual-sleeping-beauty

[plussizefantasia]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? With fluff promt “I just really want to kiss you right now” Thanks!! :))

Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Summary: Benedict gets inspired by his muse at any time of day.

Word Count : 0.9k

A/N: Thank you for the request, I've never written for Ben before. I hope I did your idea justice <3

It was not the first time you had woken up to your bed being empty and your husband’s side having long gone cold. You realized mere weeks into your marriage that the artist’s spirit was one that never truly rested. Benedict could be inspired at any moment and he was not one to wait until morning to work.

The light that streamed in from the window grazed your face and started to pull you gently from sleep’s embrace. You did not open your eyes yet, dearly wishing to have one more moment to cherish the night before having to greet the day. Your arms stretch above your head and you pull them out to your side, reaching for your love. You chuckle when you feel nothing and open your eyes to search for him.

Your eyes scan over the empty spot that used to hold your husband, at least you knew he had slept a little last night. The two of you had fallen asleep in each other’s arms and you had waited until his breathing had evened out to succumb to sleep.

Your husband was sweet, but you knew that he had no regard for himself. You wonder if this is a trait all artists share or if it is Bridgerton trait. You’d have to ask Kate the next time you saw her if Anthony also had a tendency to burn the midnight oil or if you were just lucky enough to get the restless brother.

You pull the sheets down to your waist and begin to sit up when a cough from the corner of the room catches your attention.

There, in your favorite reading chair sits your husband. Benedict is still in his night clothes, and the ties on his shirt have fallen open exposing more of his chest to your greedy eyes than was available before you went to bed. Clutched in his hand is a sketch pad and some charcoal. His hands are stained and the closer you look you also notice streaks of black across his forehead. He is staring deeply at you.

“Do not move my love, I am inspired.”

You laugh lightly, “When are you not inspired, dear husband?”

“How can I not be always inspired when my muse walks the same halls as I? When I wake up to beautiful sights like this I cannot help but feel the need to catch them on the page.” He nods towards you, still lounging in bed.

“You’re a flatterer and a flirt.”

“Ony for you my love.”

“How long am I to be trapped here?” You ask him.

“You vowed until death do us part.”

“I did,  and I fully intend to honor that vow, but do you truly wish for me to waste away in bed?” 

“You look far too beautiful to be wasting.”

You raised an eyebrow at the love of your life. 

“Just stay there for a few more moments my love, I’m almost finished.” He told you.

You tried to stay still for him, assuming the same position you woke up in, or as close to it as you could get. The room filled with the sounds of scratching on paper and the breaths that came from either of you. You jest with him, but you would gladly waste away in bed if it meant being able to watch Benedict for the rest of your time. The sight of your husband creating masterpieces was one that you loved dearly. Unfortunately Ben didn’t really like people watching him work, this was a rare treat indeed.

“Ben?” You called from your spot on the bed.

“Yes Love?” He did not look up from his paper.

“I do not think I can wait much longer.”

“And whyever not?” His lips spread into a grin and he looked up into your eyes.

“I just really want to kiss you right now.” You bit your bottom lip lightly and smiled at him.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” He stood and placed the paper and coal on the seat. He slowly made his way closer to where you lie in wait. “My lovely wife needs to be kissed does she?” He asked you, climbing onto the bed and hovering over you.

“She does.” You nodded. “I fear she might not survive much longer without one.”

“We cannot have that, who shall inspire me if she is not with me?” He drew his face closer to yours, rubbing his nose along yours.

“Ben please,” you whispered.

“How I love to hear you beg.” He smiled into your neck, where he began to pepper small kisses. 

‘I do not think that I was beg-” he silenced you with a kiss. It was slow and filled with love, your lips dancing with each other perfectly. 

You sat up without breaking the kiss, twisting yourself so that the two of you were intertwined. 

Mornings like these were a rare treat indeed.

[wordsrequired]

• when elain needed reassurance and ease into this new situation she wasn’t familiar with, azriel was there:

Elain said “It’s all very disorienting.” “I can imagine,”Azriel said. Cassian flashed him a glare. But Azriel’s attention was on my sister, a polite, bland smile on his face. Her shoulders loosened a bit.

.. and Elain, noticing Azriel’s ease as proof that things weren’t indeed about to go badly, offered one of her own as well.”

• when elain was about to be introduced to her new home as a new being, azriel was there:

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms.

He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door.

Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face.
Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”

• when elain was lost and they were trying to find a way to make her feel better, azriel was there:

“Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing from his fingers as he extended a hand.

• when no one could understand her behavior and her powers, azriel was the one who did:

“She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien. Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly.

”We’re the ones who need …’ Azriel trailed off. “A seer” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

• when elain was taken, azriel was the first person who noticed her missing:

But Azriel asked softly, “What about Elain?” Something cold went through me.

• when elain needed saving, azriel was the one ready to die to save her:

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

• when elain was in chains, azriel was bleeding and really wounded but the first thing he thought was freeing her, thinking about what she needed first:

Azriel rasped, swaying on his feet, “We need Helion to get these chains off her.” Yet Elain didn’t seem to notice them as she rose up on her toes and kissed the shadowsinger’s cheek.

• when elain needed a weapon to defend herself and azriel gave her his most prized possession, the dagger that never failed him and he never let anyone touch:

“This is Truth-Teller” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“It has never failed me once” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

Cassian gawked at Azriel, and I wondered how often Azriel had lent out that blade. Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.

• even in the smallest, irrelevant things, anytime elain needed help azriel was there:

But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it.”

• when elain was upset cause she understood that there was no way of going back to how it was, azriel was there to lighten her up:

“I’d feel bad for the mice” Azriel muttered. Mor and Cassian howled, earning a blush from Azriel and a grateful smile from Elain—and no shortage of scowling from Amren. But something in me eased at that laughter, at the light that returned to Elain’s eyes.

• when elain needed someone to talk, azriel was there even for things he may be not interested in but that make her happy:

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea.

• when elain was insulted and hurt, azriel’s shadows were ready to strike in her defense:

“Maybe you’ll become interesting at last, Elain.” Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike. Elain’s eyes brightened with pain.

• even when he just hears elain laugh, azriel is there to wonder what caused it:

Azriel stood in the doorway, monitoring them. As if he’d heard Elain’s sharp laugh and wondered what had caused it.

azriel has literally been with elain in every step and moment of her journey since the beginning. from the most important and key moments to the smallest details. he was the one who had every answer, he was the answer, he was the one who understood, he was the only one who saw her. *ugh*

[bigfan-fanfic]

Boy Scouts (Superdad x Steve Rogers x Clark Kent)

Requested by anonymous for  I love the idea of Bruce/batdad/Bucky and Steve/superdad/Clark. Please write a headcanon about their relationship if you’re ok with it

Clark was more than a little excited to interview THE Captain America.

"I can't take it easy on him, can I? I have the chance not only to interview a living legend but to help him tell whatever he needs."

You have to say, you're only just a little bit jealous.

Not really of Clark; more of how Captain America was lucky indeed that your boyfriend had turned his inquiring eye to him.

Although Steve would blush to hear you put it that way.

In any case, Clark and Steve decided to take their interview on the road, instead of professionally conducted over the phone or something.

They played pool together (Clark is hopeless at the game, making Steve chuckle sympathetically), and Clark asked him some tough questions, which intrigued Steve, who was happy to find someone genuinely curious and who wasn't treating him with overwrought reverence or clinical interest.

It's through this interview that Steve finds some interest in Clark, and Steve waits until the article has come out to congratulate the man and call him up to ask if he'd like dinner sometime.

Steve's disappointment was palpable when Clark mentioned his spouse, but he accepted the offer that was suddenly presented to him of dinner at your apartment.

And much to Steve's sheer confusion... he likes you too.

It took a lot of these semi-flirtatious friend dates before you all kinda worked out what the source of Steve's unease was, and helped him through it.

Steve is also much smarter than people tend to give him credit for - he's a quick learner and incredibly observant, and so he figures out quite easily that Clark is Superman.

But without the secrets in the way, Steve dives in with both feet. He's not entirely sure how dating men works, let alone dating two married men - married to each other for that matter, but he's communicative.

Plus having love to deal with makes him forget so much that he's away from his own time for good because, well... love is timeless, isn't it?

Considering neither man is gonna stop with his hero work, it makes security all the more necessary. Steve has a lot of enemies and is eminently aware that SHIELD has a vested interest in holding on to him.

Meanwhile Clark has other enemies but the main issue is ensuring he has a clear line to speed away to change into his suit.

Canonically, it seems like Steve considers his fellow Avengers friends at best and colleagues at worst. But he doesn't really have a particularly great rapport with them or sense of camaraderie that would compel him to stay with them when the Justice League is right there.

Steve still does morning runs, but once he actually has someone to talk to that he trusts instead of wallowing in his feelings of discomfort and dissociation, he finds himself searching for hobbies more often.

(it's almost like socializing and being with people that care about him as a person and not a symbol or teammate is very good for his self-esteem and he doesn't focus on his time displacement or do things to "catch up" because that'll happen automatically with friends...)

And let's be honest, Clark loves a passionate person he can help learn to chill out and take time for themselves.

A lot of the early relationship will be finding Steve something he likes to do, not just with you, but genuinely enjoys. I suggest getting him into fandom and nerd culture. Tabletop RPGs provide him with a good, low-tech and tactile activity he can really get into and he'll spend hours sketching his characters, ideas, and painting lil minis.

Meanwhile, Steve's success in finding creative outlets also get him to enlist your help in getting Clark some relaxing time as well.

And then they both team up against you.

Steve and Clark both have a reputation for being goody-two shoes and have independently, by separate people, been called Boy Scouts.

But while they present that image, Steve is actually quite mischievous, almost to the point of being a brat. He's passionate, sarcastic, and quite fiery. Clark is whipcrack smart and playful. He has a sincere wit, and a great sense of humor. They're a great duo to be with.

Plus I can imagine Steve helping Clark find a workout routine instead of simply being maintained by the Sun. I can definitely see them training together and letting you watch.

[macknshift]

THE ONE WHERE . . . I INTRODUCE Y'ALL TO LEO!

SOOOO…i have mentioned leo in like, 90 different posts atp and never actually made a "leo intro" (mainly bc i have weird feelings ab sharing him heavily to the rest of the world lol) but! i figured now would be the best time to get into explaining him to y'all.

LEO , commonly given the last name SCOTT (depends on the dr!) is actually originally the main character's love interest in a hockey romance book i've been in the process of writing. after getting #sickandtired of annoying ass book men i gave up and began drafting one of my own. the main character is literally me (i mean, for christ's sake her name is sloane mackintosh,) and eventually, i began thinking of him in other "au"s (i used to do this a lot on wattpad - i mean DRs but the term AU is usually more digestible to ppl that may not be aware of reality shifting. Anyways.) and began kind of placing him in everything. a list of the drs he is my love interest in is follows;

BETTER CR : (fc silasj2004*) the hockey romance book pretty much as a dr. small changes occur but basically he's the exact same as leo in the book lol

PARENT DR : (fc jack schlossberg. yes. i am one of those girlies. i am not ashamed! at least he has morals + a backbone y'all this could be much worse) the "backstory" is my better cr dr. i'm now a mother of 3 (amelia or mimi, aged 5, giselle or gigi, aged 4 and i'm pregnant with vincenzo, our final kid,) and it follows our life after what would be the events of the book. i sort-of made it also as like a WAG dr in a sense bc leo is a professional hockey player! (but he retires 2 years before this point in time so idk where my thought process is w this lol)

FORMULA 1 DRIVER DR : (fc pato o'ward MY!!!! mclaren man ln4 U ARE NOTHINGGGGGGG) leonardo dempsey, son of actor patrick dempsey (my forever celebrity crush ugh he's so fine) and driver for aston martin aramco f1 team under #99. i essentially took l*nce str*ll's daddy's boy backstory and gave it to leo bc he is indeed a daddy's boy. the only dr leo and i are enemies to lovers bc i'm too obsessed w him otherwise LMFAO

MARVEL DR : (fc marcello hernandez (MY MAAANNNN)) leo scott, secretly the speedster superhero 'comet'. hired by my dad as essentially a bodyguard (leo's not intimidating AT ALL idek how the hell this is supposed to work LMFAO) as comet and knows me out of costume as his sister's roommate (mj is also in every dr ever and actually is here in this cr. i can never leave her out i love her DOWN) basically marichat vibes (god i miss marichat)

POP STAR DR : (fc marcello hernandez, again) leo sinatra, nepo baby great-grandson of frank sinatra (there's a whole, incredibly large bit of lore ab this LMFAO + he's also a great-grandson in my better cr dr too bc i need my man RICH!) and Saturday Night Live cast member. basically i go on snl and immediately fall in love. i've stolen the 'unlikely couple' weekend update sketch for us & he does domingo, which is my song lol we're funny for it idk

THE FCS, in color photos:

i'm missing like, 18 other drs that i can think of but some important info about him;

he's half oaxacan mexican. i've tried my damnedness to find a way to make it obvious but when i was 'designing' him (aka drawing him out) i used jack, silas (*NOTE: he is leo's typical fc if i don't have an designated one for him) and marcello as references to make him look the most like him as i can. the fcs are kind of loose for him but i need a way to like fully visualize him. so. yeah. his 'color palette' (weird way to put it but idk how else) makes him tanner than all three of them i fear. all of the fcs i use (other than jack schlossberg but like. idk his main celebrity lookalike in the better cr is him so i kind of had to) are latino, but i feel like it never ever properly translates when i talk about him bc his name is fucking leopold scott. like. huh.

he's also tall AS FUCK lol and built like a tank lowkey (think tom welling clark kent GOOD GOOGLY MOOGLY) but it's mainly bc he's a hockey player. in every vers he's like. 6'3. shortest he is is w marcello as his fc and even then he's 5'11. (note in pop star dr he gets a lot of comparisons to jacob elordi for some reason??? idk my fans are weird)

he's got big brown baby cow eyes. every. single. time. like that is this man's defining trait and you know what? i would not change that for the world lol

his position in hockey is a goalie! he uses the number #29 and plays for our college and later for the new jersey devils before being traded to the anaheim ducks. after he retires he becomes a firefighter!!!! (which is sooo hot btw)

[starlitecryolite]

While waiting for me to finally finish the next chapter..

DESIGN ANALYSIS FOR MY VIGILANTE AU >:D

As always, let's start in rainbow order! But first things first; all CG members have matching eyes, in one way or another! Red has yellow eyes, Orange has green eyes, Yellow has orange eyes, Green has blue eyes, and Blue has red eyes!! I might change things depending on how it looks, though.

Anyway, Red!!

I'll admit, I'm definitely giving him a design upgrade, but let's talk about this one.

Ah, the classic yellow bandanna. How could I leave it out? It's iconic!

His hair is definitely the wildest out of everyone's. A lot of black and grey in his design, too, which makes the yellow bits and the light-up shoes REALLY stand out.

The yellow matches his eyes and bandanna, and is reminiscent of that media trope with seeing yellow eyes peek from the darkness. The mask is, of course, to hide his face. Red didn't really seem like the guy to wear a visor like Green, or cover his entire face like Blue, so he gets that mask! Might change that, who knows.

His outfit looks thrown together with not that amount of effort. Very casual, as Green pointed out. Before Orange, he was the latest addition to the team, which can mean he can be a bit inexperienced. Wanted to convey that somehow!

Light-up shoes, oh, light-up shoes... who doesn't love them? Green certainly doesn't, but Red disagrees!

Next one!

Orange/Sketch

Now, I didn't draw their vigilante outfit yet, but I added the description of it to give an idea!

I wanted her hair to give a very anime-protagonist feel, if that made sense? Not sure if I got that right but it works for me! And hey! Freckles!

Working clothes: His pants are covered in paint to give an artist-like feel. (I should know. I paint a lot and some of my clothes did NOT survive the process.) As for the top and apron, I wanted it to feel like an actual café worker's uniform without it being a basic starbucks rip-off.

Vigilante outfit: VERY reminiscent of outfits animated characters would wear in scenes where they're doing some graffiti on the streets. That was my main inspiration behind the design.

Also in dark colors. They have to blend into the darkness and stuff!

The pouch mentioned was for practical sake; as is something I like to do when thinking of designs. And it helps with the artistic urge to draw at any time, regardless of what the situation is.

Not much to say about Orange's design, besides the fact that I wanted to give it a very protagonist-y vibe.

Yellow/Y

The second design is more or less his actual vigilante outfit, buuuut yeah!

Curly hair -despite my inability to draw it- and Yellow has been a favorite hc of mine!

His outfit is somewhat inspired by steampunk? Not exactly, but I DID have steampunk in mind while making it! The pilot's jacket was the best change yet.

Someone on a03 has told me that he looks like Alan, somehow! I'm not sure if I see it, so does anyone else see it? It would be a funny coincidence if so!

Green/Songbird

His hair is my favorite part of my Green design so I HAD to keep it! The classic headphones are there with a gamer-ish colour scheme.

VERY hip-hop and streetdance inspired! His visor is a reference to the sunglasses Orange gave him in the "More Faces" short, rather than his sunglasses in the Influencer Arc.

His clothes are a reference to the clothes I see my sister wear for her own dance training, and I love streetwear in general, so its a perfect fit! The necklace is just for show, though. Nothing practical about that, but it does look cool! Plus, it's a notion to his powers! His outfit is practical, but still shows off somehow, just like Green!

My vigilante!Green is the most experienced in the group, so I wanted him to look that way, somehow? And he definitely looks the most professional! I think!

Blue/The Witch

The second member to join the vigilante team!

I HAD to give her a hat. The witch's hat is a must. Practical? Not exactly. Cool? Yes, indeed.

The mask is my favorite part. A direct reference to the "Faces" short, AND a good way for Blue to, ahem, mask her identity (hehe a pun)

The sweater and coat combination seems strange, but it looks a little like a modern witch outfit? Trenchcoats definitely give a vigilante vibe in a way, and Yellow already had one, so Blue gets a belt and a sweater to go with it!

Blue definitely needed a bag for her potions. She can't just make them on the spot!- well, she can, but it would still be a hassle! She'd be the most practical when it comes to her clothing for vigilantism, after Yellow.

Purple/Aeolus!

Obviously, the cloak is a reference to elytra. The green hairtie, the bag and the cloak buckle is a reference to their mother, Orchid. You can see the vines on the bag strap, the flowers on the bag and buckle, and the leaf-shape on the hairtie.

There's also a lot of green on them, wink wink ;3

To hide their identity, they cover a majority of their face with the cloak hood!

It was hard to balance the colors, but I'm happy with the results! This one is simple compared to the others, but its still cool nonetheless!

Purple was meant to have ripped jeans but my drawing ability to low, so... sorry, Purple.

AAAAND THAT'S ALL! Sorry if this seemed boring or disappointing, or whatnot. I tried my best!

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Hello! Big fan of your blog! If it's not too much trouble, my request is that all of the Sanses got a crush on an artist. S/O often draws in a sketch book. One day accidently left it out and opened to reveal a Super Good drawing of the skeleton with the words "HOT DAMN" next to it. Turns out Artist S/O has a major crush on the skeleton but is too sky to admit it and turns to draw out their feelings instead of confessing.

Undertale Sans - He chuckles, very amused. The next day, he wears a very revealing T-shirt with "HOT DAMN" written on it and an arrow pointing at his belly lol. You are crimson and he's very amused by your reaction right now. You know he knows.

Underswap Sans - It's for sure really good for his ego. Hot damn indeed, he's so hot he needs to admire himself in a mirror this instant. He can perfectly understand your trouble. He's troubled as well! Ok, maybe don't praise his ego more than this, please.

Underfell Sans - He gasps in shock and slams the sketchbook close on his fingers, cursing as he accidentally crushes them in the book. Trying to save his fingers, he trips and falls on his back with a loud thump that echoes in the entire house. When he sees you at the end of the corridor, Red hyperventilates and teleports the hell out of there. He's going to need a bit to recover. He might have a major crush too, he's just too proud to assume it.

Horrortale Sans - He starts purring loudly and when you notice what he is holding, that's too late. Oak has no shame and keeps digging into your notebook, discovering more and more drawings of himself in very weird positions. He's happy you like him, even though you look like a burning tomato at the moment. Are you ok? Do you need help to breathe? He can help. He comes and hugs you and now it's ten times worse.

Swapfell Sans - Well, yes, obviously. He's hot damn. It's not a surprise to anyone and it took you long enough to notice. Also, you added too many ribs on his body and he brings you back the drawing to notify you about it. You flush in seconds realising what drawing he is pointing out but he doesn't mind. You know he can pose for you if you need a reference, right? You don't need to imagine his body to draw, he's right in front of you.

Fellswap Gold Sans - Uh. He actually likes the dress you drew him in. Is it one of his? You find him buried in his closet, trying to find the dress. When he saw you, wearing the dress, he froze. Uh. So you want to see him in your dress? He smiles like a shark. He can do that.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hi sophie (again) one really quick note, the reason i read through your ENTIRE blog is because my dissertation is on facetious disorders portrayed and influenced by social media and the likes of such- it is literally a 250 page document about people like you. It's literally a part of my research to read long-winded things like this and write about them. My livelihood revolves around this. I don't expect to see a Dr. before your name, but you can damn well expect to see it before mine.

The only reason I sent that ask and wrote a targeted post was to get a response from you. The only reason. Had some writers block lol, I needed some material 😅😅

Another note to add to the grooming part was not about LGBTQ or transgender people as I am both myself. Please do not take it as a jab to your gender identity, and I apologize if it came off that way. It was in no way meant to insult you in that regard.

First, thanks for clarifying about the use of grooming. I don't mean to suggest you did intend it as a remark about my gender identity.

But I do think it's important to note in a "you are not immune to propaganda" way. Because I think, consciously or unconsciously, anti-endos have adopted transphobic talking points.

I assume and hope that this is unconscious. That rather than looking at how conservatives have used these talking points to harm queer communities and going "yeah, we can use that talking point too with these people we don't like," this absorption and repetition of these talking points is happening on a subconscious level. In which case, I think it's important to understand where they've originated and what the history is behind them.

As well as what misusing these terms normalizes. Because repeating them does contribute to a culture that is okay with using "grooming" this way to associate people they don't like with child abusers.

Now, allow me to first commend you on starting work on your dissertation so early. Working on it at just 20 is quite impressive indeed.

Although I have to question the subject matter.

A factitious disorder is when somebody is faking a disorder or pretending to have a disorder. It seems strange that you would seek to use examples of people who do not actually have a disorder and are not claiming to.

Even if endogenic systems were lying, unless they're presenting themselves as having a disorder they weren't, they wouldn't qualify for criterion B.

If you do want to write about people who have plural experiences without having trauma or a disorder, you might want to actually read my studies and research page. I'm sure that you could find stuff there that could help you on your journey.

And if you plan on writing about tulpamancy, specifically, Dr. Samuel Veissiere's Variety of Tulpa Experiences is probably most useful in understanding the tulpamancy community and viewpoints on the practice.

I would also recommend Learning to Discern the Voices of Gods, Spirits, Tulpas, and the Dead, as it offers a great comparison between tulpamancy and other forms of non-pathological voice hearing.

I imagine that these studies are much more productive uses of your time than scrolling through over 11,000 Tumblr posts, and would look better as sources in your dissertation.

Finally, if you are committed to doing a dissertation on factitious disorder, I would highly advise learning how to spell factitious. Because it's not "facetious" disorders, and spelling it that way might look a bit awkward on your dissertation about factitious disorder.

[coralearei]

Fantasie-Impromptu -- Sunday/Dreamweaver!Reader

summary: your client gets you to stay with him for a while longer... wc: 2.7k author's notes: there isn't any deeper reason beyond the title other than that it sounds cool and it's what sunday played in his trailer. this was supposed to be a winter holiday fic that i initially wrote a month ago and dropped and picked up again, so there might be references to baby it's cold outside and other media content: mdni -- somewhat yandere tendencies and whatever that implies: dubcon/noncon, no explicit sex but it gets pretty touchy throughout, a bit of a power imbalance, potentially ooc, gender neutral reader, implied drugging

---

Although the Family Head has been your client for many months now, you've never completely accustomed yourself to the nerve-wracking kindness that has only grown increasingly more evident with every commission he's given you. Sunday's 'acts of kindness' are almost too subtle for you to call attention to; a luxurious trinket every now and then might just be a token of goodwill, and the occasional gloved hand lingering on your shoulder too long could simply be unintentional. 

Still, being the keen Dreamweaver you are, you pick up acts like these nevertheless. They're more than just coincidences— but Sunday seems like a man higher than mere accidents. Everything he does is indeed very carefully and meticulously planned, and the way he corners you in his office at this current moment is no exception.

 "Stay a while longer." he says to you now as you prepare to leave his office. Today's session has been rather short, much to your relief— consisting of You inadvertently freeze in your motions as he speaks, standing still with your palms pressed to the desk below you. Your head is kept steady in its bowed position, not noticing the way that Sunday marvels at your refusal to return his warmhearted gaze.

 The offer is somewhat arbitrary, almost out of the blue, but it adds to the pattern of similar gestures from before. At first, he was cordial enough, but still formal— he remains both of those things towards you, but a few almost-invisible actions make you shudder. Over time, you start to give him excuses to stay at his mansion for gradually shorter amounts of time, and tell him that you have a good idea of what he wants out of whatever you're working on. You don't want to waste any more of his time, you’ve told him once, and you promise to give him articulate, expedient designs before you bashfully scurry out of his office as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, you haven’t mustered up the courage to politely decline him today. Instead, you take a look at his office, and how its clean luxury only helps to perpetuate Sunday’s tendencies towards stateliness and decorum. There doesn’t appear to be a speck of dust in the room, and the only semblance of a mess lies in the sketches you’ve brought. The papers are strewn about his desk; you continue to gingerly pick them up as you begin your reply.

“I couldn’t possibly, sir. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the rest of your evening, and-”

“Not at all, not at all,” you bite your lip as he raises a hand to cut you off. “I enjoy listening to you speak.” he admits, giving a nearly demeaning smile. Sunday’s halo innocently gleams a glowing gold in contrast to the faint lamp of his office, as if he really is after a simple chat and nothing else.

“I’m honored, sir.” You concentrate on carefully guiding your various plans and sketches into a thick manila folder while you stare down the oak table below— hoping to avoid the way the eyes of the Halovian in front of you linger on your more… flattering parts. “B-But I really don’t want to bother you, you’re a very busy man- ah!”

Your hand barely brushes against a foreign, unfamiliar piece of silk, causing your folder to make a thumping noise as it hits the floor. In nervous shock, you turn around and see Sunday standing less than a step behind you, his lips almost perking up. You jolt back frantically, but lose your balance and fall on your bottom ungraciously. You feel your papers press against your behind.

“Clumsy little thing…” you think you hear him say to himself before he lets out a barely-present laugh. In one birdlike swoop, you’re on your feet again, your folder reconciled with its contents and safely returned to your bag. Your cheeks begin to grow hot as you feel Sunday’s sturdy hands stabilize you, gently gripping your shoulders before he gives you a soft head pat. He leans in closer, letting his lips graze your ear’s helix. You find yourself staying still as Sunday starts to murmur in your ear.

“Did you say something, sir?” you ask, trying to reclaim the professionalism in this moment that is all but gone.

“I haven’t… try to relax for me, alright?” Sunday hums in your ear, quiet but reassuring. The buzz he leaves behind sends jolts of worry throughout your body. “

Your hands are quite icy, you know that? And do be careful with yourself next time… I really wouldn’t want you to harm yourself on purpose, dear.”

You press your palms to your warming face in response, your fingers just short of clawing out your widened eyes. You’re too flustered to not remember the name that he had just used— it makes you lightheaded just to think about it. You would have fell over a second time if Sunday hadn’t grabbed you by the waist and held onto you with his strong, slender fingers.

“What’s your hurry?” Sunday hums, taking his index finger to put under your chin and point towards his beaming face, more playful than what it once was before. You hold your breath for a moment when he forces you to look up at him, hesitantly meeting the angelic amber that looks upon your face with a mysterious, ambiguous glint. 

As your eyes make contact with Sunday, his features soften once more, accompanied by a reassuring smile. When you start to sputter out a response, he takes his index finger once more and presses it against your lips, making a low shushing noise. Both of you fall silent, leaving only the roaring crackle of the fireplace to be heard.

“Please don’t hurry,” he muses, wrapping his surprisingly strong arm around waist. “I wouldn’t want to leave you all alone… Why don’t you join me for a drink? I’ll call for some wine.”

You give a meek nod and Sunday slightly pulls on your wrist in approval. Soon, Sunday and you are now both situated in the parlor of his manor. You gradually shift farther away from him towards the other end of the couch… when did Sunday get this close to you, anyway? You look down at your drink. The contents of your glass slosh inside, and the stem of the glass you hold remains unsteady in your trembling grip. You set the glass down with a sigh— good thing you haven’t dropped it yet.

You’ve now been at Dewlight for far more than the half hour you’ve agreed to out of respect— more than a half hour too long. You’re pretty sure that you’re only on your second drink now, but the number of drinks you’ve had has slipped your mind. If you correctly recall what Sunday had said about ten minutes ago, you two are currently sharing a bottle of Amontillado, a decadent sherry from the vineyards of a lush, distant planet whose name you’ve forgotten. You don’t drink much— which you’re too nervous to admit, given that you’re a recent resident of the Planet of Festivities— but the taste of this particular wine feels quite suited to your taste buds. Sunday is being more than generous with the bottle as well, taking small, graceful sips from his own glass, which still remains half full. 

On the other hand, you’ve had quite a few drinks, which have gotten you to talk much more than you would’ve liked. So far, Sunday now knows that you don’t have anywhere to be after this meeting, and that your earnings allow you a small apartment in Reality. Not wanting to say anything else that could compromise you, you eagerly gulp down the remainder of your drink, savoring the last few drops of goodness, and make your way towards the parlor’s exit.

“Where are you going now?” you hear a voice behind you, stopping you in your tracks just as you reach the doorway. You feel a weighty palm start to hold down your shoulder, making you cringe. 

This time, though, you don’t turn around, even though you can feel Sunday again with his soft lips on you, pressing to your nape. He traps your body within his unexpectedly tight grasp, smugly laughing at the way you fail to shy away from his bruising grip. His other hand gives your inner thigh a pinch as you unsuccessfully thrash against him and  try to free your helpless body.

“I don’t believe I feel very well, sir…” you groan weakly. Sunday’s grin suddenly becomes significantly less restricting, but the air that you breathe only serves to pull you into a soothing daze. “Mr. Sunday, apologies… but I don’t think I recall you making any comments about the potency of Amontillado…”

“Mind if I move in closer?” Sunday remarks, closing the distance that lies between his chest and your back. He grips your face, slowly turning you around so that you’re looking straight into his striking golden irises. 

“Don't be sorry, my dear… you’ll be fine— as long as you realize that you need to be taken care of.”

The door in front of you starts to grow farther in distance, its edges also becoming more hazy. Your vision begins to blur no matter how much you try to stand up and blink, and you let your body succumb to Sunday’s now-gentle clutches, falling into them before as he slowly drags you back towards himself. Sunday leads you through the parlor door again, and your drowsy legs give up after only a few steps. Your body, which has become almost immovable, collapses onto the couch and meets the cushions with a muffled crash. Lying on your side with your eyes half-lidded, you hear the sound of the door softly shutting and a click locking you inside.

“I don’t think you’re well enough to get home,” Sunday chides. You open your eyes to see him again at your side, sitting upright above you with his typical stately, regal air. He runs his thumb across your cheek in a smooth, calculated sweep before leaning intently over you, which allows his halo to cast a shadow of thorns that covers your exhausted form. His other hand keeps your head still while he tries to rhythmically give you headpats, which you aren’t taking too well. 

“Poor thing, you couldn’t handle the contents of your drink well enough,” he says, thinking more to himself than to you. “But now, it seems that you really do have a reason to stay here tonight…”

Half an hour earlier, you wondered if he had planned this in advance, but the answer now seems to be obvious. You clumsily attempt to sit up as you speak, grasping the armrests for support. 

“Mr. Sunday, you’re being very pushy, you know…” you trail off, using the last of what remains of your little energy to make a truthful retort. 

He only responds with a chuckle as genuine as your confession— what you can only assume is a rare show of honesty. 

“That’s… quite a blunt thing to say—” Sunday’s expression looks more taken aback than he’d like it to, though he recollects himself in a matter of seconds. “—though I'd like to think of it as being opportunistic.” 

Smugly smiling to himself, Sunday takes the opportunity to take off your hat, only slightly wrinkled. He plants his fingers within the strands of your hair, giving it a harsh pull that catches you off-guard. You clench your teeth and let out a minuscule whine in protest.

With that, he whispers something to himself, which you make the mistake of paying no mind to.

Sunday remains unspeaking for the next few moments, and your quivering lips unwillingly seal themselves shut for the time being. You let your many worries be lulled away by the following silence that is only interrupted by Sunday softly singing a lullaby, an unknown tune that seems to sedate you, quite inexplicably. The new baritone hum engulfs you and blissfully drowns out any concerns that you have. You don’t bother to question where this newfound state of bliss has come from— or why the warm rays of light emanating from Sunday’s halo are making you woozy. 

“C-cold…” you cry out as Sunday pushes against your neck’s pulse point with his covered index finger. He makes routine shushing noises while moving his index finger towards your mouth once more, which he simply rests on top of your lips. You tremble against the frigid chill that seeps through the gentle hands that gingerly caress your chin, out of the glove’s intricate cross. 

Reveling in your shaking nervousness, Sunday attentively studies every other part of you. He takes in all of it with unbridled excitement in his eager, starlit eyes. Fortunately, he lets you look away when he suddenly pulls your hand close to his cheek— instead of your face, all of Sunday’s focus is now on tenderly caring for your hand. With his own two hands, he moves the back of yours to touch his lips, planting kisses all the way up to your knuckles. 

Sunday keeps at this for a while before moving you to be on top of his lap, which he does with ease. As you open your mouth to speak, however, you feel your whines being muffled by the very hands that have gotten too close to you. 

“Not many have a level of skill that matches yours. I would be very disappointed in you if tonight were to be the end of our professional relationship.” Sunday states earnestly, pulling you closer to him so you can see his seemingly innocent smile. 

You try to pull at the arm covering your nose and mouth, but before you can he has both your hands pinned behind your back. He sighs, disappointed at your attempts to fight him. 

“However, I’m not willing to work with someone so uncooperative. I’d much rather have someone more amenable, more compliant. You can be both of those things, can’t you?” 

You squirm from within Sunday’s tight hold on you, unable to get away from his whispers flowing directly into your ears and his warm breath on your skin. Soon, he finally removes his hand from your mouth, leaving a thin thread of drool that eventually breaks. Your sharp, erratic breaths turn into more consistent ones, and you begin to form hazy thoughts.

The terms of your contract for this current project weren’t set that long ago, and he had signed it. But what did a simple contract signify to a man who had already forgone professional protocol just hours ago? However, even though the contract was broken, you couldn’t just lose one of your most generous, eminent clients…

“Now, I’ll ask you once again: are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?” Sunday asks with noticeable reverence in his voice. He shifts his position to kneel next to your limp body, lethargically laying on the plush cushions of the couch once again.

"No- I’ll stay..." After a hesitant pause, you finally acquiesce with a stutter that makes the winged man looking down at you lovingly bring his forehead to touch yours. A few of his lustrous silver locks touch your clenched jaw. 

Accepting Sunday’s request is all you can do in this situation— the choice was never yours to make. 

"Very good, very good…” he says with another laugh. A satisfied grin continues to widen on Sunday’s face, looking perfectly in place. You flinch and back away when he brings a hand closer to you.

“You needn’t be so panicked, dear… after all, there won’t be anyone else here to hear you.” He stretches his wings to cover his victorious, anticipating smile, which only leaves his eyes for you to see. Sunday peels away the silk of his gloves from his untouched hands, leaving fingers that have yet to explore you. He doesn’t say anything as he comfortably lets himself rest on top of you, putting each of his thighs on either side of you. Sunday’s knees start to squeeze your hips, still clothed— but not for long given the desperate way his fists form balls from the fabric that will not cling to you for much longer. His lips plant another firm kiss against your neck once again— but this time, it is in victory.

“That took a lot of convincing.” 

---

Thanks for reading! Reblogs > likes but both are much appreciated 💜

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

masked x unmasked *part 1*

...

(why yes, shall i get more an' more ambitious in well, uh limitation of my current skillset, but still. more kissing! drawing them kissing gives me life *esp now, when i've got hella sick again lol* if i’ll draw them smooching 100 times, i will prob reach immortality. ooor i will be able to have this engraved on my headstone. one or the other!

but welp, as the title suggests, this collage focused on a scenario, where crane isn’t the scarecrow just yet. i believe, i mentioned that AU-ish idea in another drawing before. but this one, specifically depicting the comicverse scarebat. with this being said, this still implies that jonathan caused bo to crash the car. an’ that he most likely did smth to his predecessor *he didn’t murder him tho*, when it comes to his position as professor, an’ he still has fascination with fear, but it’s way more tame, than what kind of stuff he typically does in canon. it’s a slow-burnish corruption for him. but yeah, he will eventually become the scarecrow, anyways. but for now, he’s jonathan crane. an unlikely ally of the gotham’s new, mysterious vigilante. each art addresses different stages / moments of their relationships. starting from batman’s ambiguous, slightly intimidating flirting an’ ending up with jon getting bold enough to return his affection an’ even be the one, who initiates it. i suppose, it took him a while to realize, that this isn't some cruel joke at his expense or anything.

an' since this is comicverse, i kinda wanted this arts set to look a bit comic book-y too. as if looking at an old comic book page or smth along those lines. the final result, prob doesn't give off that vibe, but i still like how it turned out. as essentially, this art is one of those works that have around 4 different versions of it. an’ i just posting the ones, which look the most 'interesting'. but since filter did obscuring some lil details, here is a recollection of jonathan blushing throughout the whole thing.

i wasn’t able to keep this feature in the posted version, since it ended up looking kinda odd. but in case, someone might have wanted to see this, here it is.

aside from that, i think that in this set, the arts themselves are pretty straightforward, an’ more focused on the action aspect vs specific set up, aside from AU-ish frame. but i do imagine, that in the top right artwork *the one, where bruce is maskless*, while jon’s glasses make it hard to tell where he’s looking or not, his eyes are actually closed, since it’s the only condition in which bruce will openly reveal his identity to him. i also imagine, that since jonathan’s eyesight is pretty poor, sometimes, he might just take off his glasses an’ see bruce as a blurry shadow, but at least, still have some things to go from. like the fact, that bruce’s eye color is blue an’ he’s a brunette. it's their lil trust game, an' despite being curious, crane is too scared to screw this up just bc he wants to see his lover's face. not to mention, that typically jonathan not super obsessed an’ sometimes literally doesn’t care too much about batman’s everyday persona, since it doesn’t change much for him. whoever batman is, he’s the exact same man for him, inside the cowl or without it.

an’ oh yeah, it's indeed part 1. since i have sketched the set up, where bruce aren’t batman *bc his parents had never died in that universe* but jon is still the scarecrow, the notorious criminal. it doesn’t seem to deter wayne’s heir, who flirts with him for some reason tho.

p.s the most top left art used to be this .)

[tainted-liquor]

'Make it Awkward...⋆｡°✩

E1610!Miles Morales x BlackFem!Reader Ingredients: Sugar, Kisses, n a lil bit of smiles! TWs: Awkward teen love like rlly rlly awkward W/C: 1.8k A/N: SZA Inspired fic ❤︎!! another cute lil req from my 100 special!

You and Miles had developed a sturdy friendship in middle school, with you always being hyped up as the "art kid" in each of your classes. Initially, he was a little bit bitter because he didn't really understand what the hype was all about. He could draw, and he could do it just as good as you. Which, granted was indeed true, but your work felt like something out of a Van Gogh discography. Each and every one of your paintings and drawings almost looked like there was a filter over them, like something out of a flurry dream that evoked nostalgia and warmth in whoever seemed to view them. To say he was inspired by you was an understatement, he wanted to drown himself in everything that was your talent.

But as time passed and spiders bit, you two grew apart from each other on account of him semi-blowing you off for Gwen. You stopped hanging out slowly, he began to drop art and pick up a sudden interest in physics and inter-dimensional travel, and even got...meaner? The kind and innocent kid that once was Miles suddenly became jumpy and antsy. You thought that you two had something worth way more than any other friendship you had, but one day shit just shifted into complete, and total, awkward silence. But as time heals all wounds, you slowly began talking again at the top of this month, right before your summer came to its close.

Miles quietly hummed along to the steady bump of the music in his headphones, nodding to the rhythm as he began illustrating a head in his sketchbook. As 'Les' By Childish Gambino slowly fizzed out and the electronic chords of 'Awkward' By SZA became known, his sketch started to warp a little. He didn't necessarily remember how or when, but he noticed his sketch become a lot less androgynous and more familiar, with twinkling brown eyes and thick curly hair becoming more detailed with each pencil stroke. It took him a while to realize, but eventually, he had drawn...you. Down to the finest details as well, your smile lines and your perfectly sculpted Nubian nose.

What he hadn't anticipated was filling up the next 2 pages of his sketchbook with both your face and the signature crochet fingerless gloves you wore during the winter. What initially was just a warmup while waiting for you to arrive at his house turned into a full-blown drawing session with you as the muse. You weren't even there and he still had drawn you 100% accurately from memory. He sighed as his playlist continued to play out a steady stream of nothing but SZA, leaning back in his chair as he stared up at the ceiling before he heard a knock on his room door. "Ah-Come in!" he yelped as he quickly put away his sketchbook, swapping out the pencils and paint markers for paintbrushes and canvases.

You gently pushed open the door, showing Miles your painted tote bag full of art supplies, such as watercolors, charcoal, oil paints, three palettes, and various paintbrushes. "Hey, Miles! Sorry, it took me a lil bit...that fuckin' line in the art store was INSANE" you chirped as you slowly entered Miles's room and set down your bag. You placed your shoes in the corner of his room before walking over to sit on his bed. He pulled off his headphones, gently placing them on their stand before spinning around in his indigo desk chair. "That's fine! Don't even worry about it I know how full them stores get" he shrugs as he grabs his Bluetooth speaker from off his shelf, motioning for you to follow him as he stacks the canvases and art supplies in his hands.

"C'mon, there's not enough space in my room for two people to paint," he explains as he climbs the stairs up to his apartment roof. You followed closely behind him, setting up the art supplies as he fidgeted with his speaker. You lean back against the wall as you sit on the concrete roof, taking in the pretty sky as you sketch out some buildings and a landscape on your canvas. "So how's summer for you, huh? What's her name...Gwen was it? How'd things go over with her?" You ask as you begin to add minor details to your sketch. Truth be told it ate you up every single time he would mention her in your past conversations, with you having a small...thing for him that grew over time.

"Oh! Uh, Gwen...yeah. Things went south, we don't really talk anymore..." He shrugs as he rips the plastic off of a rather large canvas. You nodded slowly, indicating that you were hanging on to his every word as you cracked open a fresh bottle of paint thinner, pouring it into a small glass cup before coating your brush in the clear mineral spirit. You slather a couple of shades of deep blue, rusty orange, bright magenta, and off-white on your paint palette as you work to form that beautiful 'sunset gradient' on your canvas. He connects his phone to the small black speaker, his playlist resuming quietly in the background. "But how's your summer been?" he asks as he mirrors the process of sitting beside you and leaning against the wall.

"My summer's been fine actually. Nothing too eventful, no trips or nothing, just taking a couple...ahem...adventures!" You explain as you recall how you nearly got in trouble with the police for trespassing in various abandoned locations for funsies. Miles gives you a playful side-eye, looking you up and down. "You sound a lil sketchy...what did YOU do this summer?" he chuckled as he began sketching out some scenery and what looked like the early stages of a body on his canvas. "Shhhh, your dad's a cop" you giggled as you picked up a smaller brush, filling in the buildings and scenery in your painting. You both chuckled at the slight confession, looking ahead of you so you could get an accurate view of what you were currently painting.

You took a small glance at what Miles was currently sketching, getting a good look at the faceless humanoid figure sitting cross-legged, with an unidentified object that vaguely resembled a pencil in her hand as she drew on her...face? Eyeliner maybe? You hummed along to 'Supermodel' By SZA. You held up your canvas closer to Miles's canvas, analyzing the difference in art styles. Yours was much more realistic, and heavily influenced by the world around you with your unique play on your color palette. whereas Miles was more stylized and thought out, the colors remaining true to their actual hue.

"What do you think this needs more of?" you ask as you tilt your canvas towards Miles. He thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly so he could thoroughly analyze the painting. "More shine to the light sources maybe? Like a soft glow!" he beamed as he pointed towards the canvas with the opposite end of his paintbrush. You nod with your signature full smile, smile leans indicating your raw and unfiltered joy. Miles's eyes lingered on you for a couple of seconds before he madly swiped away at his canvas, seemingly blocking out more details with darker shades of watercolor.

You spent the next four hours, yes, four hours giggling like children as Miles sang along terribly to some of the songs on his playlist, starting a mini karaoke session on his roof with the both of you. It began to get cold and dark, so you decided you would pick up the canvases again after going inside to get something to eat. He grabbed his speaker and supplies, leaving his large canvas on the roof of his building before disappearing through the door to his apartment complex. You stuffed most of what you wanted to bring back down into your bag, before deciding to look over at Miles's painting. It looked exactly like you, but you were younger.

You remembered that damn scrunchie you had locked on your wrist, your favorite dark red satin scrunchie that went perfectly with your uniform. You shifted slightly to get a better angle of the canvas, watching as 8th grade you sprung to life in the form of doing your eyeliner on the bathroom sink. Miles had been there with you, watching as you painfully kneeled on the edge of the sink and leaned hazardously close to the mirror. You smiled softly to yourself as you noticed each beauty mark you had perfectly positioned on your face, from each scar to every minor indent in your smile. You chuckled quietly before swinging open the door and bolting down the stairs, straight to Miles's room.

And there he was, viciously fucking up a cup of noodles like someone would take it from him at any moment. "Damn, is it good? it ain't goin' nowhere now..." you joked with wide eyes as he gestured to an identical cup cooling off by his mini desk fan. You ate alongside him in silence, not really knowing what to say to each other. "I see you're still painting like in middle school...?" he states, referring to your distinct blurred style of painting. "Huh...Oh! Yeah, haha. I miss middle school kinda." You shrug as you sit the cup down on the side of his desk.

"Really? I always thought you thought I was a lil annoying back in middle school. I think you were my quietest friend ever" he joked as he finished his cup, dunking it in his trash can. "Huh? I literally thought you were the cutest thing ever! If I thought you were annoying I would've told you!" you stated with a small chuckle. Miles seemed to think for a moment, pausing as he processed the first half of your sentence. "Wait, you thought I was cute this whole time?" He asked with wide eyes. "Yeah! I was quiet cuz I didn't wanna fuck anything up! I think I had the fattest crush on you!" you laughed as you realized he thought that YOU thought he was annoying this whole time.

He gawked for a minute, his jaw slacked and eyes even wider than before. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?" he semi-shouted as he began pacing around his room. You could only laugh, saying "We were like 10 and I didn't know if you would've liked me back." He looked at you as if you had 2 heads, going on some long rant about how he always thought you just weren't interested or thought he was annoying. You silently got up from his bed, walking over to him and stopping him entirely.

Miles looked at you with a rather confused and amused expression, probably still processing the fact that you openly admitted to liking him in middle school. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the delicate kiss that you placed on his lips. He eagerly closed the space between the two of you, wrapping one arm around your waist almost by instinct. You pulled away from him after what felt like years, muttering a small "Who taught you that?"