#it's like a new method of drawing in this particular way.. so the hands are kinda placeholders

[dazzelmethat]

YASO curse of soirée's snake lady.. I'm love her. I used her as a model to practice some things. I may come back to this in a week or month to straighten it out.

[kiwriteswords]

hear me out, hear me out... is it possible to get shy!reader x bearded!hotch?????????????

Shades of Stubble

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy Female Reader||Word Count: 3k

Tags/Warnings: No use of Y/N, canon-typical themes, shy reader, teasing team, teenage Jack, bearded Hotch, post-season 10/11 with no Mr. Scratch, reader has a crush

Sypnosis: When Aaron Hotchner returns to the BAU sporting a beard after a rare week off, it draws more attention than he expects—especially from you, the shy but perceptive team member whose lingering glances reveal more than you realize.

Aaron Hotchner didn’t often take full advantage of the rare breaks the team received, but this time, a solid week away from the BAU had given him time to unwind—if that’s what growing a beard counted as. Normally, his morning routine was methodical, almost meditative—a quick splash of cold water to wake himself up, followed by lathering shaving cream across his jaw and carefully dragging the razor along the angles of his face. It was a task he’d repeated every day without fail, a ritual that helped him maintain the sharp, controlled image he knew his role required.

But when the break started, the razor stayed on the sink. The first morning, he told himself he’d get to it later. By the second, he rationalized that there was no harm in skipping a day or two. By the third, a faint shadow of stubble had appeared, and he caught himself in the mirror, running a hand along his jawline, curious. It wasn’t like the full beard he’d grown out during his time in Pakistan—this was something new, something... untethered. For once, he wasn’t adhering to his usual strict standards, and there was a quiet freedom in that.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d chosen to let it stay. Maybe it was exhaustion—seven days free of the ever-present weight of the BAU felt like both a luxury and an anomaly. Or maybe it was a small rebellion against the routine that so often defined his life. This was about as rebellious as he got these days, maybe a silent nod to his pre-boarding school days, but nonetheless. He didn’t have to answer to anyone for a week, and he didn’t have to fit into the box of Aaron Hotchner, Supervisory Special Agent. He could just exist.

By the time the week ended, the beard had grown in enough to draw attention, though he hadn’t considered how it might be received by the team—or anyone else, for that matter. It wasn’t a decision he put much thought into, at least not until he walked into the bullpen on Monday morning.

The reaction was immediate, though not unwelcome. JJ’s playful quip cut through the usual hum of activity, and heads turned in his direction. He caught Rossi’s amused smirk, Morgan’s raised brow, and—most notably—your wide-eyed, stunned expression. For the first time in years, Aaron Hotchner felt a little... self-conscious. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

JJ’s voice rang out across the room with playful familiarity. "It's baaaack!"

Heads turned, but Hotch’s gaze landed on you. You were seated at your desk, a pen in your hand paused mid-air, as if frozen in the act of jotting something down. Your eyes widened when they met his, and though you tried to look back at your work, Hotch caught the way your cheeks flushed, betraying your reaction.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed you looking at him like that—soft glances quickly averted, the occasional stammer when he addressed you directly. He’d always assumed you were shy by nature, but there was something about the way you reacted to him in particular that stirred a feeling he hadn’t wanted to examine too closely. Not until now.

He crossed the bullpen, nodding a silent acknowledgment to JJ, who grinned knowingly and sipped her coffee. As he passed your desk, he noticed your gaze dart up to him again, only to quickly drop back to your notes. Your pen moved, but the faint smile tugging at your lips told him you weren’t really focused.

“Good morning,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet bubble you seemed to have surrounded yourself with.

Your head shot up, your eyes meeting his again before flickering to the beard and back. “G-Good morning, Hotch.”

There it was—that hesitation, that barely there crack in your voice. You managed a small smile, but your hands fidgeted with the pen, betraying your nerves.

He nodded, letting the moment linger just a second longer than usual. “I hope you had a good week.”

“I did,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly, before glancing away. “Did you?”

“I did.” His lips twitched in a barely-there smile. “It’s rare to have so much time off. I’ll see you in the meeting room.”

With that, he moved on, climbing the stairs to his office, though he couldn’t resist glancing back once. You were still sitting there, staring blankly at your notebook, one hand pressed against your cheek as though trying to will away the blush.

The day moved forward with its usual rhythm—briefings, paperwork, follow-ups on ongoing cases. But throughout it all, Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. The way your gaze flickered toward him whenever you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your voice softened when you addressed him. And, of course, the way your blush deepened whenever someone—namely Morgan—commented on the beard.

“Looking rugged, Hotch,” Morgan said during lunch, his grin teasing as always. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Hotch replied simply, though he couldn’t help noticing you sneaking a glance at him from across the table. He decided not to meet your eyes this time, sensing you’d only shrink further into yourself if he did.

By the end of the day, Hotch found himself in the bullpen again, finishing a conversation with Rossi. As the older man walked away, he turned to see you standing by your desk, gathering your things for the evening. You glanced up and froze when you realized he was watching you.

“Heading out?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, clutching your bag tightly. “I, uh... just finishing up.”

“Good.” He paused, then added, “I’ve noticed you’ve been very focused today. I appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he thought you might not respond. Then you nodded quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

He didn’t miss the way your gaze lingered on his face—on the beard—before you ducked your head again, clearly embarrassed by your own boldness. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of amusement—and something else, something warmer, deeper—at your reaction.

“Have a good night,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“You too,” you replied, finally looking at him again. And this time, there was a tiny smile on your lips—shy, but genuine.

As you walked away, Hotch stood there for a moment, watching you go. He didn’t usually dwell on personal matters, but for the first time in a long time, he found himself thinking about something—or rather, someone—other than the job.

Hotch lingered in the bullpen after you left, his gaze fixed on the space you had occupied only moments before. The quiet hum of the office around him faded into the background as his thoughts drifted. You had always been reserved—soft-spoken, diligent, and almost painfully shy in his presence—but tonight had felt different. The way your cheeks had flushed when you glanced at him, the way your voice trembled ever so slightly when you said, “Good night,” lingered in his mind like a melody he couldn’t shake.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way you avoided his gaze during meetings or the nervous energy that seemed to bubble to the surface whenever he was near. At first, he chalked it up to his position, assuming you were simply wary of interacting with your boss. But over time, he began to notice the subtler details—the way your focus seemed to falter when he entered the room, the way your lips pressed together in a shy smile whenever he acknowledged you. He couldn’t deny that your reactions had begun to stir something within him.

With a sigh, Hotch headed up to his office, closing the door behind him. The mirror by his coat rack caught his eye, and he approached it, scrutinizing his reflection. The beard, now fully grown, had transformed his appearance in ways he hadn’t anticipated. It softened the sharpness of his jawline, gave him an edge that felt rugged and unpolished. It reminded him of a different time—a different man—but also felt like a small reclamation of his identity beyond the suit and title.

He ran a hand over the coarse hair, considering whether it was time to shave it off. His routine had always been a source of stability in his chaotic life, and the beard felt like an indulgence he wasn’t sure he could afford to keep. Yet, as he stood there, the image of your wide-eyed gaze flashed through his mind. The way your blush deepened when JJ’s comment drew attention to him. The tiny, shy smile you offered as you said goodnight.

A warmth spread through him, surprising in its intensity. He’d seen countless reactions to his decisions over the years—respect, defiance, admiration—but the unfiltered awe in your eyes when you looked at him tonight was something else entirely. It wasn’t about the beard, he realized, not really. It was about you, and the thought that he might have been the reason for that smile, fleeting as it was.

Hotch turned away from the mirror and sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair. The thought of shaving the beard felt distant now, almost trivial. He knew he would eventually, but for now, he decided to keep it—if only to see if he could coax another smile from you.

And maybe, just maybe, to hear your voice tremble in that sweet, shy way one more time.

Aaron Hotchner stood in his bathroom, razor in hand, staring at his reflection. The beard was staying—for now—but it was time to bring it under control. He wasn’t the type to let his appearance slip too far, and even if the beard was uncharacteristic for him, it didn’t have to be unruly. With steady hands, he trimmed the edges, shaping it neatly to suit his features. The coarse sound of the trimmer filled the quiet bathroom as he worked methodically, the precision calming in a way that reminded him of his usual shaving routine.

When he was satisfied, he stepped back to examine the results. The beard was tidier now, the lines clean and deliberate. It still felt like a small rebellion against the rigidity of his usual image, but it was a rebellion on his terms.

Jack’s voice cut through his thoughts from the hallway. “You’re keeping it?”

Hotch turned to see his son leaning against the doorframe, a teasing grin on his teenage face. Jack had grown so much, taller now, his voice deeper, but the playful light in his eyes hadn’t changed.

“For now,” Hotch replied, setting the trimmer down. “Why? You don’t like it?”

Jack shrugged, feigning disinterest. “I mean, it’s fine. Just... you look like you’re trying to be cool or something.”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, amused. “Trying to be cool?”

“Yeah,” Jack teased, crossing his arms. “Like, what’s next? Leather jackets?”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to suits, thanks.”

“Good call,” Jack said, grinning as he walked away. “But don’t blame me if people start calling you ‘Hotch the hipster.’”

Hotch rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he grabbed a towel and cleaned up.

The next morning at the BAU, the beard caught its usual share of attention. You were the first to notice when Hotch walked into the bullpen, your eyes flickering up from your desk. As usual, you tried to hide your reaction, but Hotch caught the way your gaze lingered on him before you quickly looked back at your screen. He felt a small, unfamiliar pang of satisfaction.

Throughout the day, it became a pattern. Your eyes would drift toward him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and Hotch found himself hyper-aware of your presence. You seemed more flustered than usual, fumbling over your words when he asked you a question during a meeting and avoiding his gaze entirely when Morgan teased him about the beard.

It wasn’t until late afternoon that Rossi made his move. The two of them were standing by the coffee machine when the older man gave Hotch a knowing look.

“So,” Rossi began, casually stirring his coffee. “You’re keeping the beard.”

“For now,” Hotch replied, taking a sip from his own mug.

Rossi smirked, his tone light but unmistakably teasing. “I think someone likes it.”

Hotch frowned slightly. “Jack? He’s made his opinion very clear.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jack.” Rossi’s smirk widened as he nodded toward the bullpen, where you were seated at your desk, your gaze darting toward Hotch once again before you quickly turned your attention back to your papers.

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully neutral, but the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I think you’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” Rossi chuckled, leaning back against the counter. “You might want to pay attention, Aaron. She’s not as subtle as she thinks.”

Hotch glanced toward you once more. You were chewing on the end of your pen, deep in concentration, oblivious to the conversation happening just feet away.

He turned back to Rossi, shaking his head. “Let it go, Dave.”

“Sure, sure,” Rossi said, his tone dripping with false innocence as he pushed off the counter. “But for what it’s worth, I think the beard suits you. Clearly, I’m not the only one.”

Hotch didn’t reply, but as Rossi walked away, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but part of him was glad he’d decided to keep the beard. If nothing else, it gave him one more reason to notice the way your cheeks flushed and your gaze lingered just a little too long.

Hotch was used to reading people—it was part of his job. He could pick apart the smallest details in someone's behavior, uncovering motives and intentions hidden beneath the surface. But when it came to you, he had learned to tread carefully. You were quiet, meticulous, and hardworking, but there was a guardedness about you that he respected, even if he didn’t entirely understand it.

The subtle glances, the flushed cheeks, the way your voice softened when speaking to him—it had all been easy to dismiss as shyness. But lately, he’d begun to wonder if there was more to it. Rossi’s teasing hadn’t helped, planting a seed of curiosity that grew every time your gaze lingered on him just a second too long.

The revelation, however, came unexpectedly, in the middle of a case briefing.

The team was gathered in the conference room, the case details spread across the table. Hotch was at the head of the room, presenting the profile, when he asked a question about the unsub’s potential targets. You were the one who answered, your voice steady but quiet, offering an insight that made the rest of the team nod in agreement.

“Good observation,” Hotch said, his tone even but sincere. “That could narrow down the list.”

Your eyes darted to him, and for a moment, there it was again—that slight hesitation, the way your gaze lingered on his face before you quickly looked down. It was subtle, but it wasn’t lost on him.

What followed, however, wasn’t subtle at all.

“Careful, Hotch,” Morgan said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. “Keep praising her like that, and she’s gonna think she’s your favorite.”

The comment drew a few chuckles, but your reaction was what caught Hotch’s attention. You froze, your cheeks turning a deep shade of red as you fumbled with the pen in your hand.

“I—uh—I didn’t...” you stammered, your words trailing off as you avoided everyone’s gaze, especially his.

JJ, ever the empathetic one, tried to steer the conversation back to the case, but Morgan wasn’t done. “I’m just saying,” he added, his grin widening, “you don’t see him handing out compliments like that to the rest of us.”

“Enough,” Hotch said, his tone firm but not harsh, cutting off the teasing. He could see how uncomfortable you were, your shoulders tense as you kept your eyes glued to the table.

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and as the team dispersed, Hotch stayed behind, watching as you gathered your things with hurried precision. He could see the embarrassment still etched on your face, the way you avoided looking at him as you moved toward the door.

“Wait,” he said, his voice stopping you in your tracks. You froze, gripping the edge of the file folder in your hands as he stepped closer.

“Sir?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, his tone softer now. “Morgan’s comments—”

“They were just jokes,” you interrupted, though your cheeks were still flushed. “It’s fine.”

Hotch studied you for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the tension in your posture, the way your grip on the folder tightened. And then, as if unable to hold it in any longer, you blurted out, “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

That caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to the door as if debating whether to make a run for it. But then you took a deep breath, your voice trembling slightly as you said, “I—it’s nothing. I just... I know I’m not subtle. I’ve been trying, but...”

You trailed off, your words hanging in the air between you. Hotch felt his chest tighten, the weight of what you weren’t saying suddenly very clear.

“I see,” he said finally, his voice quiet but steady. “You don’t need to apologize.”

You looked up at him then, your eyes wide and uncertain. “I’m not making this weird, am I? I don’t want to... I mean, I know you’re my boss, and I shouldn’t—”

“Stop,” Hotch interrupted gently, his tone firm but kind. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the tension in the room thick but not unpleasant. Hotch could see the vulnerability in your expression, the way you seemed torn between fleeing and staying rooted in place.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch nodded, stepping back to give you space. “Take the rest of the day if you need it.”

You shook your head quickly, a small, shy smile appearing despite your obvious embarrassment. “I’m okay. I just... I’ll try to be more professional.”

“There’s nothing unprofessional about being yourself,” Hotch replied, his voice calm and measured. “Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, you nodded, clutching your folder tightly as you slipped out of the room. Hotch watched you go, his thoughts swirling as the door clicked shut behind you.

For a man who prided himself on being able to read people, the realization of your feelings hit him like a revelation he hadn’t seen coming. And yet, as he stood there in the empty conference room, he couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through him at the thought.

Aaron Hotchner lingered in the empty conference room after you left, the soft click of the door echoing in the silence. He was rarely caught off guard, but your words—and the vulnerability behind them—had shaken something loose within him. You hadn’t outright said the words, but the implication was clear. And now that it was out in the open, he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed the signs before.

He sat down, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table as he let himself think about it—about you. The way you’d look up at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your cheeks flushed whenever he praised your work, the way you stumbled over your words in meetings but always managed to recover with a thoughtful, intelligent point.

And then there was his reaction to it all. How his gaze would linger on you longer than it should. How your shy smile had a way of softening the edges of his day. How, against his better judgment, he found himself looking forward to the moments you shared, no matter how brief or inconsequential they might have seemed.

He sighed, leaning back in the chair. He’d spent so long guarding himself, compartmentalizing his emotions to stay focused on the job. But with you, those walls had started to crack, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Your presence had a way of grounding him, reminding him that there was still room for warmth and connection in his life.

Later that evening, Hotch was in his office, going over the case files, when a knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

“Come in,” he called, expecting one of the team.

Instead, it was you. You stepped inside hesitantly, your file folder clutched to your chest like a shield. “I just wanted to apologize,” you said softly, not meeting his eyes. “Again. For earlier.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Hotch said, his tone gentle as he set the file aside. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his before darting away again. “I just—I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for you.”

Hotch stood and rounded the desk, leaning against the edge of it as he regarded you carefully. “You haven’t made me uncomfortable. If anything, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

That made you look up, confusion flickering across your face. “What? Why?”

“Because I’ve noticed,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve noticed the way you look at me. The way you try to hide it. And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make you feel self-conscious. But I also didn’t want to admit to myself that I’ve been doing the same thing.”

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening as his words sank in. “You... what?”

Hotch offered a small, almost hesitant smile. “I’ve been trying to ignore it. To convince myself that it’s unprofessional or impractical. But the truth is, I feel it too.”

For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of his confession hanging in the air between you. He could see the disbelief in your expression, the way you seemed to be processing his words in real time.

“I don’t know where this goes,” Hotch continued, his tone careful but sincere. “But I do know that I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t feel something when I do.”

You stared at him, your grip on the file loosening slightly. “I didn’t think... I mean, I never thought you’d...”

“I know,” he said gently. “I haven’t exactly made it easy to tell.”

A small, tentative smile broke across your face, and Hotch felt a warmth spread through him at the sight. It was as if some unspoken weight had lifted, leaving room for something lighter, something brighter.

“I guess we’re both bad at this,” you said softly, your voice carrying a hint of shy humor.

Hotch chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Maybe. But we can figure it out.”

You nodded, the tension in your shoulders easing as your smile grew. “Okay.”

For the first time in a long time, Aaron Hotchner allowed himself to feel the full weight of hope, the possibility of something beyond the job, beyond the walls he’d built around himself. And as he watched you leave his office, your steps lighter than before, he couldn’t help but think that this—whatever it was—might just be worth the risk.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

[multifandomfanatic02]

"You Don't Own Me."

pairing : Alastor x overlord!reader

summary : A new overlord has came to play in Hell, you. Alastor took notice in how many souls you've accrued in such a short time. He has to let you know where you stood in the overlord hierarchy, however things don't go the way he originally planned.

warnings : slight blood play ig? Idk. Author trying to edge the reader :)) not proofread

word count : 900

You hadn't been in Hell for long but it felt as if you belonged. It didn't take long before you started catching the hearts of the sinners. A lot happily giving up their souls to simply breathe the same sulfuric air as you. The way you used these souls was unique. You weren't mean or evil in anyway shape or form. In fact, you were often seen as an inspiration.

The overlords in Pentagram City were a different story. None of them liked the way you shot up the hierarchy without even trying. Instilling fear was what got them where they were at and they weren't going to give up their seat to a goody-two-shoes like you. Your methods interested one overlord in particular, Alastor. Despite literally being stuck in the past, he was quite the open-minded demon.

He didn't know whether or not to applaud you or challenge you. Your talent would be useful. He wanted you for himself. And for years he fought to claim your soul and make a deal. And not once out of the hundreds of proposals did he convince you it was a good idea. The two of you slowly started to develop a strange relationship. Nothing romantic but there was definitely tension. While he didn't own your soul, you were often in each other's company.

It was like mutualistic relationship. He staved off the overly pushy overlords constantly offering you a job; jobs that would obviously make you uncomfortable. In turn, you offered your assistance in a lot of his business. It came with pros and cons like any other agreement. He was extremely possessive of you. You were treated like precious property. You had enough. There was no reason for this behavior. Typically it didn't bother you, but something snapped.

"Alastor. You do not own my soul. I'm not property that you can toy with. I should be allowed to go wherever I please." You crossed your arms in frustration hearing him explain why he didn't want you in the Vees territory.

"Darling, you know I hold you with upmost respect. It's got nothing to do with you being property. I understand you are immune to Vox's hypnosis spell. It's not him I'm worried about. My worry is of Vox's plaything, Valentino." He gripped your wrist, leaning ever so slightly to place a kiss on your knuckles. "Understand that you are a sight to behold in the entirety of Hell. Valentino, is not honorable in his job as I, my dear. Without the proper protection, you might as well be an easy target." His breath ghosted your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

It's like he forgot who you were, what you were capable of. It was time to show him how that talent of yours has affected him over time. And trust when you say, it did.

"Oh Alastor, I think you forget as to how I became an overlord in the first place. The feminine charm that you oh so fear backfiring on me is why you have been by my side after all these years." You wrapped your fingers around his bow tie, pulling him down to your level. An enchanting smile creeping up on your face as Alastor's expression glitched out from the bold action. The other hand running through his hair making him let out a soft purr. His eyes focused on yours trying to determine your next move before you could decide.

To his surprise, you gently pressed your lips against his. His head was dizzy with confusion and guilty enjoyment. Your lips trailed down his neck, biting down a bit. Enough for his blood to trickle down. Your hands were now trading between playing with his hair and drawing small circles on the back of his neck. Your lips returned to his, smearing the blood from your tongue as if it were a beautiful crimson lipstick. The poor guy was so touch starved, he gave in to the sudden intrusion of affection. He couldn't do anything but allow you to press his buttons.

Your tongue ran over your lips, swallowing whatever blood was left on them. You took a step back to view the obvious mess you've made. Alastor's eyes were dazed as if he was in another world. His face beet red nearly matching the color of his suit. It was such an unusual sight to see on him. And you managed to do it.

"My my, Alastor, you look like you would be willing to sell me your soul just readingthe look on your face." You held your hand to your lips to cover the laugh attempting to escape. "How the tables have turned, dear." A joke of course, he would never actua-

"Yes." His ears dropped to the back of his head, still standing at your level. No sign of humor on his face.

"I'm sorry, what?" You blinked dumbfounded, mouth agape.

"I will give you my soul, but only if I'm the only one to experience that from you." Your face flushed from his proposal. Alastor had actually submitted to you because of a single kiss? But it wasn't JUST a kiss to him. It forced out desires he had been holding in for a long time. Now more than ever was he determined to have you be his. It didn't matter as to how anymore.

"You've got yourself deal, Al."

a/n: I know this one is short, it was more of an experiment because of a dream that I had. However if you like this concept, I'd be more than happy to build upon it in the future.

[thefandomdirtymind]

The small favor

18 +

OPLA - Vinsmoke Sanji

Prequel : The Haircut

Sanji / OPLA Masterlist and Coming Soon 

A/N IMPORTANT: My first Smut fic in a very long time and damn I'm rusty. But, I hope you will still like it and I swear to improve myself with descriptive action scene.

Warning : Smut, mention of masturbation, unprotected sex, oral ( Fem receiving) , praising, vanilla sex, fluff

* English is not my first language, I tried really hard to correct myself but, I hope you will excuse me if some mistakes are still there.  

If you enjoy my story please let me know.

---

The moon, bright and full, was high in his sky. The supper was over for a long time ago now and the crew of the Merry going was all asleep, dreaming of battle, new territory to draw, a table full of food, adventure or of being reunited with an old friend.

But, you couldn’t sleep. The sound of the wave crashing against the boat, the light of the moon piercing through your window, the loud snoring duel between Zoro and Luffy and finally your brain who just couldn’t stop to think.

Turning on your other side for the fifth time, you let out a loud sigh. It was the third night in a row you couldn’t sleep. You had tried various techniques, from a marvelous tea prepared by Sanji, to sleeping outside. But neither the tea, things that seem to shock the best chef of the east blue, nor the traditional method had succeeded.

Getting down from your hammock, resolute to finally sleep, you exited without a sound your room. Making your way to a particular door, you slowly knock, guilt twisting your gust.

It didn’t take long for Sanji to open the door, even if you could tell by the state of his hair and simple black boxer he was wearing that he, on the contrary of you, was deeply in dreamland just a few minutes ago. 

“ Y/N, everything is okay darling ? “ He asked, a yawn on his lips. 

“ I can’t sleep again “ You confessed, your eyes admiring the view of his half naked body.  

“ Oh then we will try another tea, I wrote a recipe here, I had some idea of why the one before didn’t work but…“  The blond reply, returning in the room, letting the door open behind him. 

“ No Sanji, I need another small favor in fact “ You reply, following him in the room, closing the door behind you. 

 “ Everything you need mon coeur” The man replied, now clearly curious.

Traveling the small space between you, your gaze never leaving his, you slowly put your hand on his chest, lifting them slowly, brushing his skin with your fingertip until finally you join them behind his neck.

“ Sanji…please fuck me “ You softly ask. 

In an instant, you felt the hard wall press behind your back and his strong hands on your hips pinning you in place, his lips lingering only few minimeter of yours. 

“ I thought you would never ask” He groaned, taking possession of your lips.

The kisses of Sanji’s were exactly like him, passionate but gentle. Every move of his lips over yours, every exchange of breath or flip of his tongues against yours make you shiver or moan of pleasure. When his hands, like in a ballet in harmonie with his mouth, were exploring the soft skin of your breast under your still clothes body. 

Leaving your face to pepper kiss the valley between your neck and your shoulder. You felt one of his hands slide slowly between your legs, his thumb already rubbing in slow circles your clit. 

“ You're already so wet” He smiled, kissing the column of your throat  “ Did you start without me ? “ 

“I tried to masturbate, it didn't work out” You confessed, as you caressed the surface of his back, leaving yourself some kisses on his broad shoulders, your eyes heavy with lust. 

“ Then I will have to try, don’t you think, Prunelle de mes yeux *. Maybe I wasn’t enough in your mind"  (* Apple of my eye) 

Putting down your pants alongside your panties. He seductively left a last kiss on your lips before kneeling before you, his thumb traveling lazily between the lips of your pussy before teasing your clit.

Licking you first with long strokes with the flat of his tongue, moaning when your fingers buried himself on his golden hair. He then proceeds to alterne with the tip of his tongue creating a devilish prequel to the main course.  

After a while his tongue seems everywhere, driving you crazy, eating you out like if you were the best meal of his life. Sanji took his time to suck your clit as his finger was sliding in you in a pace you could only think as delicious torture. 

As promised, your mind had cleared everythings who’s isn’t related to him and the pleasure he slowly build in your belly. 

“ Oh fuck, soo good, Sanji please more…more…” You whine, your knees shaking as his two fingers pushed further in you.

Still pin at the wall with his large hand on your stomach. Your hands in his hair, trying to keep your sanity. You could feel him smile against the flushed skin of your thigh as the speed of his finger increased and he kissed once more your pussy with his open mouth, reducing you as a babbling mess. 

“ Sanji I…Sanji !” You cried, becoming temporarily mute as the pressure built in your body and your orgasm struck you like lightning, making your knees buckled.

Catching you up before you fell on the floor, Sanji brought you to his desk, sitting you on the plane surface. 

“ Y/N can you spread your legs a little?” He gently asked. 

“ Sanji I will need a minute here” You laugh, still coming down from the previous orgasm. 

“ I know darling I only want to engrave in my brain how you look so beautiful half naked and pleasure high spread on my desk.” He replies, smiling, his lips still glossy of your juice.

“ You’re a pervert “ You joked, spreading your legs for him to see. 

“ Say the girl who wake me up to be fuck until she fall asleep “ He responded, inserting himself between your legs as he bring you closer to the edge for a toe curling kiss ,removing in a fluid moves his boxer, letting him totally naked.

You took the time, as he broke your embrace to extract you from your tank top, to admire, again, the splendors of all his physique. Not that you hadn’t noticed before, you had eyes of course and the man fully dressed was already worth being seen. But having him like that, smiling, as his muscular body overlooks yours, his cock already erect just for you, makes you so happy to have insomnia that night.

Advancing your hand to take his cock, smoothly initiating a move of up and down, you smiled when you heard him moan in the crock of your neck. 

“ Is that good ? “

You didn’t hear the response he muttered,  but as his hand stopped yours to push the tips of his dick on your entrance, you decided that you truly didn’t care.

Thrusting at a slow pace, letting your body adjust to him, the best cook of the east blue was clearly starting to lose the battles with his self-control when your hips joined him in the movement in a way more high cadence. Moaning your name like a prayer, sucking your nipples like if they were made of candy, his hand shaking slightly, he gladly followed your change of regime, making you back arch and welcoming every one of your whine and moan like if they were gift from a goddess herself. 

“ Yes, like that, please just like that Yes” You praised him, your second orgasm near. 

“ Yes Madam” Sanji groaned on your lips with his damn proud smile,rubbing your clit. “ But i’m not done with you yet” 

Your forehead pressed against his, your eyes closed, you exploded for the second time that night.

Your brain, still in a blissful fog, became sadly aware of the hollowed sensation in your pussy when he removed his dick as well as the trail of open mouth kisses Sanji left on your breast before helping you get down off the desk. 

Turning you around, exposing your ass in just the right angle. You loudly gasped when he filled you again, making you wonder if you didn’t get yourself a new addiction. But, if you did, you wouldn’t be alone. Sanji, behind you was a total mess, his breath frantic, thrusting in you like he found in your warm core a new religion beside, of course,the food. 

As your nail was scratching small strides in the wax on his dark wood desk , leaving him physically something to remember that night, you could feel his own orgasm coming.

“ So…so close mon coeur '' He moaned, before letting out a groan of satisfaction as the pleasure finally took him.  

Crying your last moans, your breath panting, you felt his chest trapping you against the wood panel as he slowly regained his composure, whispering sweet praise in your ear.

 “ You know what mon coeur, forget the tea, I will exhaust you everytime you can’t sleep“ 

—

Press against Sanji's chest in his small hammock, your eyes heavy from fatigue, you smiled. 

“ Thank you for the favor” You laugh, yawning.   

“ Anytime Madam” Sanji quietly laughed, his own eyes closing, as you both drifted in the better sleep you had. 

[amerricanartwork]

Do you have any tips for drawing? Anything really

Well, "any tips for drawing" is rather vague, so I'll just offer some general advice for now, which is more about how to learn and improve than how to draw any specific thing. If you'd like some more specific advice, though, I'd love to help where I can!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Use references when you're stuck on something! No artist is ever "too good" to use references when they want to draw a particular thing better. References can be photos or other artists' art (ideally with credit depending on how closely your art resembles the original), though I don't use the latter much because trying to copy another artist's style typically doesn't work as well as just keeping the inspiration in the back of my mind and going with the flow.

Speaking of that, finding an art style is a gradual thing, from what I've experienced. To me, it seems to be a thing that develops over time as a result of how different artists solve different problems. You don't have to stress about getting any one "style" with your art; just focus on solving problems with your drawings, and it'll develop its own unique look by virtue of you being a unique person and consciously or subconsciously adding new things to the solutions you find. If you are looking to emulate a specific style, try to pick one that solves problems you have with drawing or (to go off the previous point) appeals to what you enjoy, or perhaps what specific genre of art you plan to do.

To go further, Always look to solve problems. If you're struggling to draw a particular thing, try to figure out what specific part of the drawing is challenging for you, and look for ways to improve on that aspect. If you realize you struggle drawing hands — or even more specific, you struggle drawing hands in dramatic poses where the fingers are curled — for example, set the goal to find a method to draw hands in those kinds of poses, then relax. I usually find a solution to these kinds of problems within days of setting the goal, and I don't even have to search super hard. In fact, sometimes more comfortable methods of drawing certain things just pop in my mind!

Save any tutorials or references you find especially helpful! I like to bookmark YouTube tutorials I like, as well as the blogs or websites of any artists whose work I find inspiring. I also have a HUGE Pinterest board with tons of tutorials on drawing all sorts of things, so that definitely helps!

This is perhaps one of my biggest tips: try to get in tune with your "artist intuition" in a sense. Recognize what things you already do and don't like to draw, not just in the subject, but the general process you use to think about and draw an image, what parts of said art process you enjoy the most (line art, coloring, shading, sketching, etc.), and what kind of art you want to make in the future or what purpose you plan to use your art for. I've found understanding these things about myself really helps figure out which art tutorials will be more or less useful, and which art styles/processes feel comfortable to me. This is not to say you should never seek to improve, but rather, look for a means of improvement that fits your natural drawing preferences and habits. Maybe the Loomis method isn't the easiest way for you to visualize the human head, and another method works better. As long as you get the result you want, the process can be tailored to fit you specifically, even if that means using a process that's obscure or even exclusive to you.

You will never be perfect, and can never stop improving. So don't worry so much about making sure you're "good enough" to draw the ideas in your head. I know it can be worrying to think you aren't skilled enough in certain aspects to bring your ideas to fruition, but because you can never stop improving, if you need to be "good enough" before you can draw the things you love, you'll be waiting forever. So don't bottle up your ideas just because you think they won't turn out very professional. Instead, just do your best in the moment and note what you can get better at afterwards. And worst-case scenario, you can always come back and redraw the idea once you've improved.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Okay, well, this was the stuff I could think of so far right now. I hope this helps!

[proper-goodnight]

Behind the Curtain Pt. 1

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You

Type: Snippet/Concept (2-part)

The late afternoon sun bathed the small two-story beach house in a golden hue, long shadows casting across the porch with the waning sun. Sierra Six, Six now, sat on the uppermost step, watching with some kind of anticipation as the waves crashed against the shore. He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting, what he anticipated. The debacle in Prague had been months ago now with no sign of the CIA since, but somehow, he got it in his mind that they could or would eventually wash in with the waves, burst through the swaying palm trees and occasional bougainvillea and take him, kicking and making obscene hand gestures on the way back.

The lingering unease never ceased to gnaw at him. As much as he reveled in his little makeshift family, proving more than once that he was Claire’s safe harbor, the specter of the CIA constantly loomed. They were relentless, their methods perhaps having changed where he was concerned, but their thirst for control had not. It bothered them that he had gotten away he knew, and that he’d taken so many of them when he’d gone. The secrets that he carried, the enemies that he had made didn’t just vanish with a change of scenery. Each day, he felt the weight of those past decisions pressing down, and he could never shake the feeling that they were watching, biding their time. 

It was why he slept when Claire didn’t, why he always kept one eye and ear open, ready to delve back into his old instincts as soon as the moment presented itself. Claire’s life wasn’t negotiable, and they had overstepped when they’d taken her away in the first place.

Behind him, the scent of salt and jasmine wafted through the door, common where the house was concerned, and only sometimes disrupted by the blaring of Claire’s favorite records. 

The contrast was steep. Once, he’d constantly been on the move, watching his back; he maneuvered through every possible scenario with absolute precision, and he had always been in a constant state of adrenaline-induced mania. The lives that he’d taken had always been without any particular interest or care; he didn’t miss it. 

Maybe once he’d have considered missing the feeling of purpose, but now he was content with providing security and stability to someone who needed it. 

She’d adorned the entire space with colorful drawings and various knick-knacks that she’d collected over the months, glass jars of seashells serving as the reminders of their weekends at the beach. He was not foolish; he did not believe that he could ever be her parents, nor Donald–he saw it in the times when she would pause and think, when her gaze would go distant, but he liked to think that sometimes, he may have been enough.

She’d never talked about it, and in truth, he’d never asked. He’d only hoped that she knew that if she wanted to, he would be there to hear it. 

“I’ve been doing the math,” Claire’s voice broke him from his thoughts, bounding out onto the porch with one graceful leap, the tone of her voice very matter-of-fact; he half-turned to her with eyebrows raised quizzically, a silent invitation for her to continue. 

“For your birthday,” she went on. 

Oh. 

Six didn’t know the last time that he’d thought about his birthday, let alone celebrated it. Court Gentry was dead, Sierra Six obsolete, and Six too new a person on his own to think about luxuries he’d stopped being able to afford. He still didn’t know who he was meant to be in the long run. Six. Just Six was fine with him. 

“It’s almost your birthday,” he corrected her, then admitted more sheepishly, shrugging, eyes flicking between her and a spot on one of the lower steps. “I haven’t had a lot of luck figuring out a gift, but I’m working on it.” 

“No pressure,” she said nonchalantly, completely unfazed by his awkward fidgeting. She strode toward him, leaning against one of the porch posts. Her arms crossed, shrugging one shoulder in a gentle mockery of his earlier gesture. “It’s only a matter of life or death,” she snickered, then quickly added before he had time to consider the implications, or more importantly, completely fell for it: “Kidding. I’m kidding.”

Six let out a low chuckle, a sound that felt warm and alien to him. Claire always had this remarkable ability to diffuse tension and replace it with something else, however momentary it ended up being. That was her gift. She was a pin to a docile bomb, one pull from exploding his very fragile existence. The thought of losing that filled him with an urgency that he struggled to articulate. Regardless, that was enough of a gift to him–the only one he needed.

“Life or death, huh?” He mused, feigning a serious tone. He turned to her, allowing some semblance of a smile to break through. “Last time I checked, I was doing just fine without a cake or a party.”

“Sure,” she agreed without really agreeing. “I’m thinking streamers, balloons, and of course, an embarrassing amount of party hats.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “The point, Six, is to celebrate you, whether you want it or not. Everyone deserves that.”

Just over his shoulder, the waves curled and crashed, sparkling under the last shafts of sunlight. It was easy to dismiss the notion of celebration when he had long buried his past along with the expectations tied to it. “I think I might be the exception to the rule, Kid.”

Just outside of his peripherals, Claire had leaned closer, a conspiratorial tilt to her posture. “Okay, well Mr. Exception is someone worth celebrating. There’s a whole world that loves you. Like it or not, I am the unofficial representative of that world, and I say we’re having a party. A two-person party.” She waved a hand around, gesturing at nothing in particular. “It’s not just about a birthday cake, it’s a celebration of you being here. You know, living. You’re here–present and accounted for–and that’s a big deal.”

“Present and accounted for,” he repeated, distant, testing the words on his tongue. 

“Exactly,” Claire said, her enthusiasm unfazed. “And maybe next year, there’ll be more people around.” She suggested. “Maybe after I finally start school, and you get an actual job. A normal job that doesn’t, you know, involve killing people.” That last bit was a gentle prod, the amusement rippling along her tone until she released a low huff of a laugh. 

Six turned and studied her face, noting the innocent conviction in her expression while her words suggested the complete opposite. 

“And what about your birthday?” He asked.

“We’ll celebrate it together, that way I don’t have to decorate for both,” she decided immediately, hardly missing a beat in-between. She clapped her hands together. “I was already thinking about how we can decorate. I mean, if we suffice just with streamers and balloons We can make it a whole day thing.”

She must have seen a caution in his expression, from the slight arch in his brows. Her artistic habits had turned the entire house into a big art project. 

“You sure about diving into that rabbit hole?” He teased. 

“Art is messy!” Claire laughed again, her bright eyes alight with mischief and fervor. “Besides, I’ll need your help deciding which colors clash the least.” She seemed to consider that, and then, as though deciding he’d be no help with that particular subject, she backtracked. “Or at least agree with me when they don’t.”

As she continued to prattle about colors and possible themes, Six found himself settling into the comfort of their banter, the stress lines of uncertainty easing away. Amidst the chaos of his past, the potential of tomorrow brightened for the first time in a long while. It was too easy where she was concerned, and yet he was still coming to terms with the surprise every time it hit him. For Sierra Six, the man who’d spent so much of his life unseen—this small moment, filled with laughter and warmth, felt like a promise. A promise that he could be more than just a shadow of his former self. That he could embrace the life he had carved out with Claire.

With that thought nestled in his heart, he leaned into Claire’s playful banter, embracing her joy and the idea of celebrating just being here—present and alive, no longer hidden in the gray.

Eventually, he did have to go back to work, and unfortunately, he was proven right very quickly that he did not possess the needed skills for civilian occupations–retail work, maintenance, construction, odd jobs; it was not his lack of basic life skills, rather his ability to deal with people in a way that was constructive. Every single job yielded minimal profit, and every job was finished with the expectation that he would not come back. 

The jobs that he’d taken–the radiant skin of a surfboard shop employee, a fleeting moment as a barista at a local cafe–had all but proven futile. He didn’t belong behind counters or working with delicate machines. His purpose had once been shrouded in shadows and calculated risks, not pleasantries and small talk. He’d attempted to find his footing in the civilian world since Prague, yet every interaction with others grated against his instincts. 

The smiles exchanged between customers, the chipper greetings of coworkers felt like an old suit, ill-fitting and poised to fall apart at the seams. After weeks of enduring patronizing conversations with people who couldn’t grasp the complexity of reality, he retreated. Each attempt further crumbled his confidence, the realization brewing within that this wasn’t the life he could mold. 

Claire insisted that he could do better, spending time with her in the evenings crafting and planning for their upcoming ‘party’, but the funds were running out, the cost of maintaining a beach house and supporting Claire emptying his private accounts faster than he’d anticipated. 

The crux of the issue was simple: Claire needed him. The precarious financial situation demanded he reconsider. Their beach house, an oasis by day, could quickly turn into a cage of desperation if he couldn’t find a way to safeguard their future. Everything he had fought to protect could slip away. Just like that. 

It was in the small hours of that evening, his heart heavy, fingertips pressing against his brushing thoughts, that the itch to return to what he knew best surfaced. He didn’t seek thrill or adulation—he sought provision.

Six knew private contracting had long been a lifeline for those who operated on the fringes of society, a milieu he was intimately familiar with. Discreet and often lucrative, it promised a way back into a world that thrived on shadows, cloaked in secrecy, and ruled by whispered alliances. He wasn’t interested in working for dubious governments or shadowy cabals; he envisioned something different, a balance he could strike. Perhaps taking smaller jobs, ensuring he kept his skills sharp while allowing him to determine the terms of his engagements.

The familiar rhythm of anticipation pulsed in his blood. Just like in the field, there was a thrill in control, a seductive rush in orchestrating the plates of risks and rewards. He could choose who he wanted to engage with, what missions to accept or decline, and he could ensure Claire would never have to know the full extent of what he had to do.

At first, he’d mustered enough self-control to dismiss the idea, knowing that every step back into that life gave the potential of putting him back under someone’s radar, and by connection, Claire. The CIA, as soon as they found any hint of his whereabouts would be on him in a second, better prepared, and forcing his hand to lift more than a finger to see his way out again. 

He dismissed the idea until a letter arrived, addressed to him without a return address, ambiguous with only a short, neatly printed letter inside the address to an even more ambiguous meeting place:

I have reason to believe your name has surfaced. 

I want to discuss a job. Meet at this address in two days. 

Tell no one.

-DM

Sierra Six stared at the letter, the neat script bleeding into a smudge of ink as the words blurred together. He felt an old instinct kick in, the first stirrings of adrenaline that had lain dormant for months, along with the implied threat of being compromised.

And with that singular thought, he resolved to confront whatever awaited him with the same resolve he had embraced as Sierra Six—a man who now fought not only for survival but for the gift of a quiet life filled with laughter, color, and Claire. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The office was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the vibrant chaos of the world outside. Shadows pooled in the corners, and Six leaned against a steel desk, arms crossed, his posture revealing a practiced stillness as he surveyed the surroundings. This world felt familiar yet foreign—a jagged edge of nostalgia reminding him of the insidious nature of his former life.

Across from him, Dani Miranda lounged on the other side of the desk, shuffling some papers in a manila folder. She looked around warily, eyeing every entrance and exit as though she expected someone to barge in at a moment’s notice–nobody was physically in the building, not so late at night, but that didn’t mean that potential enemies weren’t watching, his earlier anticipation of the CIA washing ashore scratching at the back of his mind. 

“This is her,” she said, sliding the folder across the desk toward him.

Six opened the folder cautiously. Inside were photographs of a woman in various settings: intervals of laughter caught on a theater stage, intimate gatherings, and a few more contentious images that looked to be taken through a far-off lens. But what caught him was not the semblance of darkness surrounding her but the twinkle of joy in the actress's eyes. She looked alive, vibrant under the spotlight, a brilliant illusion of life echoing through every frame.

“Who is she?” He asked, keeping his voice steady, the wooden timbre laced with a cautious edge.

“Theater actress. They say she has connections—wealthy patrons, influential circles. Apparently, she’s been overheard chatting about some of the more unsavory deals happening behind the scenes. You know how it goes: whispers of corruption, illegal backing, all the stuff that gets agencies like ours suddenly motivated,” Dani said, finally leaning back in her chair, crossing her arms as if to solidify her stance. 

True enough, Six knew the ins and outs of how intelligence worked, how information flowed through the elite, twisting light into shadow. But there was something about the way Dani spoke about the woman that sat wrong with him: a woman shifting the currents of high society, a stage actress possibly exposing secrets. Six could see how she could be a danger—not just because of what she might reveal, but for his own delicate balance of existence. 

“You’re sure?”

Dani leaned forward, fixing him a droll stare. “She’s already on the radar, and if someone moves on her first… She becomes a liability for everything she knows, including you.” She leaned back, the steady weight of her posture dissipating the tension that had coiled in the air. “I’m just saying that her visibility attracts the kind of attention we don’t want—both from shady players and the agency. If we let this go, it’ll draw eyes, and you know the CIA thrives on information. They��ll soon find ways to connect dots that aren’t meant to be connected.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, the fatigue settling like a heavy cloak over his shoulders. “And what do you want from me?”

“Simple,” Dani said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “Find out where she goes, who she meets, and if she really is spilling secrets—or if it’s just rumor and conjecture. If it turns out she’s dangerous to us, we handle it. If not, I can advocate for her quietly. Nobody needs to know you were involved.”

“Advocate?” He echoed. “For someone you barely know?”

“We’ve both seen enough collateral damage in this business.” She leaned forward again, her expression earnest. “Innocent people get trampled if they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don’t want it to be another one just because they heard a name or two they shouldn’t have. I think it’s worth the risk if we can gather the right intel, especially if I’m getting outside help.”

He considered her words, the weight of them settling in. Six’s instinctual distrust warred with a growing sense of obligation. Dani wasn’t wrong; his own situation involving Lloyd Hansen and Carmichael enough of an example, all of the things they’d tried to cover up; never mind how much of the shit they tried to put on him.

“If I’m doing this,” he relented, “I don’t want any traces leading back to me or Claire. No names, no fingerprints, no trails—deal?”

She nodded, a wry smile creeping across her lips. “Absolutely. You know I’ll make sure of that.”

“And if I find something?”

“Then make it your mission to only gather information,” Dani said, her tone firm yet laden with understanding. “I’ll send you the details later tonight. The usual protocols, waypoints, and routes. If you need backup or more intel on her, I can arrange that too, but you’ll have to keep this to yourself. I’m not drawing any more eyes on this than necessary.”

Six’s eyes flicked back to the photographs. The woman in each reminded him so much of Claire—alive, radiant, brimming with potential, yet obscured by the knowledge that they could both vanish into the background if someone decided it warranted action.

“Okay,” he said, determination settling like a stone in his stomach. “I’ll start tonight.”

“Good.” Dani sat back, her demeanor shifting from serious operative to a more relaxed version of herself. “Once you’ve got something, we’ll evaluate how best to proceed—maybe put a little pressure on the right people.”

Six stood up to leave, placing the folder down as though it carried a weight far beyond the paper it was printed on. With each step toward the door, the gravity of his decision settled onto his shoulders like armor. It wouldn’t be long before the lines blurred between protection and danger. He stepped out of the dim office into the cool night, the air thick with the scent of salt and uncertainty.

In the quiet darkness, he allowed himself a moment to focus; thoughts of Claire filled his mind—a world of dreams and innocence painted against the backdrop of his latest mission. She didn’t deserve the chaos that trailed him, a truth that shot through him with every step he took away from the office. Yet this was the paradox he faced: to genuinely protect her, he needed to immerse himself back into the gray.

The hunt was on.

[northwindow]

love your blog so much! and im wondering how you archive/document your day-to-day life and the information that you take in — whatever form: books, lyrics, trees, etc etc — ? im struggling so much w forgettttttting

i love this question! i’ve always longed to have a beautiful and consistent journal, but it’s something i struggle with maintaining organically so i’ve tried some different structures over the past few years. long-winded answer under the cut 💗

back in 2021, i was making a monthly journal on google slides which i really liked because it's so natural to integrate images. i just made a month of it public here as an example of what it was like.

from 2022 - now, i've been doing a new concept where on the last day of every season i write long, list-y answers to these prompts:

art that has been resonating with me (includes music, books, movies, visual art, anything really). i'll usually write a few words about it... "Decision to Leave dir. Park Chan-Wook—the eye shot! the eye shot with the ants crawling on it" or "'Train Ride' by Ruth Stone: 'Release, release; / between cold death and a fever, / send what you will, I will listen. / All things come to an end. / No, they go on forever.'" or "Chunky misshapen pearls and other organic, shiny shapes"

my favorite memories from the season... examples from past lists include "Swimming hole with Zoë where I stuck a twig in my hair and we waded around on our hands like crocodiles" and "Walks in my snowsuit at night, one in particular where the Gemenids meteor shower was just starting"

a checkup on 5 of my current projects/goals. currently these are 1. learn to lift weights, 2. write 50 "identical" poems, 3. write a new syllabus, 4. practice mindful spending, 5. improve at woodworking.

a checkup on 5 of my core values. currently these are 1. adventure, 2. connection, 3. play, 4. sensuality, 5. sustainability.

reevaluating projects and values to focus on next

since you mentioned wanting to remember things-- when i'm putting this together i draw extensively from my tumblr archive/likes, calendar, photos app, recent playlists, and letterboxd and storygraph accounts. curating this kind of ephemeral data into a more permanent and thoughtful record is really satisfying to me. i privately call this method "wrapped" a la spotify... like i'll have a big entry for "fall 2022 wrapped" and then "winter 2023 wrapped" and so on. i do all this on the app notion and file the seasons on one big page so it's easy to click into one and remember what i was doing and thinking about. (i also converted my dream journal to a notion database. i've logged about 300 dreams in here and love that i can tag by character/feature.)

over the years i've also kept a more classic diary via text documents that's less structured, just spitting out whatever's on my mind with the date at the top. i tend to do this frequently for a while, then ebb off, then restart another doc, rinse and repeat. i also have a few physical notebooks (including these two) but the digital stuff is way more extensive as i prefer to write on the computer.

if i were going to recommend any of this, i would say the visual format of the slides journal was really compelling because i liked the aesthetic freedom but i also love the "wrapped" lists because they seem to cut to the core of an era's texture. in the future i'd like to try to integrate these aspects together! 📓

[writing-good-vibes]

For the valentines one shot would it be possible to have a combination of meet cute and replacement ?

hey thanks so much for the request !! i did another fic with the replacement prompts which you can read [here] if you like !! but i hope you enjoy this one too !!

WARNING for corey x gn!reader and joan being The Worst™, but there's also a lot of awkward fluff heehee.

💘 very cute divider by @/saradika-graphics 💘

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

This wasn't the first time a customer had yelled at you over something beyond your control and it certainly wouldn't be the last. Likely not even the last time today, and with that in mind you simply tried to weather this particular storm.

"Why didn't you mark it clearly? Are you just trying to trick your customers, now? Trick more money out of my pocket?"

"Ma'am," you try again. "I really am sorry for the confusion, but this item just isn't included in the promotion. I can void it from your bill, if you don't want it?"

This suggestion doesn't work, and the woman in front of you reiterates the same spiel of how you, the cashier, were clearly trying to con money directly from her pocket by not clearly indicated which cans were included in the 3-for-the-price-of-2 promotion.

While you waited your turn so you could assure her that, although it wasn't anything to do with you, you'd shoulder the blame and "Please, I can take it off your bill, or you can switch this can for one of the included items?", you notice the young man stood behind your enraged customer.

He's looking down at his shoes, shoulders hunched, but the embarrassed flush is still obvious on his soft cheeks.

He glances up occasionally, eyes darting around at everything in his vicinity; his mom (or who you presume to be his mother), the other customers who are either irritated by the hold up or amused by the scene playing out in front of them, and at you. His eyes stop on you for a moment too long, tracing your features quickly, before they snap back down to his sneakers.

You almost miss your cue to continue your placating attempts because your mind has wandered at the mere sight of this guy. You wonder if he flushes like that, all pink and bashful, about other things. Things more fun than his mother chewing out a minimum wage employee. You feel the heat start to rise beneath your own skin.

After way longer than you hoped, the woman finally concedes and sends the young man, her son, with strict instructions to go and get a new can from the promotion stand. He gets back in record time, giving you a tight smile as he hands you the can of peach slices for you to scan.

His mom complains the whole time.

You watch while the young man packs their grocery bags, broad hands enveloping each item as he organises everything methodically, like he's about to be fired from a job he doesn't have.

Finally the transaction is complete and your Angry Customer snatches the receipt from your hand and leaves with a thunderous rattle of the carts wheels.

Breathing deeply, you try to centre yourself. When you look up you see the young guy still stood at your checkout. Something about him makes you smile.

"Hey," he says quietly, wringing his hands. "I'm really, really sorry about her."

"It's okay," you assure him. "Won't be the first or the last time I deal with a situation like that." A shrug, as you try to maintain an air of nonchalance, while you rearrange some of of the junk -- pens, discarded price tickets, a Canadian quarter you'd found in the cash draw -- around your register.

"No, really, I mean it. You did a great job, she shouldn't have given you a hard time."

You're touched by his concern, even more touched when you look back up at him and his eyes are wet. "I'm okay, honestly. Thank you though, you're sweet. Was that your mom?"

"Yeah, she --," he hesitates, then just sort of gestures.

"Ah," you nod.

For a moment you both say nothing. Corey wrings his hands again restlessly. Under the halogen glow of the grocery store lights, you notice a silver signet ring glinting on his pinky finger.

"Corey? What are you doing? Get back here!" His mom is blocking half the exit door with her shopping cart, looking at him expectantly.

He flinches at his name. "I'm Corey," he - Corey - says, as though it weren't now obvious to everyone in the store. He steps out of the way of the checkout, allowing the next person in line to move forward as you start scanning their groceries.

You give him your name in return and then, "I'll see you here again?"

"Yeah, I mean probably. I uh, I really have to go. Um, bye -- I mean, see you!" he replies over his shoulder as he hurries off back to his mother.

You watch him leave, watch as he holds onto the shopping cart with one hand while his mother pushes it out the door and they cross the parking lot together. His mother is giving him an earful.

[thesummoningdark]

That post about redemption arcs really made me want to talk about my favourite adjacent character arc I've ever played out

So in a long running D&D campaign, I played the Token Evil Aligned Character in the party. No, don't look at me like that, I don't mean in an edgelord murderhobo kind of way. I mean that I was playing a drow who'd had to flee to the surface for reasons of Plot, and he had still entirely internalised the morality and social conventions of the culture he came from, but he was smart enough to figure out that he'd draw less attention and find less trouble if he at least gave the impression of giving a shit about the humans' weird moral hangups. Like oh so casual murder is frowned upon up here? Wild, but sure, I don't want arrested so whatever.

I joined the game at 8th level. The in-canon justification for my presence was that the party were travelling to a new region and one of their allies (the head of the thieves guild, who my character had retroactively been working for) ordered me to go with them to be their guide. Once my character figured out that they were on a quest of world-saving importance, he was fairly invested in helping, due to being one of the idiots who lived there. However this led to some fun and interesting in-character tension, as he was quite happy to employ methods in pursuit of this goal that the rest of the party were uncomfortable with.

(Both he and the chaotic neutral warlock were kept in line mostly by the looming disapproval of our 8ft tall lawful good goliath, and the associated threat of having their spines snapped if they took it too far)

The culmination of this initial mini-arc, of my character being in agreement with the party's goals but not necessarily trusting them to do what needed to be done if it really came to it, happened three years later. In the aftermath of a major battle (which our side lost) the party had to defeat a lieutenant of the main antagonist in order to get to safety. In the course of this fight my character was badly injured (mechanically: was knocked to 0hp in melee with this mini-boss, and only survived by the repeated application of healing cantrips to reset his death saves) and when the party got the upper hand, the lieutenant took him hostage and threatened to kill him if they didn't let her go. I want to stress at this point that when I'd built my character, the DM and I had discussed a contingency subplot that would come into play if he died. Death was an extremely realistic possibility at this point, from both a mechanical and a DM-steering-the-story perspective.

And the lawful good goliath, the one who this entire time had been insisting that the ends didn't justify the means, that they couldn't sacrifice individuals in pursuit of their goals, looked her in the eye and told her to go fuck herself.

It's one of my favourite pieces of RP I've ever seen done. And it was such a huge turning point in my character's relationship with the goliath in particular, who he now had a genuine respect for; and with the party as a whole, now that he was able to believe he really could trust them to make the hard choices if they had to.

I know everyone gets overinvested in their own game, but I genuinely think we all did a great job with that whole arc. I love that it wasn't just the characters from the deep end of the alignment pool being 'tamed', but also a reciprocal process of the good-aligned characters coming to trust that their more extreme methods would be used judiciously and not without good cause. That there was room for different approaches to working towards their cause and different reasons for supporting it.

[sacredwrath]

P5. Breakfast

Past captivity + torture, panic attack, ptsd, confusion, angst, whumpee thinks caretakers are whumper (briefly)

Jesse watches their family eat. Jordan is the only person seemingly unaffected by the events of yesterday. The break neck speed of their story doesn't leave room for thought, much less interjection. Jesse is glad. Hearing about the new pine fort they’re building in the forest relaxes them, keeping them grounded in the moment.

“OH- and Jes, when your leg is better, you also have to see, there's a new nest! It's over by beaver creek! I couldn't tell if they were swallows for sure, but they looked like it. One has a blue head, and you can hear the babies from all the way down the path!”

“Wow!” Jesse tries. “How's the dam? Are the beavers still working on it?”

“Oh yes! They've made so much progress. I don't really know what a finished dam looks like, but it must be getting close now! I saw one of them…”

It feels strange to see life move on. To Jordan and the rest, to the beavers, life just kept moving. They feel strangely out of place, like a time traveler peering in at their own life, their past life.

Jordan chugs their apple juice, quiet for the first time the whole meal. They slam their cup down on the table and Jesse berates themself for their flinch, glancing quickly around to see if anyone noticed.

“Anyways, see you losers later! Bye Jesse, I have to show you my bow and arrow later, Jake helped me make it while you were gone.” They hop off their chair gathering up trinkets and shoving them in a bag.

“I can't wait!” Jesse smiles. They have to look away, tears springing unbidden to their eyes. They missed this, missed breakfast, missed Jordan and their wild adventures. “Hey Jordan” they call after the scurrying figure “can I have a hug”

“Of course!” Jordan sprints back to the table and tackles Jesse in a hug.

“Oof” they grunt, but squeeze back just as tightly.

Once they've left and only the adults are left, Jesse dabs at their eyes with a napkin, keeping their eyes on their plate. They aren't ready for the gentle questions, the concerned glances, having to explain. They can sense their family's curiosity, their concern, but aren't ready to face it.

Isa jumps in, expertly filling the silence with casual conversation. Drawing everyone in and carefully steering talk away from Jesse. They have never been more grateful for that particular kindness.

Jake talks about a new girl he met down in the city. They're getting coffee, again, on Saturday. The others tease him about the disastrous end of his last whirlwind romance. Jesse missed it.

Nora complains that Misha keeps sabotaging her tinctures. “You're the worst mentor!” She exclaims. “she keeps assigning me all these formulas, then changes the recipe halfway through.”

“Don't question my methods, young one. I'm teaching you medicine not how to follow a recipe.” Misha grins wickedly. Nora rolls her eyes.

“You see what I put up with every day.” she leans over as if for a kiss, but snaps at Mishas lip instead.

“ow! You animal!” Misha snaps, dragging her into a hug.

Jesse finds themself smiling, letting the normalcy wash over them. It feels so good to finally be home.

Without warning Jesse's throat starts to feel tight. They gasp, feeling hands close around their neck. Throwing themself back, away from the table, they topple their chair and land hard, jarring their leg. Panic floods them, their blood runs ice cold. They have to get away.

Hands reach for them and they scream, scrambling back, throwing up arms to protect their face even though they know it's pointless. Hands squeezing their throat, they claw at them, trying to rip them away.

Too many people,

Nowhere to go

Escape

Escape

Escape

Escape

They scramble away

Away from what?

They lash out at something, nails ripping through skin

Are they screaming?

Their back slams into a wall

They try and wedge themself behind something, try to hide

Their heart is beating too fast, pain ripping through their chest, and the hands are still crushing their throat

“Please-” They try to beg, but the word gets stuck

“Jesse” It's Isa's voice, calm and clear

They must be hallucinating. Isa can't be here.

“Jesse, it's me, Isa, can you hear me?”

Why is Isa here?

They can't breath, how did they catch her too?

The hands are so tight on their neck.

They're getting dizzy, but still trying to push Morgan back. They aren't strong enough, there's no point fighting. There never is.

He smothers them, arms encircling theirs, pinning them to their sides.

Thought slows, their head turning to mud

They feel every millimeter of skin against theirs burning in anticipation of pain

“please…” They whimper through numb lips. The most pointless word to ever exist, but against all experience the arms let go

It's Isa, stepping back from them

Confusion and hurt flash through them. Why is she her? Why is she the one hurting them?

Their visual field broadens and they see everyone else too. Their whole family arrayed in front of them

Slowly, reality oozes back into focus

Isa isn't there, back in their cell, they themself aren't there. Not anymore, they were rescued. Now they're here. They're home

Here and home

They take in the room, large windows letting in sunlight and a soft, cool breeze.

Wooden floors under them, the smell of breakfast still in the air.

They realize they're huddled in a ball under the breakfast bar, a fallen chair on onside and their friends panicked faces on the other

What just happened?

“Isa?” They ask.

She reaches for them, but stops before they make contact.

“Jes! Are you ok? What just happened?”

They breath a short, unconvincing laugh. “Don't know.” They struggle, ���can you help me up?”

Isa is careful to touch them, and they suddenly feel embarrassed. They never wanted their friends to see them like this. Like they were with him

Averting their eyes, they mumble a thank you as Isa half carries them to the couch.

They still feel shaky, light-headed, and confused. Now that the panic is fading, they find they can't clearly remember what just happened.

“I'm sorry.” They try “I'm not sure what happened.”

“That's ok, it was probably a panic attack. Here,” Isa takes a glass of water from Jake and holds it out to them.

In still shaking hands, they take it, focusing hard not to spill. A few sips help them feel more present, but they can't stop their trembling

“Sorry-” They try again, not sure what else to say. A tidal wave of pent-up emotion building in their chest. They fight to keep it in. “Sorry- I don't- sorry”

“It's ok Jes, there's nothing to be sorry for.” Isa reaches for them again and they flinch, tears building in their eyes faster than they can blink them away.

“Sorry, it's not you-”

“I know, there's nothing to be sorry for. You've just been through- something terrible. We all understand-”

“You don't.” Jesse snaps, regretting it immediately. Heat rushes to their cheeks “I'm sorry-” they don't want to look up and see the hurt on their faces. They bury their face in their hands.

“You're right, we don't understand, but we'd like to, we want to help you.”

Jesse says nothing. No one should understand, but selfishly, they wish someone did.

The manage to regain control of the tears, shoving them back down.

“It's ok.” They try. “I'm ok now.” They force a smile. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Isa narrows their eyes at them in displeasure. “Jes we want to help you. Just tell us what you need.”

“I- right now, I just want to drop it ok? I can't…” They trail off

“Ok. It's dropped. For now.” Isa puts on a shaky smile. “But we're all here for you when you're ready.”

Jesse nods, wondering if they'll ever be ready.

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Tag list: @whumpacabra

[likesdoodling]

It has been a while since I started digital art,

Quite a while.

So here is a 'progress over the last two years' since I gained access to a drawing tablet.

:D

This is my first ever digitally illustrated piece- compared to my latest one-

So, a little bit different.

I do think my art took quite a jump around June 2022, when I took a break from my Steve comic strip, (for obvious reasons- it was about Technoblade's polar bear so...) and decided to try practicing gesture drawing to see if it helped my general anatomy knowledge. This is before,

And this next one is after.

The most obvious change here is that I switched to using thinner lines. There is a gap of about two months between these.

This was when I realised that you could improve art by practicing it (mind-blowing I know), and then started to do just that. Some other notable jumps forward would be when I discovered the airbrush-

Well, discovered a new method of shading with it anyway.

Then after that I had a few pictures that I actually still like, despite them being pretty old at this point, the one below is actually from September of 2022-

I mean, the hands are a bit iffy, but the rest looks alright. This was when I was going through a bit of a melanie martinez phase-

This next one was from January of 2023, I'd only just gotten into bungou stray dogs via some random memes on pinterest about this weird brown haired guy who had lots of bandages and who had this running gag with wanting to die- I actually looked him up at one point, but that didn't really explain much. The main one that I remember was 'life is short, so make it shorter, shorter than chuuya~'

Which at the time was just kind of confusing,

Then I watched the show and it made perfect sense.

I'd discovered ascendance of a bookworm in like, 2021, but I hadn't really been doing fanart of it since I was mainly doing dsmp related stuff and I kind of assumed nobody would know what on earth I was referencing. Turns out tumblr has a lot more bookworm fans than I orignally anticipated. Instagram still has no clue. I think maybe one person out of my followers on instagram knows what I'm on about-

Then we've got these two which I am still proud of btw-

The first one is from a dystopian/time travel fanfic called viridian.

The second one was after I learned about rim lighting. It was inspired by a song actually, 'crash' by noevaii. (and yes I found that song from a sad-ist animatic, it was cool) The character isn't anyone in particular. They're both from February 2023.

Then there's probably my most liked picture on instagram, (not tumblr, since tumblr knows about bsd and bookworm, but y'know. This was even sadder than I originally intended since the last half of my comic strip was finished AFTER everything happened)

Then the final conclusion of my Steve comic strip in May of 2023.

I don't think my art really changed much in between those, but eh.

Then I switched to doing a bunch of ascendance of a bookworm stuff to see what would happen and turns out there are way more fellow fans out there than I anticipated-

Then I guess my next breakthrough in tumblr popularity, (even if it might not have been a breakthrough in art skills necessarily) was when things went DOWN in the bsd fandom with chapter 109 and I did probably one of my most liked tumblr posts I have ever done-

If you want to see the rest of that, feel free to scroll down on my tumblr page, the original's like eight pages long-

This was before anyone knew what was going to happen btw.

I still think it's hilarious that I put in chuuya having contacts. My reasoning being, they're on a film set,

It was a pretty interesting exercise in shading in monochrome.

Then I started a 30 day art challenge in October that I didn't get past day six of, but it was still pretty fun. This is the best one of those-

After that I spent most of my time studying for the jlpt n5, so I didn't really do that much art related stuff,

This is one of the two non-commission related pictures that I finished over the two months after I kind of gave up on the art challenge. This one's from November,

Then I finally finished an art commission I'd been working on for the three months prior, as well as studying. Here is an example of the type of pictures I was doing for that,

Then I was occupied with christmas and birthday presents for my siblings, both my little sisters are into ascendance of a bookworm- (completely my fault I am proud to say) so I was able to do stuff related to that, here's a couple of snippets, but you guys don't get the colour version hehe

And one of them has also read the entire fma manga just like I have so-

Anyway, it's been quite a progression since I resolved to master digital art in 2021.

I reckon I've come a fair way since then. I mean. My art skills in general are way better than they used to be. The last two or three years have been pretty interesting.

Also-

Just had to include this one, I'm gonna do a more detailed version but still-

I think it's funny so I'm posting it here. Even if it's not really related to art progression-

[waitingonher]

hiii, i was wondering if i could request a matchup for atla.

since i'm bi i don't have any gender preference. i'm 5'6, with brown skin and 4c black hair that i usually keep in box braids. i'm like halfway between chubby and skinny. i have brown eyes and plump lips with a rather flat nose. my love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i like playing tennis, doing makeup and reading, especially fantasy books. i also enjoy drawing even though i suck at it. my ideal first date would be a romantic picnic on the beach. when i look for a partner i focus mstly if our humour and values match up. i don't really care about the rest. i speak 5 languages fluently and i'm the oldest sister (i have two little sisters) i loathe bugs especially flies.

i would really appreciate getting a matchuo but no pressure to you or anything

💞

your matchup is . . . zuko!!

fire lord zuko who thinks that you deserve the world and more! (because you do)

dates with zuko down to the town’s marketplace! your favorite part is visiting the local artisans, you and zuko love supporting their businesses. he knows you so entirely well because when you even glance slightly at some sort of pottery or jewelry with a certain look in your eye, zuko knows that he has to get it for you. 

most of the times, you always fight your boyfriend about him buying you things, but it always ends the same: him successfully pulling out the money and you walking away with a new bag in hand. 

zuko would spend the entirety of the fire nation’s national funds if it meant making you happy!! 

due to both of your busy schedules, you two often try to help each other out in terms of chores and other smaller acts of service. 

despite having maids and servants around the palace, zuko never lets any of them into his personal office. he has a very particular way of organizing his documents and papers, and he finds it too tedious to explain every single aspect of his methods to them. but over time, after spending many long sleepless nights with him in his office, you’ve come to recognize and memorize his organizational habits. 

so after weeks of zuko working tirelessly in his office, probably more earth kingdom affairs, he’s burnt out and most definitely too worn out to even think about the mess that remains in his work space. with a little free time in your schedule, you decide to take on the job of organizing his office, carefully sorting everything away into its rightful spaces. 

the look in his eyes when you take him to his office for “a surprise” makes everything worth it. 

zuko would appreciate somebody who’s well versed in other languages! when it comes to diplomatic affairs with other nations, he values your input due to your knowledge in international customs and traditions. 

he also relates to you on a deeper level when it comes to siblings! while the sibling dynamics may be vastly different, zuko can relate to being the eldest sibling and the struggles that come with it. 

it’s imperative to zuko that he maintains a strong relationship with your family. he always goes the extra mile to impress them! whether it be importing some sort of flower that's native specifically to the water tribe or commissioning clothes to be made for them from his own personal seamstress, he just wants to make sure they’re happy. 

despite being the literal fire lord, zuko was so so so incredibly nervous meeting your family. he couldn’t stop checking his hair in the mirror or making sure that the gifts he brought for them didn’t somehow magically disappear out of the gift bag. but honestly, zuko had no reason to worry because your parents love him as if he were one of their own, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

your second contender was . . . sokka!!

. . .

author's note: i kinda wrote this with post-atla show zuko in mind, so when he finally becomes the fire lord at the end of the show! hope you enjoy nonnie! <3

[aesethewitch]

what does each card mean for you when you do readings? ik you cant always get direct yes or no from tarot so when someone asks what would indicate more yes than no and vice versa?

Good question! The basic answer is, it depends. The long answer is:

Every card obviously has its own meaning. I tend to use the imagery over book meanings, reading intuitively based on what I know about color theory, object positioning, which way figures are facing, what cards appear together, how the cards come out of the deck (fliers vs flippers vs sliders vs stubborn movers), etc. A lot of factors can adjust the meaning of a given card. Knowing how to account for those adjustments and how to take the information on offer and turn it into a coherent reading is a key skill in reading tarot cards, and in other divination.

Now, as for yes/no questions, part of why I say it's tough to give solid ones is because the future is always in flux. No matter how accurate I am in saying yes or no, I could still end up being wrong in the long run. If you make changes or choose a path I didn't foresee, that could make my yes into a no, or vice versa. That's why I give the disclaimer of "this may end up being wrong or an incomplete yes/no" before answering those types of questions.

But what would make something a yes or a no? Again, it depends. The nature of the question changes the meaning of a given card, too. Let's use an example question: "Will I be successful in my career?"

If I were to draw the Seven of Pentacles, that's a pretty hard yes in my book. Pentacles are the suit of material reality -- wealth, financial success, and so on. It's why you'll often see this suit replaced with Coins. The classic imagery of the Seven of Pentacles is someone observing the Pentacle disks growing from a plant which has been carefully and lovingly tended. Its basic meaning is that success is coming, thanks to hard work and attention. Therefore, the answer to "Will I be successful?" is yes.

On the other hand, if I ask the same question and get the Three of Swords, that's a clear no. We think of the Three of Swords as a card of heartbreak and betrayal in love, romance, or other interpersonal relationships. But it can also mean other heartbreaks like painful disappointment. It's loss. It's coming up short despite the effort put in. And so, the answer would be no.

What if I were to draw, say, the Fool? That's a tougher one to pin yes or no onto in this particular example. In fact, the Fool is one I wouldn't interpret as either yes or no in this case. Rather, I would interpret it as being too soon to tell. The Fool is new, just setting its feet on the path. Its eyes are full of wonder, seeking fresh perspectives and getting started on a new journey. The Fool is potential. In the question of "Will I be successful?" the answer is: maybe. My interpretation would err on the side of suggesting open-mindedness and remaining alert to hidden information without losing the fresh-faced wonder of a new adventure.

But if the question was, "Should I start a new career?" and I drew the Fool... that's closer to a yes. The Fool's purpose is to start anew and begin again. Its advice is to take the chance and try something different, so yes.

I take into account the structure of the question, the suit, the imagery, and (in multi-card spreads) how the cards fall together. The spread itself can change card meanings, too, depending on whether it's a holistic all-cards-at-once type of reading or a spread where each card has a specific topic (past/present/future, Celtic Cross, etc.).

It's all circumstantial. Developing my personal style of reading took several years of practice, trial, and error. I'm entirely self-taught, and I didn't really use guides, websites, or other resources to figure out what I was doing. What I do, and how I identify yes versus no (and other answers), is going to be fairly different from someone else's method.

Some readers give each card hard yes, no, and maybe meanings. I don't think it's particularly useful; there are other divination methods better suited to yes/no questions. Tarot, in my opinion, is best used to identify options, possibilities, and missing information.

This ended up being longer than I expected it to be! So, a smidge of shilling: If you like my work, consider tipping me. If you'd like a tarot reading, I offer commissions! Thanks!

[auxiliarydetective]

Guess what, I have yet another new OC reference sheet for you <3

The Red Hair Pirates' Beauty: Desirée Miela

You might know her from that fic I wrote about her a while ago, but here are some visuals now <3

This was my first time drawing someone who isn't anime skinny and it was a struggle, but I think she turned out great!

Rambles are under the cut (TW since I'll be discussing her past as a prostitute), as well as a special NSFW version <3

Alright, rambles time!

First of all, here's my main reference that I used, made with Monster Girl Maker

I wanted to go for something adorable and girly but also noticeably naughty since that's what Miela is all about as a character. She enjoys beauty and being pampered and is honestly a hedonist. Even though she's part of a pirate crew, she's not gonna be doing any hard labor (well, not related to the ship anyway), she's just there to get gifts and look pretty, to drink and party, and the Red Hair Pirates are maybe the only crew where she can get away with that.

Her hair is honey-colored in reference to her name, which roughly means honey. The pink ombre is honestly just a stylistic choice because MGM would let me and it looks cute but the red streaks in her hair are a reference to the Red Hair Pirates and she only got them after joining the crew.

You can just barely see it in this drawing but she has mouse ears! She's ¼ mink but hasn't inherited any of the fancy abilities like Electro, just the mouse ears and her two front teeth are a bit bigger than the rest, with a small gap between them.

Her devil fruit, the Slime Slime Fruit, has a bunch of passive effects, some of which you can see here. The insides of her body change color along with her slime, depending on her emotions, and you can see this most prominently in her mouth and from the fur-less part of her ears. It's kinda hard to see in the image above, but you'll be able to see the ears' color-changing part a bit better in the NSFW version, as well as the other areas where her color changes.

The tattoo she has on her back is the Red Hair Pirates' Jolly Roger and it's a coverup for the tattoo she originally got when she started working for Madam Rosie, showing that Miela belonged to her.

Speaking of belonging to people, you might remember from the fic that Miela's professional name is Desirée. It's an unwritten rule on the island that Miela is from that, since sex work is outlawed but you still need to be able to advertise your services, all sex workers go by a professional name related to love and similar topics. They also get the symbol of the establishment they work at tattooed. Miela in particular adapted those traditions by taking on her professional name as a last name and getting the Jolly Roger as a coverup tattoo, both of those a method of showing off her roots while also showing her new freedom as a pirate. She doesn't have to follow those traditions anymore, now it's her choosing to do so.

Her outfit is very skimpy and easy to take off, for obvious reasons. The collar is the one that her crew promised to get her, a good combination of something solid - I imagine leather - and soft ruffles for a girly touch. The fabric of the ruffles also extends to the back of the leather collar so it's more comfortable on her skin. The bell is both a coy reference to her status as a pet and a way for the crew to be able to find her since people like kidnapping her, seeing her as the weakest link of the crew and a way to crack them open. Needless to say it never goes well for the kidnappers. She also wears a sash since almost all of the Red Hair Pirates' officers do.

I gave Miela a bunch of piercings since, on one hand, they're pretty and/or hot but also to show that she's being spoiled by her crew and they keep getting her expensive gifts. She has a few more... which you can only see in the NSFW version:

So yeah, that's it. Have a lovely day!

General Taglist: @starcrossedjedis @oneirataxia-girl @daughter-of-melpomene @bravelittleflower @box-of-bats

One Piece Taglist: @supermarine-silvally

[theshiningidols-koukuron]

𝖄𝖔𝖚'𝖛𝖊 𝖌𝖔𝖙 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑!

“Kuron... I wanted to say... Happy birthday. I'm sorry that I... am a little late. But I hope that you have had... the loveliest of days. Did you... get everything you wanted?”

[Azusa holds a wrapped gift.]

“I got this... especially for you. I picked it out... because it reminded me of you. I hope you... can find good use for it.”

==============================

==============================

[Within the box was a beautiful maroon and checkered-wrapped dagger. Azusa gingerly passes the gift over.]

“Um... Perhaps... someday, you could use another dagger... once more on me again. I have always enjoyed your touch... very much. Happy Birthday, Kuron...”

sᵖᵉᵃᵏᵉʳ ★ 「クロン」⁣⁣⁣

꧁𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝔂𝓸𝓾….⁣⁣

“Oh uh——Why this is um——awesome!”

[Blinking a few times at the item revealed inside——for a pondering brief moment, he actually thought it was a giant cigarette...of some kind, due to the colour and pattern, he had to squint his eyes and look over it a second time to only realize it's just an aesthetic looking dagger in a different cover... apparently.]

[Lifting his head to glance at Azusa, he was tempted to ask in what way this particular dagger appeared to resemble him in any way that it would remind the other of him——But he decided not to ask anyway.]

“This is very cool, Azusa! I um...really like it..!”

[Of all things let's just say...he never really expected to be given a dagger as a birthday gift...it's more like a gift for Azusa himself rather——but he doesn't want to be mean and unappreciative when the other actually made an effort to gift him something, so then...]

“Well then, how about...”

[Looking back to the dagger, he spared out a hand from holding the box and reached inside to take it out, withdrawing it from its cover with a push of his thumb, then holding it up in his palm clutching the hilt as the pointed tip let out a glimmer in the air, his lips thereby tugging slowly to a rather sly smile.]

“As a sincere appreciation to your gift, I shall mark you with this very knife that you've gifted to me...and then I have a new idea to be introduced to you Azusa——”

[He brushed the tip of his index along the sharp point, then pressed it down lightly to draw blood, and brought that bleeding finger to his lips, corner tugging to a wry smirk, as he proceeded to lick off the blood from his own finger before side eyeing the other with a vile yet knowing look.]

“Another method brought by pain...that will make you remember...”

“Who each of the scars represent of...”

[novankenn]

Freakshow (3)

/==- Chapters -==/

Cinder let her eyebrow rise as noticed the entrance of the unremarkable hoodie clad blond boy. She turned her amber eyes from Roman and regarded the newest addition to the group scattered about the loading dock. She had come to conduct a follow-up inspection of a sort, before moving towards the next step of her plan. But now she was annoyed. There was someone new. Someone who she didn't know, and who seemed to be involved.

Roman: Don't worry about blondie. It's a project Junior is working on. It's only here to top up the guys, and it knows nothing.

Cinder: Top up? Tell me, Roman, how does one 'top-up' another?

Roman: It's Junior's business. Leave it at that.

Cinder: (Smirking) No, I do not think I will. You see, since you and Junior are in my employ... your business is my business, in particular when IT could negatively impact my aims.

Roman: (chewing on the end of his unlit cigar.) It's nothing. It has a semblance useful for healing. That's why Junior keeps it around. The kid's like a living aura battery.

Cinder reached up and tapped her right index finger on her chin. She was a little interested in why Roman called the boy and it all the time.

Cinder: So I then can assume that he is capable of pushing his aura into others? Because that is hardly remarkable. Anyone with a modicum of training can force aura into another if needed.

Roman: Look, I can only tell you what I know, and as knowing how Blondie's semblance really works, is not one of those things. (his teeth clenched around the moist nub of his burnt out cigar) We're here to discuss the next stage. Those animals have moved everything off site.

Cinder: And the delivery method?

Cinder's eyes returned to watch the blond boy move about the room. There was a deep golden glow, surrounding his hands, he touched one goon after another. While she wasn't impressed with the nature of his semblance, the ease at which he was able to utilize it was impressive.

Roman: It's almost completely repaired. Maybe two weeks.

Roman's eyes narrowed, as he watched Cinder totally ignore his report, in favour of watching Blondie.

Roman: For someone not impressed. You seem obviously interested.

Cinder: I am. (returning her gaze to Roman with a smirk) It's too easy for him, so what is the true story, Roman?

Roman: There is none. It unlocked it when it mistakenly got caught in a cross fire.

Roman pulled out the remains of his cigar and tossing it aside, he pulled out a fresh one, and lit it. The acrid smoke floated about his head as he puffed.

Cinder: Roman?

Roman: I don't really know its story. Junior took it in. All I know is that, it can push aura into anyone, without any real effort.

Cinder allowed her amber orbs to narrow, as if trying to call Roman on a bluff.

Roman: I asked it once. Says it feels like it's just letting it flow. Makes it sound like it's pouring water.

Cinder: I know there is an AND in there.

Roman: Seems that it's little top-ups boost the guys. Faster, stronger, heals them up. Minor shit gone in seconds. (Roman puffed on his cigar) Like I said, it's a living aura battery.

Cinder: Sounds like he is more than just a living battery. I think I want to meet HIM.

Roman: No.

Cinder: What. Did. You. Just. Say?

Roman: I said No. Blondie is Junior's asset.

Cinder: I could just...

Roman: You could, but that would cause a fight. (Roman gave Cinder a sly grin.) One that you might win, but you would also definitely lose.

Cinder: Lose to you? Don't make me vomit.

Roman: Yeah, a fight now would draw attention, and that would draw noses, which will dig up secrets, not to mention Junior has the place wired. (Roman chuckled as Cinder's eyes widened.) Not in that way, but it is a dead man's switch. He fails to enter a code and all the spicy underbelly of Vale will become so much more public... specifically the dealings of one femme fatale and a gentleman thief. With images that are very clear and show your face.

Cinder: You are playing...

Roman: There is no game, Cinder. This is business, and seeing as you press-ganged us into your employment...something had to be arranged to protect our interests. (Roman puffed on his cigar) Now back to the original purpose of this get together.