#it's so weird drawing him without the eye scars

[dunham-doodles]

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin’.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

[mellosdrawings]

The Princes

Ten years later. When marrying a Prince turns a Queen and a Servant into actual Royalties.

Because Vil deserves a real crown and Jamil deserves to be treated better.

NOW I'M GONNA RANT ABOUT MY CHARA DESIGNS CHOICES AND ALL THE DISCOVERIES I MADE WHILE LOOKING FOR REFS! If you only care about art and funny doodles, you can scroll down for a handful of slices of life.

(Don't worry if you can't read my notes, I'm repeating myself better right under this)

Leona

-Lion: As you may know, one of my grievances with Leona is how his hair doesn't look like an actual mane despite being a lion. While I don't want to stray too far from the canon design with the usual drawings, that's the occasion for me to have some fun with a future version. Give that lion a beard and voluminous hair!

-Hair: First, get those bangs out of his face. Despite Leona being very confident, he still has bangs covering his scarred eye. I wanted him to finally own the aspects of him that may be scary to others (his UM, his scar, etc). I actually went with bangs framing his face similar to the ones he had during his Overblot. I wasn't sure whether to give him dreadlocks or curly hair, but I ended up choosing the free curls decorated with some atebas and braids so that Vil could have more fun styling them.

-Eye: Thanks @aria-faye for the idea, I decided to have his eye gradually lose its capacities with time. From a headcanon that, while the eye wasn't directly touched by whatever attack scarred him, the process of healing still had an impact on it and he gradually lost sight in his left eye years after years.

-Body: Not giving him a dad bod (yet, maybe in another ten years), but definitely giving him more voluminous yet casual muscles. Practical muscles with a healthy dose of fat and tissues. Also giving him two full sleeves of tattoos because I decided he should have much more than just his lion tattoo.

-Clothes: Went full Maasai dressing and Kenyan fabrics and beadworks. If you're not familiar with it, please go check it out, it's GORGEOUS!! Crown is beadwork too. He also has one Arabic styled foot jewellery.

Jamil

-Hair: My first order was to remove his double-faced hairstyle and also remove his bangs from his eye. Make him confident enough to show his whole face. Unlike Leona and Vil, he doesn't really want a crown though (he still feels weird about becoming royalty) so instead he uses a braid as crown. Also gave him a little goatee because I like facial hair and Jafar has a beard too.

-Body: He grew up! While he didn't quite catch up with Leona and Vil, he is now closer to their sizes than before, sitting at around 180cm. He kept his breakdancer/martial artist lean muscles but developed a bit of shoulders.

-Clothes: Went full Arabic dressing and fabrics (once more, go check the fabrics, they are pieces of arts). I gave him floral motifs instead of his usual fire/snake motifs (though he does have a snake earring and a fangs necklace) to symbolise his rebirth/blooming. Like Leona, he has one piece of jewellery that is beadwork.

Vil

-Hair: Here it was a bit tricky. Considering Vil's work, he likely changes hairstyles a lot, going from long to short for his roles instead of his wants. So I leaned into the little things he could add to his hair despite their constant changes, mostly jewelleries, beadworks and wool decorations he stole from his husbands. He also cares a bit less about them looking perfect and is allowing himself to be more natural. He doesn't have any facial hair (yet), keeping a youthful appearance for as long as he can. In another ten years though, he might start looking more and more like his father, beard included.

-Clothes: For Leona and Jamil's mental states, the three of them most likely started living in Sunset Savanna so they wouldn't freeze to death. Vil is well traveled so he can handle most temperatures without trouble, and he is used to dressing up in the local get ups. Here I decided to give him both African dress and Arabic fabric, and likewise both beadwork and golden jewellery. I gave him crown and heart motifs so he can keep being himself despite borrowing a lot from his husbands.

There, I'm done rambling. Here's some doodles, followed by some random headcanons.

-Vil does his husbands hair every morning and keeps giving them more and more intricate hairstyles. He developed a whole haircare and beard-care products set for them.

-When Vil is away for a movie, Jamil keeps his hair mostly down save for a few accessories.

-Jamil and Falena get along surprisingly well (to Leona's despair). Vil gets along very well with Falena's wife.

-Jamil acts as a Scalding Sands ambassador and still is the one to care for Kalim when he comes to visit, though this time he's doing it because he wants to and not because he has to.

-Vil got used to his new title immediately but Jamil struggles with it a lot. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he is no longer a servant.

-The servants at the palace love Jamil because he always makes their job easier.

-Leona finally decided to put his wits to good use and became Falena's advisor. He still fights a lot with Kifaji about the direction to take with the country, but he managed to make some of his ideas heard to help with the staggering inequalities in the country.

That's all for now!

[hazelnutsummer]

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND NOBODY UNDERSTANDS AERRGRGGG

Madoka Magika AU Desert Duo. At first this is simply a gag to draw Scar in Madoka’s dress but the more I think about it the worse it gets.

Warning for Puella Magi Madoka Magika spoilers:

Martyn once mentioned a theory that Watchers feed off human emotions, and you know who also feeds off energy generated by humans?? KYUBEY FROM MADOKA!!!

Allow me to reiterate. Kyubeys are produced without emotions as a high functioning high intelligence species, but Grian is produced as a flawed piece, one with human emotions. He hides it well enough for years, before one of his mission like many others is to make magical girls/mages.

It all goes south when the girl he tries to make the deal with (supposed to be on the brink of death) was actually rescued by Scar, who is a very strong and passionate passerby that literally lifted up the rubble long enough to keep her alive.

Situation goes terribly wrong. Essentially, some accidents happen, and Grian who was supposed to make a contract with a teenage girl made a contract with SCAR, HUMAN ADULT GUY!!!!

And Grian is stuck in this contract because Scar jokingly made his wish for Grian to become a human, and Grian is stuck as a kyubey (watcher in this case) turned human. He still have majority of his watcher powers, but is now painfully mortal.

Grian leaves Scar instantly, without telling him what being a magical girl entails, absolutely furious that he has been doomed to this fate. Despite now knowing the fact that Watchers are evil, he cannot help but feel guilty for permanently turning Grian human, and is unfortunately Down Bad the moment he sees Grian’s human form..

Scar, being left with 0 instructions, began doing superhero work around the community, fighting crimes and helping old ladies cross the road.

They meet again when Scar wanders into his first witches’ labyrinth, where Grian saw him and followed him in, with the intention to get Scar killed in there! Surely if he kills Scar, this might be reversed!!

Scar, however, exceeds expectations, slaying the witch and expelling the labyrinth. After exiting, Scar instead of trying to harm Grian, his guilty ass decided to invite Grian to live with him.

Grian and Scar begin living together. They meet different magical girls, work together and discover more about the world. And eventually Grian learns how to be a mortal and has plans on severing his connections to kyubei.

But you know how madoka goes…

Walpurgis occurs, and Grian watches in powerless horror as Scar dies before his eyes. In his last moments, Scar tells Grian he doesn’t regret what he’s done, but he does wish that he could go back in time so as to save everyone and not end in tragedy. Grian clutches Scar’s hand, holding it close to his sobbing mess of a face and in his mind, a genius idea comes to him:

If he is human now, does that mean he can abuse this system and become a magical girl/mage himself?

And Homura Grian & Madoka Scar occurs.

Grian goes back in time to prevent Scar’s death. Scar still becomes a magical girl, but somehow history changes and he is in contract with another kyubey/watcher (evil jellie) and Grian utilises his very limited amount of human behaviour knowledge and tries to become friends with him again, this time being a human from the start. They go to the same uni now, and Scar does see G’s weird habits but decided that’s just how British people behave.

Doomed yaoi.

In lieu of the affected timelines, even though magical girl Scar is supposed to look like the watcher he makes the deal with, he doesn’t look like Evil Jellie, and instead retains his avian aesthetic from before Grian rewound time.

Ps: check out the new au master post!!

[sparrows4bats]

Damian only shows his art to those he trusts for years.

His art is so deeply personal that he can't bear for it to be perceived, much less gifted to others.

Dick gets his first painting during his time as Damians Batman.

Steph gets hers after the bounce house.

Alfred commissions him so he has new art for the house. His favourite is a family portrait he keeps in his bedroom.

Duke gets gifted sketches of Signal and Gotham in the sunrise

Cass gets given beautiful moments of ballet dancers.

Bruce is given portraits of his parents.

Damian paints Tim's photographs.

Jason gets artfully designed bookmarks.

Barbara has lovely landscapes and shots of the city she protects from behind her desk.

Other get given bits and piece Damians thinks they might enjoy.

But Jon Kent has an almost constant supply and access to Damians doodles.

He is Damians' creativity buddy and sounding board. Damian draws manga and comics while Jon write stories for them.

There's only one sketchbook he doesn't get to see, the one Damian keeps locked in his desk.

Jon has asked before, but Damian always shuts him down, saying it's private, and Jon respects that even if he is curious. If the magical girl ocs were fine, what is in that particular book?

Until one day Damian is kidnapped, and he has to go through his room for clues to who took him, and even if he feels weird about it, he opens the forbidden sketchbook.

He is expecting secrets, trauma, and the parts of himself that Damian hates.

What he finds is hundreds of sketches of Jon himself.

Each one is so full of detail and so lovingly drawn that feels like he is being burned.

Every freckle is correct, Damian drew close ups of his dimples, and his scars.

Seeing himself through Damians eyes is so intimate it feels like holding his very heart.

So Jon puts the book back where he found it without the other bats noticing.

When they find and rescue Damian, Jon knows he has to tell him but how?

Jon thinks of the sketches he wasn't supposed to see, and something in him melts even while he drowns in guilt.

So one night he confronts Damian when he best friend asks him about colour palettes.

"I saw your secret sketchbook, and I am so sorry!" Jon shouts and braces himself for Damians' anger. It doesn't come.

"What?" Damian sounds scared, and that is so much worse.

"When you were missing your Dad and brothers made me go through your room! Day I'm so sorry!"

"Did they see it too?" Damian shrinks in on himself, and Jon wants to hug him so badly.

"No! I put it back straight after I realised what it was, I swear!"

Damian huffs and looks away.

"So you know?"

Jon gulps, "know what?"

"That I'm in love you." Damian looks for Jons reaction and seeing his face starts to get up to leave. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable Jonathan. I shall depart."

Jon grabs his arm. "No! Day don't leave! I'm sorry! I just need a second. Please."

Damian stops but doesn't turn around. "I do not want your pity."

"It's not pity! Damian, I love you! I have for years and I'm just sorry I saw before you were ready to show me!" Jon is getting desperate now. He can't lose Damian. He doesn't think he will survive it.

"Really? You're not just saying that to spare me?"

Jon is horrified and spins Damian to be able to see his face. "Damian, what the hell! Why would I lie about this?!"

Damian has tears in his eyes when he finally meets Jon gaze. "I don't know, it just feels impossible for you to love someone like me."

"It's impossible not to love you! Believe me, I tried! I was terrified it would destroy our friendship, and I wanted to have some of you even if it wasn't in the way I wanted."

Damian sighs and slowly kisses him. When he pulls back, he laughs a little.

"We are both idiots."

Jon grins and wipes the tear that manages to escape. "Yeah, we are, but at least we figured it out eventually. I love you, Damian. Truly and completely."

"I love you too." Then Damian kisses him again.

Jon has the sketch Damian draws of Jon asleep beside him the next morning framed.

[captainpriceslilwife]

nnnggghhhhhuuhhhhh tbi!Soap who gets a little weird after his injury. (CW: yall this is like DARK...idk where this came from, so uh, dark themes, gore description at the end, soap is a freak, he's literally obsessed with you, stalker vibes but he lives with you, dark smut made its way in there so 18+, soap is literally batshit crazy and he wants you to be like him) dead dove do not eat, probably

maybe you're his sweet girlfriend who he's been dating for almost a year already, but when he comes back from that life-changing mission, he fully expects you to break up with him. He's too different now - too high maintenance. He needs meds and physical therapy and counseling...not to mention he'd never be a soldier again. Plus, doctors said he'd never be the same.

But you love your Johnny so much. How could you not help him when he needs you the most?

So you're there at his side, every single day, to try to get a smile back on his face. Always at every one of his PT appointments - cheering and giving him a little applause for each milestone he reaches ('good job, baby!' 'see? I told you you'd heal quick since you're so strong! isn't he so strong, doc?'). You refill his pill box every week without fail, and you always add a little candy to each compartment to reward him for taking his meds. Sometimes he finds a little note on there with a heart or a smiley face on the days when you aren't home to remind him to take his medication - but it's always gone by the time you get back. You figure he's just throwing them away, and it stings a little, but you don't think twice about it.

You don't seem to think twice about your dwindling underwear drawer, either.

You cook for him. Clean for him. Help him walk around when he's having a particularly rough day. And he falls more in love with you every day because of it.

But there's something....off....about his new layer of admiration for you.

You brush it off as the 'personality changes' the doctors had warned you about. Of course had can't possibly be normal after what happened to him. I mean, who would be?

But sometimes he scares you when you blink your eyes open in the morning, only to see him already staring at you as if he had never slept to begin with. Or when you get up to pee in the middle of the night and he insists on standing silently in the doorway, refusing to go back to bed until you're done and can lie back down with him.

He always needs you in his line of sight. Always needs to be near you.

Even when you cook dinner and try to encourage him to rest on the couch, he just sits on the floor of the kitchen and disassembles and reassembles his gun - something the doctors encouraged you to let him do. 'It'll be good for him, to do things he used to do. Might help him get back to normal.'

It doesn't make it any less unnerving when he feels the need to stare at you while he does it.

As time goes on, he eventually finds himself drawing again - much to your relief. He's switched out the silver metal and bullets for his old charcoal and paper, and you finally find yourself breathing easier as you step over his legs to stir the pot on the stove.

You try not to notice that he only draws you.

You in bed, you in the shower, you cooking, you cleaning, you naked, you napping, you changing - just you.

If he's having a hard day - one where his scarred skin is throbbing and he struggles even to remember what had happened that morning - he'll just draw parts of you. Your hands holding his pills, your hair in a ponytail, your nose, your eyes-

Whatever he can remember.

Sometimes you try to encourage him to draw other things - showing him pictures of the trips you guys used to take together to get his memory flowing, but it always puts him in a mood. And you try your hardest to keep him happy, so you always drop the subject.

Unfortunately, the only way to get him out of those moods is to let him fuck you.

And you still love him, of course - still love to be wrapped up in his arms as he works himself inside of you.

But lately he's just more...rough.

He'd never hurt you. Not in a million years. Not even a bullet could take away his love for you.

But his hips slam hard and fast against you as he ruts inside of you, pushing you up the bed as you desperately try to hold onto him to ground yourself. And he always makes sure you're staring into his eyes when he cums, otherwise he'll keep you locked in his arms until he's ready to go again. It's a ritual for him - like he'll die if he doesn't get to have you like this.

And he's always been a munch, everyone knows it. But now? He tells you he can't sleep unless he eats you out before bed. And you just want him to be happy and healthy, right? So, you let him.

Except he doesn't stop unless he feels like it, or until your pushing his head away, crying and begging for a break. He eats like a man starved, not coming up to breath until he sees silver spots coloring the edges of his vision - and even then he'll just dive right back in. He's messy with it, too - slobbering like a dog and ruining the sheets as he creeps his tongue as far back as he can get before your squealing out a "Johnny, don't, that's gross!"

He's weird. And offputting. And sometimes he makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

But he's your Johnny. You love him to death. And he could never actually scare you.

Not until you end up deep cleaning your shared bedroom - finally convincing him to shower on his own so you can finally have a moment to yourself.

You're blindly sweeping underneath the bed when you hit something hard - and your brows furrow in confusion when you lean down to see an unfamiliar wooden box hidden beneath his side of the bed.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure he's still occupied in the shower before you slide it out quietly. There's not a speck of dust on it, unlike everything else that's made its way beneath the bed, so clearly it was something he used. Something he cherished.

You push it open with a soft click, silently thanking whatever god was listening that he hadn't bothered to lock it shut with the padlock that dangled from the latch opening. But your gratitude was quickly swallowed up by something much darker when your eyes fell down to see what was in the box.

Your missing underwear is bunched in the corner, coated in his own spend that he had made sure to specifically aim at your already dirtied gussets. It strikes you with the realization of just how many times you've caught him digging in your laundry basket, claiming he's looking for something - or how many times you could've sworn he was smelling you when he stood too close.

When you finally manage to get over the initial shock of seeing such an obscene display of his obsession towards you, you're gaze trails down to the pile of papers tucked beneath your soiled panties. At first, they seem just like all the other drawings he's made of you, and you can't figure out why they're tucked away. But when you look a little harder, you see the small keloid that sneaks its way into every drawing - a scar on your temple to match the one that adorns him.

You flip through the drawings quickly, your movements growing more frantic as you realize each one of them features the same disfigurement in varying levels of detail. Some of them are just a dash of his charcoal against the paper, and some of them are so detailed that you could swear he had taken a picture of his own just to copy it onto the page.

By the time you get to the last drawing, tears are slipping down your cheeks and falling in fat drops into your lap. You choke out a silent sob when you see what artwork he felt the need to bury so deeply, and you aren't even sure what you could possibly be feeling as you pull out the paper with trembling hands.

It's the only picture that isn't just of you.

He drew himself too.

He's got your head in his lap as he brushes his fingers through your hair, and he drew himself leaned over like he was whispering something in your ear.

It would be a sweet drawing if it wasn't for the gun he was holding - the same gun he took apart and built again in the kitchen while you took care of him - or the fact that he drew you with a hole in your temple. He had drawn the blood that poured from your wound - drew it on his hands and on his lap, down onto the floor as the penciled version of you looked up at him with nothing but love and understanding.

You felt like you couldn't breathe.

Bile was rising quickly in your throat as you forced the drawings back into the box - crinkling the papers and shifting the other stuff around as you tried to hold back your sobs.

A glint of metal rolling around the wooden floor of the box catches your attention - especially when it disappears beneath his horde of obsession and clinks gently against something else.

You're entire body is trembling at this point, and your mind is screaming at you to get out. To leave him and go as far as you can.

But your hand seems to move on its own as you reach down into dark corners of the box, feeling around for the tiny object that was pulling at a curiosity that you should've just buried along with your love for Johnny.

Once you make it past the underwear, past the drawings, past the notes that you had left him that you thought he had thrown away - your fingers wrap around a tiny glass jar and something much smaller. Something cold and metallic.

You can barely bring yourself to look as you pull it out slowly, but the second your eyes land on it, you can't hold back the panicked sobs that escape your lips.

In the jar is the bullet they had removed from Johnny's brain during surgery - a trophy, the doctors had called it. It was marred and crumpled, but it still clinked around lightly as you stared down at it.

This tiny little thing is what took away your Johnny. Your Johnny. The sweet man who always had a smile on his face and more love to give than he knew what to do with.

This is the tiny little thing that led him to carve your name into the bullet that lies in your other hand - meticulously written and finished with a tiny heart at the bottom.

A matching set.

"Oh, fuck...oh my fucking god." You whisper under your breath as you choke out another sob, completely frozen in horror. "Jesus fucking-"

It isn't until you feel cool drops of water dripping down your back that you realize the shower has stopped.

You can't bring yourself to look up at him - as though you're willful ignorance of his presence will somehow make him disappear. But your trembling sobs give away just how scared you are as you try to curl away from him.

A frightened yelp tears from your throat as he sinks down onto the floor, wrapping his bare, dripping form around you and holding you tight to keep you locked in his embrace.

"Ah'd never hurt ye, hen. Ye know that, right? Ah'm only thinking about it." You can barely hear him over the pounding in your ears as you continue to sob loudly, but you can feel the way one of his hands travels up to run through your hair in what you can only assume is meant to be a soothing gesture. But you aren't sure how soothing it is when his thumb brushes over your temple, right where he always drew your scar. "Ah just...ah wish ye knew how it felt. Just so we can be closer."

"...Ah just want to be close to ye..."

[initialchains]

would you? | luke castellan.

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: luke slowly starts to lose himself but that won’t stop you from reminding him of what truly matters.

wc: 2.6k

warnings: some manipulating and gaslighting if you squint and probably spoilers for the first book but they’re not explicitly mentioned.

a/n: HAPPY HOLIDAYS !! here’s luke as a gift <33 i’ve never written for luke before but he’s my favorite pjo character bc hes such an interesting and complex character aghh. sorry if this isnt as fluffy as you would all want, i promise i’m working on some real luke fluff.

The rays of the rising sun made the lake look far more beautiful than it always does. Sure, you were used to the warm tones that always engulfed Camp Half-Blood and it’s not like the weather ever really changed, at least not unless the gods willed it to, but the colors of the sun reflecting on the lake, the low hum of the wood nymphs singing, and the distant sounds of laughter coming from campers playing volleyball were strangely comforting. 

Well, as comforting as it can be when you’re trying to find some quiet in the neverending fight that was the demigod life. It gets tiring, it always does. The fighting, the studying, the adoration of gods who didn’t even bother to give their children a sign of them caring. It was all so exhausting. 

But there was peace in this small moment. You were sat in front of the lake, your legs crossed as you closed your eyes, trying to enjoy the tranquility of it all. The calm moment didn’t dare to stop your hand from finding a home in the clay beads of your camp necklace and twirling them around, a seemingly normal act to anyone who saw you, that actually was a sign of you being aware of your surroundings, a small sign of the fear you carried around, a fear that had you always prepared to draw your sword in any given moment. Not ever fully in peace. Not unless Luke was there. 

“So you decided to start your morning without me? Ouch,” You turned your head at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice, “A knock on my cabin’s door would’ve been enough, you know?”.

“Yeah? And risk waking the million campers that sleep in there? No, thank you. I would like to stay alive for a few more years, please.” You replied with a small smile, looking up to meet Luke’s eyes, his scar being more prominent in the morning, a red color adorning the edges of it.  

He snorted a laugh and rolled his eyes before taking a seat next to you. He was silent for a moment until he muttered softly, “This is a nice view.”

“Oh, definitely. The lake always looks beautiful when the sun hits it the right way. I need to give the Apollo cabin their congratulations and some flowers for having a talented father.” You answered, your hand moving away from your necklace to hold Luke’s.

“Of course, you make my pick-up line about the gods. Can you give me a win over here? I’m trying my best.” He said with a smirk before pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. It was a strange sort of thing he always did, even before you two started dating, he’d always find an excuse to hold your hand and give it a quick kiss. 

“I wasn’t going to let you get away with using a corny pick-up line on me, Castellan. At least be original with it.” A giggle escaped your lips, “Also, everything is about the gods, I thought you’d be used to it by this point.”

His face fell for a fleeting second, but he was quick to mask it with a small smile. “Right, everything always is about the gods.” Luke’s eyes moved away from your face, nervously glancing at the lake after his statement. 

You frowned when you heard the tone he used, he sounded almost.. bitter? You couldn’t even explain it. Luke had been acting weird ever since the camp came back from their annual visit to Mount Olympus on the winter solstice. At first, you thought it had something to do with Hermes being a total dick and ignoring him the entire night, not even bothering to give his son a pat on the back or a nod. But you’ve known Luke long enough to know he was past caring about what his father did, he was indifferent to what Hermes did–to what any of the gods did. 

The two of you were silent, sitting side by side in front of the lake in deep thought. He was thinking about gods know what, and you were busy trying to understand what was going on inside his mind. You decided to break the silence first, “You okay?”.

“I’m fine, baby. Don’t worry about it.” 

He was quick to answer. It was almost as if he had rehearsed it and had it scripted beforehand. It was almost as if someone else had told him what to answer. As if he was under someone else's guidance. Under someone else's control. 

“Are you sure? Because it feels like you’re.. I don't know, keeping something from me?” 

“I’m not keeping anything from you. I’m not keeping a single thing.”

“Right. Sorry for asking.”

Luke closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and took some deep breaths, his chest moving up and down in a nonexistent rhythm, it was urgent and angry. He took a few more breaths, trying to calm himself before finally meeting your eyes again. 

“I’ve told you countless times to never apologize to me if you haven’t done anything wrong,” He reminded you of the conversation you’ve had millions of times, “Don’t ever apologize to me if you haven’t physically hurt me or something, alright? You’re fine. We’re fine.” 

He continued, “I’d trust you with my life given the chance. I’m not keeping anything from you, angel. You have to trust me.” 

“I do.” 

You didn’t see your boyfriend at all the following days. He always brushed you off by being busy with training or helping Annabeth plan for this week’s capture the flag. You weren’t the only one to notice his slight change of temper and personality, some campers from the Hermes cabin noticed it too. 

He kept pushing harder on his siblings, always insisting on them doing better. He was more violent than usual during capture the flag, not thinking about it twice before proving why he is the most talented swordsman in the last 300 years.

There was also this one time he volunteered to spar with a new camper.. it didn’t go well. He kept doing new maneuvers and techniques most campers didn’t even recognize, refusing to go easy on the poor thirteen year old girl. When you asked him about it, confused at the way he went too hard on the newbie, he answered with a dry “Where’s the glory in that? She needs to be prepared for what’s about to come.” It sounded as if he knew some kind of danger was approaching. As if it was a matter of life and death for the camper to learn how to fight against him.

You decided it was enough when you saw him skipping his daily chat with Annabeth, deciding he would rather sit by himself on the steps of the Big House for a little while. 

The walk from your cabin to the Big House was filled with self-doubt and twirling the beads of your necklace, you were nervous to face your boyfriend, which was stupid because he was the last person you’d ever expect to feel nervous with. When you arrived to the steps of the Big House and saw him sitting there, your mind went completely blank. 

You sat next to him and asked the first thing that came to your mind, “Would you rather fight 3000 ant-sized chimeras or a chimera-sized ant?”. 

An amused laugh bubbled up from Luke’s chest before he turned his head to face you, a smile taking over his handsome face. “I’ll take the 3000 chimeras, no doubt.” 

You smiled back at him, ready to ask him the question you spent the last thirty minutes planning, but before you could open your mouth he said, “Would you rather not be able to consume ambrosia and nectar for the rest of your life or.. see Mr. D without a shirt?”

You threw your head back with laughter, your face going red thanks to the lack of air in your lungs due to the laughs coming out of you, “I’d rather bleed to death without ambrosia than see Mr. D with a shirt.”

“Ditto.”

You decided to indulge in this back-and-forth game, after all, you hadn’t been able to have a real conversation with your boyfriend in days... you’ll take what you can get, “Would you rather not be able to leave camp ever again or turn against the gods?” 

“It would be boring to spend the rest of my life capturing a flag and growing strawberries… so I guess my answer is pretty obvious.” He answered while fidgeting with his fingers.

“You’d choose to turn against the gods?”

“Yup.”

“Huh, I guess capture the flag would be pretty hard when you’re pushing 90.”

Luke was silent, running his eyes through your face before asking, “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

He took a deep breath before replying, “Turn against the gods.”

You were silent for a few seconds, biting your lip and staring into Luke’s eyes, wondering if there was a right answer to this metaphorical question. You decided to give him an answer he’d like but also an answer you meant, “I’d go wherever you go. It doesn’t matter if it is a farm in the middle of nowhere or to the pits of Tartarus. If you’re there... count me in.” 

Luke cleared his throat and a serious look took over his face, “Sure, but if the time to make a choice came… would you go against them?”.

His persistence to try and get you to answer his question was making you nervous. The more he asked you about it, the more it looked like he was genuinely considering it. 

A nervous laugh escaped your lips as you nervously played with one of the beads on your camp necklace. He took notice of it. Of course he did, he knew more about you than anyone, probably even more than you know yourself. 

Luke stayed silent at that, a somber look taking over his features, you could tell there was a turmoil happening inside his head. It was almost as if he wanted to let you in on a secret, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“I... um. Well, I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon—at least not in our lifetime. But like I said, I’d go wherever you go, to Tartarus and back.” 

That brought a smile to Luke’s face, he looked into your eyes, probably looking for signs of you lying but finding none, and took your hand away from your necklace, lacing your fingers with his and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “To Tartarus and back, baby.” 

He brought your hands down before leaning in to kiss you on the lips. There was a sense of necessity to feel your lips against his, he kissed you like the feeling of your lips was his only shot at salvation. He raised his hand to cup your cheek and deepen the kiss, craving the heat he only got whenever he kissed you.

You stopped him before he could take the kiss any further, “Luke, we’re in the middle of camp. There are children around us, if you want to make out at least take me to our spot behind the stables. Holy shit.”

Luke took a second to steady his breathing, “Sorry, angel. I’ll make sure to keep your suggestion in mind for later, though.”

“Shut the hell up, Castellan.”

The two of you spent the rest of your day being busy working on your own stuff. Luke was still sparring with some campers who were brave enough to go against him, and you were hanging out with the Dionysus cabin while they helped grow more strawberries. 

 You found Chris sitting in the amphitheater and asked him if he had seen your boyfriend, he replied with an annoyed, “He’s probably in bed or something, I don’t know.” You decided to not ask Chris if he was okay and walked straight to the Hermes cabin.

A knock on the wooden door was enough to wake your boyfriend up, you were aware of it when you heard a muffled, “Come in”. You found Luke sitting on his bed, his sword in hand while he sharpened it.

So he wasn’t asleep at all, you thought.

“Careful with the sharp part of the blade.” He looked up from his sword when he heard your melodic voice, your words snapping him out of the trance he was in.

“Oh, hi.” Luke put the sword down next to his bunk and moved to lie down, leaving a space next to him for you to join him. He hummed when you laid down next to him, giving a kiss to his shoulder blade and wrapping your arms around his torso. 

He turned to face you, pressing his lips to your forehead with a soft sigh. His eyes closed at the sensation while his hands traveled to your back, looking for ways to hold you closer. His features relaxing when he finally touched your skin. 

You couldn’t keep this weird tension going on between you two, so you decided to bite first, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Once again, he replied in an almost scripted and mechanical way, “Talk about what?”

“The winter solstice visit, you’ve been acting.. different ever since we came back to camp.” 

Luke stiffened next to you, it made your heart drop. You’ve been dating him for a year now, and he had never been this cold—this uncomfortable around you. 

“I just... I think things are about to change.” He replied in a low murmur, his eyes closing again when you brought your hand up to caress his face, softly tracing his scar with your thumb in a delicate and loving way. Luke let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding when he felt your fingers on his skin.

A smirk made its way to your face, “Change? yeah, in your dreams, Castellan. Campers will keep arriving and only 5 percent of them will get claimed, and the others will get thrown into your cabin.. like things always are and always will be. That’s not changing anytime soon.” 

Luke’s hand traced up and down your back in a soothing manner, “Yeah, maybe they won’t. Forget I even said that.” 

“Just because they won’t change, it doesn’t mean we have to accept it, you know?”Luke's eyes snapped up from your hands to meet your gaze, his brows furrowed in confusion. 

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re all on the same team here. Sure, the gods will never claim most of the campers and we will all probably die before we’re old enough to have children of our own... but is that really all that matters? We have each other. We don’t need them as long as we have the people we love with us.”

Luke tilted his head to the right to press a kiss to the palm of your hand that was caressing his cheek, “I don’t need the gods as long as I have you.” 

“Good to know we’re on the same page, Castellan.”

The two of you went out for a small walk by the lake and sat together in the dining pavilion at night. Your small conversation probably made Luke feel better because he was quick to go back to being himself, he kept greeting every camper he saw and holding your hand, not forgetting to kiss the back of it whenever he had the chance. 

Maybe it was you reassuring him about the love you had for him or maybe it was him being aware of you being willing to drop the gods at any time just to be with him, but he was completely normal during the following days, weeks, and months.

You were sure of it when you saw him walking around with the new arrival five months later, Luke seemed so excited to be showing him around. You greeted the new camper with a small smile when he introduced himself with a “Hi, I’m Percy Jackson.”

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 12/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@snsp6 I really hope that this won’t change MK’s view on his bio dads :( Anonimo Hello! Wanted to ask or more so I am wondering, will MK start seeing Wukong differently after finding out he literally killed Mac and even after seeing their past and how close they were, dam the trauma, anyhoo I love your art and the Shadowpeach bio parent au! Keep up the great work! >:D

Oh it will. (In a good way? a Bad? that's for me to know and for you to wait a week to know)

@hopefulbelievertimemachine Imagine if MK found someone who recently found out that they were a demon and he comforts them cuz he had a similar experience.

Oh that would be sooo wholesome!!! It's one of my fav trope when there's another character who go throught the same exact thing as another character and the two of them bond over this.

@zammy357 Hello, hope your day/night is going well. I wanted to ask since me and a friend like your bio parents blog and wanted to know if we can use it for an arc? Our blog is called @amnesia-wukong-au. We wanted to ask before we started doing it.

Hi!! Yeah sure as long you tag me and the masterpost of the shadowpeach au

Anonimo Wait what is a glamour (in context of Sun Wukong and Macaque)

A glamour is a magic spell that changes/cover your appearance. Like in the show macaque should technically have 6 ears. for animation purposi I guess they are not drawing all of them, but we say he uses a glamour also for covering his scarred eye.

@clueless-simp ha chiesto: What if PIF, BDK, Sun Wukong, and Macaque (and most definitely Mei) did a "parent trap" tactic to get MK and Red Son together? Setting things up, getting them alone together, pretending they are all busy, and the only option is for them to spend time together under the sunset XD XD XD

Oh no that would end bad. like-comically bad.

@honeylavender27 ha chiesto: Imagine red realizing mk doesn't know about court napping and just invites him over one day. Red son: so I'm sure your wondering why I invited you here.. Mk: yeah it's kinda weird you didn't want Mei to come. Is everything ok? Red: perfect actually, I'll explain everything just enter here first please. Mk: oh ok -walks into the prepared courtnapping room and gets locked in-.....uh red? Redson: consider yourself courtnapped...

Ahah poor MK. I think they would make a disastrous courtnapping that would be the equivalent of the phrase "task failed succesfully"

@artgurusauce ha chiesto: ARGGGHHHH, they're SO CUTE! I love your bioparent AU so much! Altho I am wondering: When MK turns back to normal would he retain some subconscious paternal attachment to our ol boys here? Maybe he even calls Macaque "Mom" without realizing it...

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: Plot twist of the century for the oblivious monkey men. MK remembers ~everything~ when he was a cub! I'm not sure if that is what is planned, but! It would be really funny! Especially if he just calls Macaque 'Mama' all casual and just walks away. While Macaque EXP. has crashed and is rebooting. Gosh, that would be so cute! I absolutely love your artwork, by the way! It is so adorable!

Can't answer yet. He does NOT have memories, but he will remember ONE thing...

@daniellemarvel4 Hi, fist off I love your work and can't wait to see what you do next! I was wondering who is more protective of MK when it comes to Red Son? Whether that would be Pigsy, Wukong, Macaque, or even Tang (mabye Mei but I don't think she could stay serious long enough). Also, can we see what Sandy's doing?

mmmmmm---- I think Wukong. Freenoodle is pretty chill with the DBK family after everything that happened. Mac is also quite alright since he was always in good relationship with them. I would say Wukong would just want to be sure his kid doesn't get hurt by the fire in any way

Anonimo I've been squealing, grinning, and kicking my feet going through the Shadowpeach Bio parents AU. Baby MK has been SO CUTE and fun. I wonder if he's going to remember or be embarrassed about it. Another part of me hopes that river is still in play so Sun & Mac can fall in and suddenly MK and everyone has 2 chaotic super-powered Baby Monkeys to take care off 😭 😭 😭

Anonimo ha chiesto: I almost cried they are sooo cute. I hope that we get more sweet family content. Loving the comic thanks for making it 💕💕💕💕

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don’t want the cure to work ! Or could it be like that: MK is such a powerful being that the Dosis Pif gave them, just wasn’t strong enough. Instead it only aged MK up a bit so now he is a small kid or a teenager but not a grown ass money man again. I am not ready to leave the monkey family stuff behind 🥺

unfortunately the river has been close untile further notice. (dw this wont be the end)

@cutvdo ha chiesto: Mei bribing Red Son with baby MK pictures

@luciferapollyon ha chiesto: I hope Mei, Red Son, Macaque and Wukong all got pics before they turned MK back

Anonimo ha chiesto: DHJSJDJDH LIL BABY BEAN! I wonder if Wukong and Macaque took any pics of lil MK while he was smol baby? She would keep them and use them as blackmail. (affectionately)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Your shadowpeach bio parent au is just perfect!! Thankyou for feeding the fandom with the nectar of the gods!!! Especially the one where mac slips into the bed after wukong waits all night. Like Mac would wake up in the morning and see him fast asleep and think of Peng asking 'is there anything Wukong could do that would break his hold over you?' and just seeing him at his most vulnerable right now he's like 'no, not when he always gives me a reason to stay.'

MY HEART

@queen-of-purple-roses Wait if MK is experiencing Macaque’s memories then does that mean that Macaque can experience MK’s? Are they able to dive into each other’s minds?

So the thing is that MK is hearing the past from both POVs. Macaque by definition can hear ANYTHING so yeah he could definitely experience MKs memories. But the thing is-does he want to? I headcanon that his future-present-past hearing abilities are something he only used a couple of times, and because what he heard from them was so traumatic, he decided to NOT use them again (like wukong laser eyes)

@sillygothpartykid ha chiesto: I know everyone is asking you to make the gay monkeys kiss but I actually like how you are developing their relationship. You letting them work through their problems and feeling first giving us that sweet, sweet slow burn! Love your art btw!❤️❤️❤️

awwww ty!!!! yes pls slow burn for life.

@kraytherandomchick ha chiesto: Hey, love your ShadowPeach AU! (Started rereading it after crying from the season 5 finale hehe :'D) But there's always something that's kinda stuck in my head, if MK's no longer immortal, would Macaque or Wukong get sad at the thought of getting older and forced keep going without him?

So- *sigh* technically, we don't really know MK immortality status. it's a grey area for now. Because on one side, he's a stone monkey, who, by nature like Wukong, can perfectly age and grow like a normal monkey. On the other hand, he's technically died already, and by the time he was created by Nuwa, both his biological fathers were already immortal (Wukong bc yes, Macaque because he's a demon, and he can die from wounds and illness, but can't age)

So to answer: we don't know yet what's with him. we will see (I promise that)

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: I LOVE THE SHADOW PEACH BIO PARENT AU SO MUCH!! Mk boi is so lucky to have a artist like you and fathers like them. I want to ask, will shadowpeach ever get into a fight out of anger in front of Mk? Or did they moved on from that phase?

If they will fight it will be more of like- the 2 dads grounding MK. If they need to fight they learned that they need to go on another mountain to do it so they don't bother their child

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we get a traffic light trio ship?

Probably not, but I'm all for dragonfruit/spicynoodle and having MK and Mei NOT dating each other at the same time.

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: If lmk season 6 isn't like your au, then I don't want to watch it

BRUH THAT'S THE NICEST THING I HEARD ALL WEEK

@conniescialla ha chiesto: HIIII!! ok scusa l'italiano ma letteralmente trovare artisti italiani ispira sempre quel momento patriottico alla YES ONE OF US MUAHHAHAH Scherzi a parte, il comic Shadowpeach bio parents Au è meraviglioso, si approva soprattutto l'hurt/comfort ;p

Tanti kudos!!<3

AAAAHHH CHE BELLO UN ALTR* ITALIAN*!!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I really wanna see jelous wukong!!!!!! I dunno maybe some random demon trying to flirt with emo monkie or something and wukong is like oh hell no!! He is mine!! I think it would be so cute

he would become incredibly possessive and start hissing and growling like a tiger. NOBODY TOUCHES MY SOFT PILLOW

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so cute if Wukong would take care of sick Macaque! It would show Macaque that Wukong changed and is no longer like he was before. I wonder if Macaque got sick, would MK help or would Macaque be too stubborn to let anyone know.

I know everyone says Wukong is this great sage with incredible abilities in every field (and he is) but I would like to imagine that, since he needs to do these thing for Macaque specifically, he's so stressed over the fact he needs to do them perfectly that he fucks up lmao.

Like, he would try his best to take care of him and almost burn the kitchen in the meantime, while Macaque was only hoping the two of them could just stay more in bed cuddling each other

Anonimo ha chiesto: im just imagining Mac getting anxious becouse he cannot find baby MK and Wukong is there to calm him down

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto: Heyy I absolutely love your shadowpeach bio au, the drawings, the text its perfect! Did Mk every run off or get into trouble now that he’s a cub or even play games with Wukong and Macaque like hide and seek? That would be really cute. I can imagine them playing hide and seek while Mk discovers he can make shadow portals, meanwhile his parents are stressing and scared as they have no idea where he is.

i think both of them would freak out.

WAIT I HAVE THE PIC I HAVE THE PIC

I'VE BEEN SAVING THIS PIC SINCE 2017

@nyx-daughterofchaos98 ha chiesto: Hi! For LMK, I watched a nature documentary on Monkeys the other day and a lot of monkeys correct each others behavior by doing something called “Disciplinary Nips” or “Discipline Bites” (This isn’t a sexual ask I promise) I think it would be absolutely hilarious, if Macaque and Wukong are napping together, and for whatever reason, Wukong keeps moving around, unable to get comfortable. And in his sleep-riddled state, Macaque gets annoyed and bites him. 🤣 Like; I’M TRYING TO SLEEP! KNOCK IT OFF! 🤣🤣🤣 And when Wukong does stop moving, Macaque does actually fall asleep. Even better is if Macaque wakes up and has absolutely No Idea he bit Wukong because he was half asleep at the time. Or he thinks it was a dream and ensue the shenanigans when he realizes it wasn’t.

OMG THAT'S SO CUTE AND SILLY AAHHHH!!! EVEN BETTER: what if they do this without noticing BEFORE they are like-actually romantically back together, and someone sees the mark bites AND THEY START TO ASSUME CERTAIN THINGS BRUH.

@tabs-tabi-tabby  Can Macaque help with MK’s clones? Or would that be Wukong’s area?

MK can't make the same clones macaque has. He can control a little bit his own shadow, and use that as a clone. so as long as it's his own shadow, it's more Mac area, if it's his own hair clone then it's Wukong's

@startdustmonkie ha chiesto: Does Mk and or Wukong know about Savage and Rumble? (If so how did they find out about them?) — (also: do Savage and Rumble see Mama macaque as a parent?)

@mushrum-soup ha chiesto: Hi just wanted to say I absolutely adore your shadow peach au it's literally the highlight of my week 💖I was wondering tho are rumble and savage just shadow clones in your au or similar to their Lego counterparts :O?

Yes they know about them. No they aren't his kids let's say. My own personal headcanon for the Au (or the show in general) is that they are both Macaque shadow, like- clones with a little bit of personality just like MK clones represent specific parts of his personality. He has 2 of them because he lived 2 lives, one before and one after he was brought back to life.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Just read the latest Shadowpeach bio kid comic, and i cant help but giggle a bit at how MK’s chirp woke Wukong and Macaque up lmao just the “and they snoozing- OH SHIT BABY CHIRPING WHATS WRONG-“

HE IS BABYYYY

@hellobur ha chiesto: Did you base when mk was reaching fr macaque after he was walking away because mk called him mama after this or was it a funny coincidence (mk also doe the pose but I can't find it lol)

Also I absolutely love this story and your art your work is incredible! ^^

Omg LMAO NO I DIDN’T BUT NOW IT’S 100% MORE FUNNY

@dragonaboni-blog ha chiesto: Hi! First off, I love your art and your Shadowpeach AU, it's the reason I'm reactivating my own Tumblr account lol One of my favorite tropes in this story is "A gets sick and B takes care of him" so I'm wondering… What would that trope be like in the AU? What would the monkey trio be like when they got sick? Do any of them sleep through their illness? Or are any of them extremely dramatic like "These will be my last words…"? CoughcoughWUKONGCoughcough

Aaahh I’ve seen a lot of asks asking this one but honestly I don t know If I’ll ever draw that trope. Maybe bc Wukong should technically have canonically too much knowledge about general illness to be worried about normal daily life illness. If it was something more life-threating. Maybe yes, but I still have to cook.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Counterpoint: wukong can't handle spicy foods because he has no impulse control and his monkee brain wants him to only eat fruit and peaches

Ouch. Yes that seems about accurate for him lmao

Anonimo ha chiesto: About the lmk bio au.... we have seen that MK can manipulate certain parts of his body in the 72 transformations... so..... Wukong and Macaque could technically have children.

I’ll be 100% honest I have no idea if stone monkeys are…fertile?

Anonimo Hey there! I am in love with your art. LMK is something that came into my life recently and damn I love it so much! Love your AU, and I can't wait to see more of it. Funnily, since the baby MK incident I imagine this later on becoming a somewhat spark of many funny arguments later on. What I mean is I see baby MK has a favorite parent (*cough-cough* MacCRACK *cough-cough*) [Sorry with the name joke, couldn't help myself]. XD. And I imagine Wukong be a bit jealous at times and go 'Anything you can do I can do better XD' Also see lovely Redson have a thing for MK, and then I imagine him ask his parents about advice on pursuing his crush. "So who is the lucky girl?" "Well, you already know him-" *Spits out water* "You got yourself a husband?" "What, no I haven't yet-!"

Aww I don't think MK would have a favourite but definitely there are times where he wants one parent more than the other (play time with Wukong, nap time with Mamacaque)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Yknow what they say… like father like son! In the sense that they’re all gay /j

Oh yeah absolutely it's genetic/j

@wolfasketch ha chiesto: Mac being on the sunny side and Wuwu being in the shadows

I know I'm looking into it too much but- AHHH!!!

That was unintentional but HOLY SIT U R RIGHT

Anonimo ha chiesto: Poor Red Boy never got to see baby MK! Imagine him just staring at the adorableness that is baby MK and being like 'I hope our future children look just like you OH MY GODS YOU'RE ADORABLE'. Baby MK: :3

Their child will literally be Kai from Ninjago so I guess THEY ARE RIGHT HE WILL BE

Anonimo ha chiesto: And then MK will wake up back to normal, confused, but proud that he managed to get them even closer?

100% yes

@drowning-in-webnovel-chapters ha chiesto: I can't imagine how the monkey dads are gonna try to go back to sleep after that, oof. Also Wukong definitely knows all that from when he used to help Macaque through visions, right?

Yup! He does indeed!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’m guessing MK is getting a mini version of Macaque’s “can hear the past/present/future” thingy, did he managed to hear it accidentally or was he trying to learn more about his powers/Shadowpeach’s past ?

Yes, he was just wondering since last time that he found the sleeping cuddling with him, what exactly happened for them to rift away. Guess curiosity killed the cat

@aurabooboo ha chiesto: So. I'm rewatching season 5, right? I noticed that they almost had a yelling match with MK right in the middle. Would Wukong apologize to him for that?

These 3 have so much to talk about… i wont draw everything, but they definitely apologised offscreen.

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: It is quite telling how Wukong immediately knew what to do to help calm MK, but also, Macaque coming in with the perspective of having gone through it himself. The need for them to remain close by and wait until Mk is asleep before trying to leave. This means Mac has been through exactly what he is telling them not to do and knows the pain, sorrow and trauma that comes from feeling abandoned like this. They may be facing their past hurting their own kid through proxy and try to help him fight against the trauma. Luckily they have good people to help when they themselves can't. *looks at Freenoodles*

Yup! Their response is exactly related to what they do to calm the other!

@thenerdycupcake ha chiesto: So, does MK’s gold vision combine with his hearing sometimes so that he sees some of what he’s hearing from the past?

Oooohhh i guess he does! So he can literally see and hear the past!

@frogsfandoms ha chiesto: Omg why can I see after MK wakes up he thinks that it isn’t the past he’s hearing and that it actually just happened. Rushing to see if Wukong and Macaque are hurt and or trying to stop them from fighting 😭😭😭

Oohhh our baby still doesn’t want to believe it actually happened :(

Anonimo ha chiesto: Adult MK: OH MY GOD A SPIDER *desperate scared monkey noises* Baby MK: what's this? A 5 starts meal? *Tries to chomp said spider* He's gonna be sooo disgusted when someone tells him he tried to eat one fkdkdlfmfl

Oh poor MK. He’ll be teased about this for the rest of his days.

@sailera ha chiesto: Hello I have question about you Shadowpeach bio dads au- How would Pigsy react that his only employee turned to a baby? And hadn’t answered his phone in few days? Also love your art!! And your ISAT comic got me again interested in playing Sky ✨

Mk only became a baby for like- 20 hours. Mei told him that he stayed at FFM because he was ‘tired after training’. As of now Pigsy didn!t found out

---------------

That's all for this week! Thank you a lot for all the asks!

[willowed-wisp]

NSFW ALPHABET [ johnny ‘soap’ mactavish]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

THE AFTERCARE KING!

He was raised to treat his partner like a goddess and you took him so well for so long… he’s waiting on you hand and foot, whatever you need. Bath being drawn? Food? More sex? He’s more than willing.

Even after a quickie, he’s checking you’re alright. Praising you for being so perfect, and more often than not it will lead to more sex because those eyes draw you back in.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

ON HIMSELF: He knows how much you love his eyes, probably the reason you even gave him a chance. Also they’re the reason he can watch your curves and how your lips widen when he slips into you… his eyes have a lot to do with his job and his life.

ON YOU: Johnny CANNOT pin down what he loves about you more. Your thighs when they tighten around his hips? Your lips that give him a run for his money no matter what they’re being used for?

He just loves YOU in general, he’s more of a personality guy but it’s an added bonus that you’ve got so many benefits.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Breeding kink is written all over this man. Inside all day long, he knows you don’t like having to clean up the mess on your body and the image of you carrying a little one of him… it’s too tempting for him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Still hasn’t told Ghost that he fucked you over the arm of his couch when you were staying over at his.

Simon definitely knows, he could smell the unmistakeable scent of fresh sex as he came through to the living room. And the scrape marks on the wooden boards- the sofa had moved a few inches to the right.

Not to mention the scratches up Johnny’s arms, and the abrasions along your collarbone.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Johnny was so dead set on going into the military that girls may not have had his full focus.

He’s definitely experienced, have you seen that face ✨irresistible✨ and he’s an impossible flirt. Not a manwhore by any means but DEFINITELY knows how to pleasure you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

STANDING: He’s got muscles and what’s the point in having them not to use them on the person he cherishes most. He’s fucking into you while you’re suspended in the air- only thing stopping your descent to the ground; his arms hooked under your bent knees and hands clutching your ass.

DOGGYSTYLE: He can get so rough and bothered with you on all fours, watching your fingers clutch into the soft sheets of his bed. Your pretty voice filling the void between the flesh slapping and mattress creaking. Johnny doesn’t care if he doesn’t last as long as usual, he can’t help loving how your ass jiggles against his spread thighs.

IN HIS LAP: Sitting up with you in his lap wrapped so perfectly around him. Christ, he’d die a happy man if he got to see that every day. Your moans so loud like that, him buried so deep. Your body shivers and nails clutch deeper into his tattooed shoulder blade.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He’s gonna laugh if you guys fall off the bed. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop fucking you. It’s a unique image seeing this buff guy, covered in a range of scars and tattoos have such an angelic smile while defiling you. A weird dichotomy but you see it in your fucking dreams.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Johnny’s a clean shaven guy down there. The guy even styles his facial hair and even his mohawk. He’s definitely got a handle of the hair down there.

There’s still a dark brown shadow down there but no hair in sight.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s so intimate.

When he comes home from deployment, he enjoys being cuddled up to something soft and breathing instead of crawling around in the dirt.

He’s so lively with his hands, cannot keep them off you. That’s how you end up under his heat, or how you end up spread with your beau on his knees eating you like he’s been a starved man.

Takes you out on little dates, nothing too fancy- he’s a down-to-earth guy. Normally in his local pub, you don’t mind as long as you’re with your man.

He’s so protective, and anybody would be stupid to cross this stocky built man with an SAS emblem on his forearm.

Johnny doesn’t even look at other women, as far as he’s concerned you are the only woman on the planet.

J = Jack off (masturbation head-canon)

Before you definitely jacked off once a day maybe more but after meeting you, you became the main focus and after you were ready to go all the way, you two have sex everyday. He just has an unquenchable need to be inside of you and feel that buzz.

During deployment, he doesn’t have the time or the drive to keep that amount up. But when he finds the time, the memories of you are his only assistance.

He’s definitely glad to get back to you, his safe place. His home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

BREEDING: You’re the only person he’s wanted to knock up. Before he didn’t even know if he COULD be a father… he’d be gone for too many days for him to bear the guilt. He didn’t want to be an absent dad but knowing you were there to take care of the kids… he melts at the thought of two boys and you pregnant with a girl.

The reason he makes sure to come out alive, a family waiting for him.

BONDAGE: He gets way too excited being at your completed mercy. Hands behind his back, tied with a pair of your tights, on a dining chair. His blue gaze entranced watching you work your magic all over his tensed body. Until he breaks out of his restraints… you have one hell of storm coming…

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Doesn’t really care where you have sex just as long as it’s comfortable. The bed is a classic place.

CAR: Not too keen on places that are too open. He drives either a Ford Ranger or a relatively modern BMW, hop in the front seat. Or if he’s feeling more handsy and in control- back seat, hands on ass type of doggy style. It’s like candy to him

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You. You’re just the whole motivation for this man. You’re the reason he HAS to come home.

Rubbing his hair is a kind of turn on for him, any type of sensual touch. Caressing his tattoos and running your finger along his scars. He’s like a puppy dog turned to a wolf.

Wearing his clothes. He can’t help it, he wants everyone to know your his- maybe he bought you a shirt that said ‘MacTavish’ on the back just to fuck you in. Got matching hoodies as well. Even if you’re not married, they say ‘Mr and Mrs MacTavish’. They don’t stay on for long, most likely stripped with his bare hands.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that would harm you. You’re too precious and delicate taking him so good.

No degrading you- he will never call you a ‘whore’, ‘slut’ or anything of that sort. You’re his lady, he’ll treat you like a goddess till the day he dies.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Doesn’t really care about blowjobs, prefers you taking him in other ways.

As for oral, he could eat you up for days and you’d gladly let him. He’s great at running his mouth and eating you up.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Truly is your decision or how long he’s been away from you.

If you’re begging him with those pretty eyes for him to jackhammer you- he will and lose himself in it.

But when he’s gentle and deep, it’s almost as affective because eye contact is involved… losing yourself in their waves.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves a good quickie, for him it’s like a warmup to actually worshipping you. It helps get that darker side out of him, he’s almost animalistic during quickies so he can pay attention to your own needs.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Johnny is open to trying new things except the no nos. He loves learning new positions and strives to keep you satisfied when you’re just happy with him.

He definitely takes risks- gets his blood pumping and he’s not the shy type. If someone does catch you in the act- he’ll just carry on… they shouldn’t have walked in. While you’re there mortified.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He could last all night and day if you wanted him to. His stamina is diabolical, but he’ll take care of you after the ten rounds he’s capable of managing through a 24-hour-span.

That normally happens when he gets back on leave. The neighbours definitely know when that is.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s definitely open to try anything new. But he’ll always protest after it that you were louder with just him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Have you met this man? He’s the poster-boy for teasing in whatever degree.

Will get so far with foreplay and get distracted… but fluttering your eyelashes has never worked so well. He always concedes.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Definitely is shouting praises at you under his breath. About how good it feels inside of you and how he could stay there forever.

He gets louder with each round, it’s raw and rugged hearing his accent really come through so you can barely understand it.

That doesn’t mean you’re any less riled up by them.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Would maybe play with the idea of a threesome with Ghost… it’s slipped across his mind more than he’d like to admit.

You and Simon seem to get on great, and as protective as Johnny may be, it turns him on thinking about you being fucked by himself while choking on LT.

He knows it would never happen but it’s a weird fantasy he contemplates. And it’s only an idea, jealousy runs writhe in his veins at the thought of another person touching you like or at all.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s confident for a reason- about 7 inches but very thick.

You’ve never been so split in half before.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Craves you every minute of every day. He’s a fiend for your body… even without the sex, your company is his own drug.

On a scale of 0-10, he’s an 11.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If he’s been going at it, he’ll wait to see if you needed anything before slipping into bed beside you and his chest being used as your personal pillow. He sleeps so soundly since he met you.

————

masterlist

[wetdarkprincess]

Trace Me in Red - lee Heeseung

CONTENT; nsfw! smut, public sex, sub!boyfriend, dom!reader, intense makeout, grinding, club setting, exhibitionism, emotional sex, power tension, devotion kink, possessiveness, overstimulation (implied), soft aftercare, romantic filth, love as an act of worship, lowkey unhinged vibes.

WORDCOUNT ; 6.5k(english is not my first language so… sorry in advance for the grammar mistakes or weird phrasing)

MDNI. adult content. don’t like it, don’t read. this is pure hedonism laced with love. you've been warned.

It wasn't the place. It was us

The thick smoke on the dance floor wrapped around us like an intimate fog, making us feel dizzier than we already were. We didn’t know if it was the heat, the music, or whatever was pulsing between us.

He was sitting on one of the VIP lounge couches, back slightly arched, eyes shining from sweat and want. His red hair, soaked, clung to his forehead, dripping slowly down his neck. Each drop seemed to carry more than moisture: they slid down heavy with tension, with promises that needed no words.

I was straddling him, my legs on either side of his body. My thighs pressed against his in sync with the beat of the electronic music blasting from the speakers. My vision was blurred, not from the alcohol, but from him. I devoured him with my eyes, a blend of lust and tenderness I knew he could feel burning into his skin like a hot caress that never let up.

I adjusted myself in his lap, seeking that angle where I could feel his breath colliding with mine. I brought a hand to his chest, sliding it slowly along the lines of the design on his wet t-shirt until I felt the beating of his heart. Then, with a soft gesture, I signaled for him to open his mouth. He obeyed wordlessly, as if my will echoed the desire that also ruled him. I placed a small capsule on his tongue—a promise disguised as a game—and he closed his lips without taking his eyes off me.

I leaned in, hiding my face in the hot curve of his neck, kissing his damp skin. I felt the shift of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, an intimate vibration that sent a shiver through me from chest to core. It was as if all the noise of the place disappeared just for that instant, and we were the only ones left—entangled in the perfect chaos of a night we already knew would leave sweet scars.

His scent, a mix of sweat, expensive cologne, and something more primal, wrapped around me like a soft drug. I gripped his soaked t-shirt with both hands, not wanting the moment to ever vanish. He let his head fall back and I took the chance to lick his neck, slowly, like I was marking my territory. His body shuddered beneath mine.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I whispered in his ear, almost desperate.

He smiled—that crooked smile that always broke me and put me back together in the same breath.

“I’m yours. I always was,” he answered hoarsely, his warm breath hitting my skin.

His hands slid along my waist, sneaking beneath my top until they found bare skin. He touched me slowly, as if he needed to memorize every inch of me with his fingertips. The bass from the music vibrated through the floor, the furniture, our bones… but to me, the epicenter of it all was right there, between his chest and mine, when our mouths finally found each other.

The kiss was wet, messy, loaded with everything we didn’t say when we made love in silence. His teeth tugged at my bottom lip while his hands ran up and down my back, drawing invisible lines of fire. I rode him harder, feeling his arousal pressing against me through our clothes, moving slowly, teasing him like I was dancing to the rhythm of our secret.

He moaned into my mouth, clutching my hips like I was the only thing tethering him to this world. And we were, that delirious night: two bodies that knew each other by heart and yet rediscovered each other like it was the first time. I watched him bite his lip as he looked at me—eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, completely surrendered to what we were when no one watched. Or when everyone did, and it simply didn’t matter

We didn’t need a bed, or privacy, or words. That corner between flickering lights, our ragged breaths, and the raw desire with which we loved each other was enough. It wasn’t a goodbye, or a ritual… it was a new way of saying “I love you” with our bodies when our tongues couldn’t.

Adrenaline rushed through me. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol and drugs dancing in my bloodstream, or the fact that I was basically riding him, right there on that club couch. Our foreheads met, breaths mingling—hot, urgent, desperate.

His hands touched me with devotion, but also with need. One of them clutched the hem of my skirt, keeping it from riding up too far, as if he were protecting what belonged to him. As if the world didn’t deserve to see what only he could. I felt him breathing harder, his chest soaked under my hand as the sweat from his forehead stained his t-shirt a reddish tone—tainted by his own hair dye.

Our lips met again, this time hungrier, fiercer, like we were trying to consume each other in the middle of that electric chaos. The music was distant. The lights, flickers from another universe. We were alone, clothed but stripped bare, submerged in a bubble thick with desire. It didn’t matter if we were obscene. No one was watching—or if they were, they didn’t care. Everyone else was too drunk, too lost to understand that what we had wasn’t just sex: it was raw, unfiltered love.

I moved my hips faster, chasing that perfect friction. My moans blended with the music, but he caught them between his lips, kissing me like I was his only oxygen. And then it happened: a spasm coursed through me, making me gasp against his mouth as the wetness of release soaked my underwear. I collapsed onto his neck, trembling, trying to catch my breath.

But he didn’t stop.

He kept moving me, guiding my hips firmly over his hard, burning bulge, nearly frantic for his own release. I let him, drunk on love and pleasure, smiling at the beauty of that shared surrender. How beautiful it was to let him use me like that—how only he knew how, how only I allowed.

His moans turned into low, tense growls until he came with a guttural groan that got lost in the heavy bass of the song blasting through the club. I felt his body tense under mine, his breath erratic, the tremor that overtook him just like it had taken me minutes earlier. I left a soft bite on his neck—another mark among many—while he clung to me with a trembling hand, searching for the air that still hadn’t come back.

Then I settled back on his lap, resting my head on his chest. I listened to his still-chaotic heartbeat while he wrapped his arms around my waist. I closed my eyes, smiling like a blissful idiot, feeling that if the world ended right then… it wouldn’t matter. I already had everything.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, wrapped in sweat, music, and something deeper. Something real.

I kissed him once more—this time with no fire, no tongue, no hunger. Just a quiet kiss, full of gratitude and love.

“Don’t relax too much, baby,” he murmured in my ear, his voice hoarse. “At home, I want another round… but with no clothes in the way.”

I laughed against his chest, my thighs still shaking, unable to hide the dumb smile on my face. Because yes, it was a cheeky comment—but it was also filled with something more. Something you only say when you know what you have can’t be found twice.

The club kept vibrating, but we were on pause. Me, on his chest. Him, caressing my thigh with the same tenderness with which he had desired me. And between us… that quiet silence that only exists when love burns, but never hurts.

[star4daisy]

map - 972 words - @rosekillermicrofic

tw: wounds, physical assault

Barty had always refused to see the doctor after his father was done with him. He'd learned the lesson to avoid them when he was twelve, trying to find someone to help him and his mom out of the house. No one ever lifted a finger to assist them.

That was until he passed out after one of their little sessions and Barty woke up being tended by lovely long fingers that held him with care.

Barty hadn't felt a gentle touch in years — ever since his mother died — so he couldn't be blamed for being unable to resist coming back, especially when he noticed that the doctor didn't ask questions that Barty couldn't give him the answer to.

Two years passed with comforting touches and sharp needles mending Barty's skin back together. With time, Evan Rosier mended more than just Barty's skin. Evan turned him human again. As human as Barty could ever become after years of neglect and abuse.

Evan was tending to the wounds on his back as Barty complained about the other soldiers' behaviour, he could barely feel the sting of the alcohol as his open back was getting disinfected.

He'd been through this enough times to know how the procedure went, Evan would caress his unmarred skin with one hand to comfort him and then press his needle inside Barty's open flesh, always trying to put him back together. Evan didn't always succeed. Sometimes Barty thought that he had been broken one too many times for it to work again.

If things had been any different between them Barty would've never allowed Evan to map the scars on his back with his lovely fingers. Barty had been ashamed of it for so long, of how ugly they looked. Sometimes he still flinched from the touch, his subconscious never expected the proximity to not be a danger.

No one had gotten close without taking a piece of him along with them, Evan had been the first to give. To fix.

Barty was in awe of him.

Once Evan was done and had wrapped the worst of it in gauze, he began the tradition of kissing every old scar on Barty's body. Evan started with the one on his shoulder, just a slight brush of his lips that was enough to make Barty shudder. The effect was bigger on his body than any sharp tool had been before.

Then Evan kissed his spine, Barty had to restrain the instinctive jerky movement so he wouldn't pull away from him.

He never wanted to pull away from Evan again.

The tradition had started the first time Barty pulled away from him when Evan touched one of his scars. "Why do you always do that?" His tone was curious.

"They're ugly, you're not," Barty said matter of factly. "No reason for you to have to see them," he shrugged uncomfortably.

Evan froze in the process of taking his gloves off. "Who said they were ugly?"

"I did."  

"Crouch," the name was said as a warning.

"You know who."

Evan studied him for a while and then he pulled Barty's chin up, forcing him to look into Evan's stony blue eyes. "Nothing about you will ever be as ugly as he is, inside and out."

Barty nodded jerkily, avoiding eye contact once again.

"I mean it, Crouch," Evan pulled him by the chin again. "They're a part of you, each one of them tells me a story about who you are. They're a map to your soul. How could that ever be ugly?"

Barty felt like his throat was swollen, which was weird because he was sure he hadn't been hurt there. "Don't call me that," was all he managed to say. "That's his name, not mine."

Evan nodded slowly, analysing Barty's features as if he needed to draw him from memory. "And how would you want me to call you?"

"Barty is fine."

"Barty," Evan said it like he was tasting the words in his mouth.

"Yes?" Barty answered, finally raising his head out of his own will and Evan rewarded him by kissing Barty for the first time.

Now, as Evan had grown used to tending to his wounds and Barty was more comfortable with his body and soul, he finally gathered the courage to admit to Evan the truth in his heart. "I hate him," he said. "I hate him more than I've ever hated anyone."

Barty knew it was wrong of him to say when they were in the middle of a war, that he should hate their enemies more than the man who was leading them to victory. But he couldn't keep it inside anymore, the words had been choking him for years and Evan — his only safe space — had allowed him to breathe after spilling them.

Evan didn't stop the task of mapping Barty's scars with his lips, when he spoke it was against the skin of Barty's neck, "Do you want me to kill him?" He offered, warm breath sending chills down Barty's spine.

Barty was ashamed of how long he'd thought about this before. "His death might condemn us all."

"Or it might free us." Evan was like the devil whispering behind his shoulder.

"It needs to look like an inevitability." Barty finally conceded, turning to look at Evan's cold eyes. "We couldn't just shoot him, we'd be dead in thirty seconds."

"Don't worry, darling." Evan kissed his jaw, moving his lips slowly until he reached Barty's mouth. "I've had a plan since the first time you entered this tent bleeding because of him."

When Barty went to sleep that night he could finally relax in their makeshift bed. Even if his father's death resulted in all of theirs, Barty found he could be at peace as long as he had Evan by his side.

[sawyerslvt]

Bubba's First Time (Leatherface- TCM)

Summary: You get kidnapped by Johnny Slaughter at a bar and he brings you home to kill you. Leatherface ends up protecting you. To express your gratitude, you let him use you for his pleasure.  Word Count: 4,105 Warnings: MDNI, coercion, rough sex, smut

You’re screaming, flailing your arms around and fighting for your life as you get pulled inside the house. It was the dead of night and your kidnapper drove a long way to get here. You know your screams get lost in the darkness of the night, with not a soul nearby to hear your pleading cries. 

“I found me a real pretty one huh, old man?”. The man is speaking to an older man. “Quit your playing round’ boy! Get it over with, supper's ready”. The old man doesn't seem amused and you're yanked away towards a staircase leading to a basement. Before the man forces you down the steps, your eyes get drawn to a room. It had a dining table in the middle, food already placed and ready on the table. In one of the chairs sat a large man. He wore a strange looking mask, both elbows on the edge of the table with cutlery in each hand, ready to dig into his meal. You manage to make eye contact with him, knowing there is not much he could do for you. For all you knew, he could be a fate worse than what you were about to face in this basement. 

You look at him with your tearfilled, makeup smeared and terrified face.  With the short seconds you got to share with the beast, you noticed a strange look on his face. His face looked softened, his muscles relaxed and his eyes looked intrigued by your desperate state. He tilts his head and you can't help but feed yourself delusions, was it pity… or sympathy? 

The man tugs at you and you lose sight of the beast, hidden behind the walls. While being dragged down the stairs, his face was scarred into your mind. Your cries get more frantic, movements more hysterical but the man doesn't budge and you're met with a heavy slide door that leads down to the basement. 

Not much time passes before you're hooked with your tied wrists to the ceiling. “Stay still. This will only hurt for a minute”, the man wears a smug smirk and his voice has hints of mockery. You can tell this amuses him. You've run dry on tears and energy to fight back, so your response to his demand was a mere defeated bow of the head. The man lifts his knife to your throat but before he is able to slice, the same slide door reopens and the beast is stood by the entrance. 

“I'm almost done here, boy. I'll be up in a second”, his voice now irritated by the interruption. The beast takes heavy and confident stomps towards the two of you while letting out deep grunts. He halts in front of the man, still holding a knife to your throat. He finally lowers his knife and you feel it nick you, drawing some blood. “What's the matter with you, boy?!” the man snaps. The beast gets closer to him as if to intimidate him, or at the very least, making himself clear of his intentions without using his words. He gets in front of your hanging body, blocking and getting between you and the man wanting to kill you. “Oh I see, you want her to yourself?”. The beast nods and you're confused by the strange interaction. Other than the weird display and protection from the beast, you're left feeling eternally thankful for him saving your life. You're not sure how long the luck will last but for the moment, you let out a sigh of relief. 

“I'll leave for you to take care of her after dinner. Let's go before the old man makes a fuss”. The man heads up the stairs but before the brute follows along, he walks over to you. He is looking up at your exhausted expression and you manage to make eye contact. He was wearing the same expression from earlier… It was kind. He lays his large hands on either side of your waist and unhooks you from the ceiling. Although he had rough and large hands, his touch was soft and movement gentle. He slowly brings you down to the floor and you feel like a feather the way your feet were carefully placed onto the cold stone surface.

He continues holding your waist while you're drowned into each other's eyes. “...thank you”. You finally break the silence. Your voice is soft and quiet, like the squeak of a mouse. He lets out a low grunt and to your surprise pulls you in for a hug. Your eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, he didn't say anything, he keeps you in his arms and gives you a squeeze almost as an apology for what you've been through. That's how you interpreted it, and you let him hold you as you’re absorbing his warm apology. All too soon, his warmth is gone and as he walks away and shuts the sliding door behind him. You're left missing his touch.

After what felt like ages, you hear the sliding door open back up and your heart skips a beat, scared it might be your kidnapper. You feel a wave of relief hit as you’re met with the large figure of the gentle giant. You hadn't moved much since he had left. With your time in solitude, you were thinking of ways you could thank him and as the man was walking towards you, your thoughts grew wilder. You’re sitting on your feet with your hands on your thighs, looking up at him towering over you. You look like a dog greeting its owner. As if he read your mind, he rests one of his large hands on your head, petting you as he admires your beauty. You lean into his touch and it feels good to feel something other than fear For once, you feel safe.

You slowly make your way back on your feet, all while never breaking the alluring eye contact. Your hands travel up his body as you stand up but his body seems somewhat stiff, confused- but not complaining. “I wanted to thank you for saving my life”. Your voice is sensual and very suggestive. As your hands make your way to his big bulge, you feel him get stiffer but this time he also pulls away with a disapproving groan. He looks down and shakes his head slightly. "It's okay… I just want to express my gratitude”. Your voice is gentle as you reach for his bulge again, now growing due to your touch. Once again he hesitates and pulls away with the same disapproving grunt. 

The room you're in had a mattress leaned up against the wall. It had some signs of usage in the form of mysterious spots and holes, but given your situation, you didn't think too much of it. You pull on it, making it fall to the ground with a thud, letting some dirt and dust fly into the air. The giant watches you curiously as you prop its edges parallel to the wall. You turn around and watch him still standing behind you. You scoot over to sit on the mattress with your back leaned against the wall, hands resting on either side of you. You look up at him as you tilt your head and smirk slightly. You’re spreading your legs slowly, letting your skirt reveal your panties to the man in front of you. He looks completely stunned but you can tell he doesn't want you to stop what you're doing. “Just watch me then”. Your words escape you somewhat desperately as your attraction to the beast grows like an uncontrollable virus.

You let your hand find its way to your aching clit over your already soaked panties. You slide your panties off of you and leave your wet slit exposed to the air. You feel your spine arch and head shoot back as your fingers come in contact with your nub. You start to slowly rub your clit and move your hips in circles while making sure your legs stay spread for the man to have the best view possible. As you pleasure yourself, you have your eyes shut focusing on the stimulation, until you hear the man grunt and move around. You bring your head back and see him kneeled down at the end of the mattress. He continues letting deep groans escape his throat and he inches closer to you on all fours, slowly, and without breaking eye contact. You watch as the giant is moving towards you, his big body casting a dark shadow over you, making you feel smaller than you've ever felt. His eyes narrowed like he was finally seeing you as the prey you were meant to be. You rub your clit harder, as the view of him in this position made it impossible to tame your wild mind. 

He stops right in front of you as he watches you pleasure yourself, licking his lips as if he was tasting your sweet pussy. You can't handle his lack of action so you grab his hand. He's confused by your touch but curious about you, allowing you to hold it. You hold onto his hand and start pulling it down to your pussy. You feel him protest and pull back again. "It's okay… you saw how I did it? Just do as I showed you and you’ll be fine” you try convincing and swaying his opinion with your gentle and sensual voice. You pull his hand but once again, he tries pulling away. “Look, I'll help you. Just please… I want you to touch me”, your voice is desperate and you want his long and thick fingers to fill your tight pussy. 

You consider him defeated as you feel his hand soften. You pull his hands towards your sensitive cunt for the third time and this time he allows you. You wrap your whole hand around his middle and index finger. His hands were so big and that's all you could really fit in your small grasp. You bring his hand closer until you feel his rough fingertips come in contact with your clit. Both of you let out a gasp as a result of the contact. You use his fingers to rub your nub and fuck, it felt so much better than your own fingers. You continue rubbing harder and faster and the beast's wonderful grunts fill your ears as if he was feeling pleasure himself. 

Without any direction from you, the beast unexpectedly pushes his index and middle finger into your hole. You let out a loud moan, making your own ears bleed. He doesn't understand what he's done but your reaction was something he was starting to get addicted to. He pulls his fingers back out and you hold his wrists, pulling on them to let him know that you wanted more. He pushes them back in, this time a little harder and you let out the same moan. You feel as the beast goes from hesitant and held back to him becoming progressively hungrier in his movements. He forces his big fingers into your hole, abusing it and you encourage him with your hysteric cries. He sees your white cream coat his fingers, confused by it, he brings it to his mouth and tastes your juices. You see his eyes widen as he's tasting you, licking his fingers clean before sticking them back into you to coat his fingers again, then licking them clean again.

He continues doing this many times until he realizes the best way to get the most of you was to bring his mouth to it. And that's exactly what he does, he lets his mouth find your pussy and immediately starts licking. He starts by giving you small licks, but the more he tastes you, the bigger the licks get. Until he finally started sucking as much of the juice as he could. He uses his hands to spread your pussy lips and sees your red and swollen clit stand out. Curious by it, he sucks on it and hears as your moans get as intense as ever. You grab his hair with both your hands and pull a little. That was all the signs he needed, now he was laser-focusing on your clit. He’s obsessed with your reactions and he sucks hard, he licks fast and sucks even more. “ff-ffuck mm gonna cum, please”. Your words escape in a broken scream but the beast doesn't stop. You feel your walls tighten and you cum in his mouth. He shows no signs of stopping and once he sees even more white cream leak out of your pussy, he licks it all clean. He shoves his tongue as deep as he can to taste as much of your sweet pussy as possible. You taste so good, he could never get enough and you moan loud as his tongue explores the inside of your sensitive hole.  

His mouth is killing you. The air is heavy and the scent of your wet cunt is filling the room, making him lick his lips again. Once he calms down you pull away from him, knowing he could stay between your legs for hours. You position yourself to sit back on your feet. You touch his bulge again and he watches you, giving you groans of approval. You start stroking the outside of his pants. He was already hard but you could tell it wasnt to its full potential, yet it felt massive. You subconsciously take a gulp, anticipating and preparing yourself for his big size as you pull his pants and underwear down at the same time. 

When his cock was fully exposed to you, you found yourself floored by his enormous size. Not only was it long, but the real shock was the thickness and girth of it. You've never seen anything comparable, just staring at it made your pussy throb. You can tell he’s fully confused by what you're doing, he has no idea about the purpose of the thing between his legs. “I wont touch it if you don't want me to. But can I please watch as you stroke it?”. Your plea is desperate and you're begging the gods above to have him accept your prayer. He looks down and a deep grunt escapes his throat and you can tell he’s confused by your request. He looks into your eyes as if to say ‘how?’ and you let a small giggle escape your lips. Has he really never done it before? 

“Alright big boy, I'll show you how”. You give him a comforting smile, showing that you're not judging him. If anything, this made it even better. You grab one of his hands again and wrap it around his own dick. You see him grasping his cock and you can't help but bite your lip, being presented with the sight of his big hand wrapped around his big cock. You hold his hand with both of your hands and start to slowly stroke alongside his shaft, up and down. The skin on his cock moving with your rhythm, massaging his member. He looks into your eyes and his breathing gets heavy. Once he gets into the rhythm you created for him, you let go all together. 

He continues stroking his cock, up and down, just like you showed him. “There you go, honey”. You see his eyes narrow and fill with hunger. He starts experimenting with different speeds at his own pace and you feel proud of him. You lean back towards the wall and spread your legs. You lick your fingers while looking into his eyes and bring your fingers back to your aching clit. You resume playing with your pussy and for the moment you sit in front of each other, both of you pleasuring yourselves as you watch each other. The beast gets more and more aggressive, the new sensation had him hooked and his movements were desperate. As he’s breathlessly stroking his cock, you grab his wrist with your hand, canceling his motion. He looks at you with lust filled eyes, excited for your next move. 

You remove his hand from his dick and replace it with both your hands. You squeeze it in between your hands and admire his full size, it was beautiful but intimidating. You're stroking his cock and you feel it twitch as you move up and down, twisting, pulling and massaging it. Occasionally, you let your soft fingers circle around his tip, giving him an unreal sensation. The beast lets out groans like you've never heard before… but you weren't done here. You feel your aching and neglected cunt scream and beg to be filled. You decide it's time to finally give her what she wanted. 

You pull on his shirt and direct his back to lay against the wall. You spread your legs and hover your opening over his cock as you rest your hands on his broad and strong shoulders. He holds your waist with both hands as he watches you grab his cock and align it with your entrance. Without giving him any time to prepare for you, you sink down on his cock. Both of you release loud gasps as you’re shocked by how well his tip alone filled you, and as he feels your warm and slippery insides. You don't go all the way down, you can't go all the way down but you continue bouncing up and down his tip, getting yourself wetter and slowly stretching yourself out for him. He lets out deep groans and you love how he's letting you know exactly how he feels. As you let your entrance play with his tip you take off your shirt. He looks at your tits and you see his eyes widen. You giggle a little to yourself and guide both his hands to play with your nipples. He gets the hang of it immediately and squeezes and pulls on your nipples. He didn't know what it felt like to you but by the way you moaned louder, he knew he had to continue doing it. 

You hear the brute let out a frustrated groan, he's growing impatient with you teasing his tip and wanting to feel you all through his length. You let out a loud moan, bordering on a scream and he forces you to sit on his cock. You look into his eyes with your mouth agape, surprised by his action. You're not nearly ready for his full length and girth but he doesn't care. He pushes you all the way on his cock, forcing himself deep inside you. You feel your eyes roll to the back of your head and you go silent for a moment, trying to adjust to his size. He slowly pulls out, veeerryyy sloowwwllyyy and you feel every single inch of him as he's exiting your tight little pussy. With only a small bit of his tip still inside you, he thrusts back into you, hard and quick. You let out another scream and he lets out a deep grunt. 

After a couple pumps, he starts getting more consistent and regular with his thrusts. You're amazed by how naturally it came to him. You’re hovering over him and he forcefully bucks his hips into you, sliding in and out as the sounds of skin slapping echoes in the empty basement. “fuckkk, just like that. You're doing so good”, your voice is weak and breathless but he had to know how good this felt, how good he felt. He lets his hips rest back on the mattress and you sit all the way down on his dick. You feel full of him, his girth pressing against your tight insides. You move around a little and cup his face with your hands. He's still wearing that mask but all you see are his stunning eyes and beautiful lips. You can tell they're soft. 

As his cock is buried deep inside you, you lean in and kiss him. He's shocked and doesn't know what to do. He keeps his eyes open as he kisses you, but after seeing your closed eyes, he shuts them as well. He places his hands on your hips, squeezing it, feeling your tight pussy throb around his cock. He gets into the rhythm and you feel each other’s soft lips play with each other. You press into his face while still cupping it, your kiss gets increasingly more desperate as you start sliding up and down on his cock again. You continue riding his dick at a brutal pace, going faster and harder by the second. He helps you by pushing you down further everytime you bounce back up. You introduce your tongue to his mouth and he welcomes it, sucking and swirling it around his mouth. 

You break the kiss and press your forehead to his, not slowing down from the bouncing on his cock. “I'm so proud of you, big boy”. You smile and you look down on the base of his shaft being completely drenched with your pussy juice, and his cock pounding in and out of your soaked cunt. The pitch black hair around his balls being white because of your white cream coating it. The wet and sloppy sounds of his dick thrusting in you is filling the room, you're surprised by how it's still audible over both of your moaning, screaming and panting. The way he's pounding into you makes you question his virginity, you don't believe it, there is no way. His eyes are too confident, his thrusts are too perfect and his dick is way too good. 

He lifts you up from his cock and it makes a quiet ‘pop’ sound as his dick gets released from your pussy’s tight grip. He lays you down on the mattress and climbs on top of you. You can tell that he now knows what sex is, he knows exactly how to do it and you smile to yourself thinking of how the student has become the teacher. He slides his hands under your knee crease and let your legs fall over his broad shoulders. This way, he had a perfect view of your face as he pounds into you. He aligns his cock with your entrance and gives you a quick peck on the lips to prepare you for his cock. You smile at him, letting him know you're ready and you feel like you're about to burst. Every second without his cock inside you, was a second too long. 

The beast didn't believe in slow and steady. He wanted rough and hard and that's exactly how he entered you. As he forces his cock into you, you're shocked by how much deeper he could get from this position. You didn't know the female body could have something this deep inside her but you learn something new everyday… You lay your hands on his chest as he pounds into you and you feel your walls tighten. “F-fucckkk…I-mmm… Imma cum!!!” You can hardly breathe, let alone talk as he's deep inside you. He's making up for years of not feeling this sensation. He’s furious this feeling has been kept from him and he's channeling all that frustration into drilling his cock harder into you. You feel his cock twitch and you can tell he’s close as well. Even though he doesn't say it, you're slowly learning what his different grunts mean. The ones he's letting out right now definitely meant ‘I’m gonna cum in your tight pussy’. 

He lets out one last deep groan as he fills your pussy with his warm liquid. Continuing to pump into you to empty every single drop of himself. You moan so loud, it made your head spin and feeling his cum shoot deep inside you was a feeling unlike anything you've felt before. He slowly pulls out and you feel as the mixture of both your cum is leaking out of your abused hole. He watches as you squirm and shake from the trauma of the intense pleasure. 

He lays down next to you and you get on top of him, resting your ear to his chest, listening to his fast and irregular heartbeat. You hug his massive body and close your eyes. You lay in silence for a while, catching your breaths and soaking in each other's presence. You look up at him, giving him a passionate and soft kiss. “Thank you for saving my life”. 

credit for dividers: @y-onb @animatedglittergraphics-n-more @roseschoices <3

[novasintheroom]

050. Impress

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 0.9k

♡ Warnings - none

♡ Description: Vash catches you drawing in your journal.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

It’s a hobby, you tell yourself. Plenty of people do it.

In the shade of the overhang, you glance over your book and scratch a few more lines down the page. A curve here, some dots there. You bite your tongue gently. It’s getting better. Marginally. And Vash is none-the-wiser to being observed.

He’s slowly taking apart and cleaning his gun. Rubbing a cloth along each piece, careful of where he puts things on the flat rock he’s taken as a ‘table.’ Vash is scrunched up now, making an interesting pose to note down in your journal.

Next to the drawing, you sketch out some lines and notes on his anatomy. Triceps, you write. Brachioradialis. Palmaris longus. You trail down to his legs. Vastus medialis. Gastrocnemius. Back up to his chest. Pectoralis major. Subtly, you put a heart by the name.

“Watcha drawin’?”

So much for subtlety. How did he sneak up on you? Faster than Vash has time to blink, your book slams closed. He’s left with a waft of air blowing in his face and a wide-eyed stare from you. From your side, he lifts his hands placatingly. “Woah, I didn’t see anything.”

Still, blood rushes to your face and you purse your lips, giving him a searching look. “Liar. What did you see?”

Vash’s smile is gentle. Always gentle. “Nothing, really.” Then, that smile turns mischievous. “I didn’t know you drew naughty pictures.”

You splutter. What? “I do not!”

“It’s okay, really!” He waves his hands and walks over to his bag. “Everyone’s into something. Why else would you panic like that?”

The blush has reached the back of your throat. You cough, sucking in air to protest. “I don’t draw naughty pictures!”

He looks over with a smirk, putting his gun back together without looking. “Sure. And I have both my arms.”

“I don’t!” Not only mortified by the suggestion, you’re blatantly outraged he doesn’t believe you. Only one way to rectify this. You stand from your rock and march over to him. Flipping open the book, you shove it in his face. “See! I’m practicing anatomy!”

Vash’s look goes slack, and with care, he takes the book from your hands. You realize he was teasing you too late. He sees your drawings. He sees them. You’re suddenly nervous again, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. It’s fine, you think, it’s fine, fine, fine.

Vash takes his time looking over your drawings. It’s of him, obviously. Chest bared, missing the scars and wires and plates he feels on the daily pulling at his skin. You don’t know about them. How could you? He never lets you see. But you are studying anatomy. He sees the scientific terms criss-crossing the page in your neat handwriting. On the next page, he sees you’ve sketched him in different poses; some of him crouched as if over a fire, some jumping in mid-air, coat floating wildly behind him. One is just of his face, his smile. The eyes are a little crooked, but it’s impressive, even still.

He sees your hands worrying out of the corner of his eye. Cracking your knuckles. You do it when you’re nervous. “I only have you around to draw,” you explain, trying to save yourself from more embarrassment. Vash hums, and you duck your head. “It’s…an old hobby of mine.”

The next page are close-ups. Hands, feet, mouth, eyes. You have no coloring pencils; everything is shaded charcoal black-and-gray. In the margins, you’ve drawn different worms you’ve come across, with beaks and bug-eyes and many legs. But overall, he’s the subject. He’s the one you’re drawing the most. A strange feeling settles in his chest, and with a slight grin, he hands the book back.

You take it, watching him, wary. “So…?”

Vash shakes his head. “These are really good!”

Your look is dubious. “You aren’t…weirded out?”

Weirded out? Why would he be? He’s never been the subject of someone’s drawings. It makes him feel…he doesn’t know, searching for the word. “No,” he says, “I’m – flattered,” he finally puts a name to the feeling, and his cheeks pinken.

You look down, gnawing at your inner cheek. “It’s something I started doing a few months back. Just…drawing your poses whenever we have downtime.” Finally, a smile breaks on your lips. “You’re very limber.”

Vash laughs. “It’s all the yoga I do.” He reaches up and tugs at the back of his neck. He feels a bit shy, but asks, “Can I watch you draw sometime?”

Your mouth falls open. “Um…sure?”

He kicks at a nearby pebble. “I’m not the best at drawing. But I like to do it too. In my journals, sometimes.”

You perk up. “You do? Of what?”

“Mainly architecture. I tried people a few times, but they…they look like they’re melting.”

You laugh, and he laughs with you.

And later, in the firelight and lamps of your camp, you and he draw together. He practices drawing your face (and it does look like it’s melting, much to his chagrin and your laughter), and you sketch architecture, blown away and inspired by the detailed drawings of derelict ships and abandoned towns and cities Vash has been to in his journals. You trade art secrets, tips, and switch journals with each other to draw in for a page.

You both go to bed with stained fingertips and smiles, happy to have one more thing to bring you together.

[tomhorsery]

Lottie relationship headcanons

Lottie Matthews x Female reader

Warnings- she’s not really mentally stable, these are for after she was rescued so it’s not fluffy. This is shorter than i would’ve liked.

Content under the cut-

• When she was rescued from the woods after living there for 18 months, she was obviously extremely different. She didn’t have that same bright smile that could light up any room. Instead, her expression was always blank.

• She wouldn’t even talk to you. There were days where she didn’t even let you touch her. Her body language was always hostile, and her eyes were always searching the area around her, as if she was afraid someone, or something, would come out of thin air.

• The first thing she said to you months after she got rescued was “It wasn’t my fault that they killed him.” You had no idea what she meant, but you agreed with her anyway. it wasn’t her fault.

• After that, things got worse. She started acting weird. Sometimes, she would stare at the wall for hours straight, saying nothing, Other times, she would draw this weird symbol. A triangle with a circle and two lines…? you didn’t know what it meant, but if it helped her cope so be it.

• You couldn’t figure her out. No matter how much you tried.

•Most days she liked cuddling. She wanted to be the big spoon since she wanted to be your protector in case something bad happened during the night. It was sad how locked into the memory of the cabin she was, but you let her do it anyway.

• In the mornings, after a shower, after breakfast she still looked dazed and tired. You knew that sometimes, after waking up, she wouldn’t say anything.

• After she got somewhat better, she was super clingy and affectionate. But she needed to initiate touch.

• She never left your side during the day. And you couldn’t blame her. Sometimes, on those days when she just didn’t want to move, when she was really upset, all you did was hold her close, rubbing soothing circles on her back if she let you.

• She was scared of everything. Especially fire. It made her skin crawl. You couldn’t even light a candle in the living room without her jumping practically 3 feet in the air.

• She likes it when you kiss her forehead scar. She says it makes her feel safe. You don’t mind doing it, because it reminds you that she’s okay, that she is alive. It brings you some peace too.

• She constantly has nightmares. Most mornings you wake up with a tear stained shirt because she was too scared to wake you up to comfort her.

• She used to be a bit of a picky eater, but ever since she came back from the wilderness, she’ll eat anything. Even things she used to hate.

• She doesn’t like to sleep alone anymore. She prefers to sleep with her head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. If she can’t fall asleep, you hold her close, and stroke her hair, until she falls asleep.

—————————————————————————

Requests are open! send in some requests PLEASE.

[baris-thoughts]

I’m going to start posting my mavadi fics I scrapped. Most of them, I didn’t really know how to finish them.

Here’s one I started called Marked.

Mateo didn’t believe in soulmates.

Not really. Not that he thought they weren’t real. He wasn’t one of those skeptics who rolled their eyes and said it was all psychosomatic nonsense or government microchips or mass hysteria. He believed people had connections. Shared experiences. Chemistry, even. He’d seen it happen—between his mom and his dad in the old photo albums, between patients who refused to leave each other’s sides, between friends who always showed up at the exact right moment with the same right words.

So yeah. He knew soul marks were real. He didn’t think they meant anything.

Most people acted like they were the greatest cosmic gift ever delivered—proof that you weren’t alone, that somewhere out there was someone tethered to you by invisible threads and shared skin. For them, every new mark was a message. A clue. A love letter. They drew smiley faces on their arms in the hopes that someone would smile back. They scribbled song lyrics on their thighs, hearts on their knuckles, entire conversations across their collarbones. And they waited. Obsessively. Desperately. It sounded like a fairy tale. A nice one, sure. Poetic, even. But still a fairy tale.

Mateo found the whole thing exhausting.

Growing up, he’d see kids comparing marker lines on their arms, wide-eyed and breathless like they were decoding the universe one squiggle at a time. He’d hear the gasps in school hallways when someone developed a sudden nosebleed, or the giggles when a classmate woke up with “poophead” written on their forehead in mirrored Sharpie letters.

People made jokes like, “Better not get a tattoo unless you want your soulmate to hate you,” and he laughed along. Smiled. Nodded. Played the game. But he never gave it much thought.

Mateo didn’t chase it. Didn’t draw messages back. Didn’t sit up late at night staring at some fresh ink wondering who they were, what they looked like, or what they were doing when they wrote it. He didn’t scribble hearts or coordinates or poetic half-sentences. And he didn’t build his life around finding someone he might never meet.

“Do you ever wonder what they’re like?” people would ask him.

“Sure,” he’d say. “In the same way, I wonder what’s inside a locked box I’m never gonna open.”

It wasn’t bitterness. Not really. Mateo just wasn’t wired for fantasy. Love, in his mind, wasn’t something that was scribbled on your skin by someone miles away. It was something built—day by day, with effort and patience and arguments about where to order takeout. Something earned. Not assigned.

He dated like normal people did. He fell in love once, and it ended like most first loves do—awkwardly, with mutual apologies and silent bruises that had nothing to do with soulmarks. She’d gotten a doodle once on her stomach—a little blue wave—and asked if he thought it meant anything.

“I think someone was bored in math class,” he said.

She laughed. That was one of the better memories.

So yeah, he got cuts. Bruises. The occasional weird red mark he couldn’t explain.

And maybe sometimes, late at night, he’d stare at a mystery scratch or a weird half-heart ink stain and wonder. Just for a moment. But nothing ever lasted. Nothing ever matched.

He figured his soulmate was either boring, unlucky, or didn’t exist.

And honestly?

That was fine.

Mateo had enough to worry about—nursing school, paying rent, making sure his mom didn’t overwork herself back in Carolina. Surviving twelve-hour shifts without throwing up in the supply closet. He didn’t have the luxury of dreaming about destiny. He didn’t need to be mooning over mystery scars.

Besides, it was always the same story. His friends would get hopeful over a birthmark or a shared freckle. They’d fall in love with a bruise and get their hearts broken when it faded. Soulmates were a gamble. And Mateo didn’t play games he couldn’t afford to lose.

Then came the hospital. Residency. Long nights. Bright lights. Lives in his hands. Still, no soulmarks meant anything.

Until Victoria Javadi.

Before he even met her, he heard she’d fainted.

Not exactly rare in the ER, especially among med students on their first rotations. Most showed up in spotless sneakers and crisp scrubs, wide-eyed and jittery until the adrenaline kicked in. She looked the part. Spoke the part. Did everything right.

And then she collapsed.

Dropped like a stone—slammed to the ground beside a “leg” that looked like it had been fed through an industrial shredder. She crumpled on impact, and when she came to, she sat bolt upright, like sheer posture could erase what had just happened.

The nickname came quickly, courtesy of Santos: Crash.

She hated it.

But she earned her redemption during Pittfest. Trusted her instincts. Stood up to her mother. Came back a few days later with a tighter ponytail and tighter posture, pretending she wasn’t running on fumes. She took the teasing with a thin-lipped smile, eyes glassy but unyielding making it clear she'd rather die than go down like that again.

Mateo found himself watching her. Not in a creepy way. Just... curious.

She was young. Brilliant. Ridiculously overprepared in the way people were when they had something to prove. She asked smart questions. Took meticulous notes. Got flustered when he teased her about the alphabetized highlighter collection in her coat pocket.

She looked at him like she was trying not to. Like noticing him was a problem she hadn’t yet figured out how to solve.

It was endearing.

He didn’t push.

Mateo had a rule: don’t date people at work. Especially not skittish med students with obvious crushes and famous last names.

But he noticed things.

The pen lines, for one.

Little doodles on her palm in green ink. “Breathe” written in blocky letters near her thumb. Tiny flowers curled at her wrist like ivy. Once, she had a quote from The Little Prince across the back of her hand, already fading by noon. She chewed her pen caps and sketched like she was trying to write reminders to herself in a language only she understood—something coded, something private. Like her thoughts were spilling out, and ink was the only way she could keep them from vanishing completely.

He never asked her about them. It felt too personal. Like asking why someone talks in their sleep, or what they dream about. But he noticed. Every day, something new bloomed on her skin—stars, hearts, constellations, strange symbols that made him want to Google runes just to see if they meant anything.

Then, later that week, he found matching ink smudges on his hand.

Just a faint green streak near his wrist, like a brush of ivy that hadn’t been there earlier. He rubbed it absentmindedly, thinking it might be from a leaky pen at work. But it didn’t come off right away. And the skin underneath tingled—just slightly. Enough to notice.

It could’ve been a coincidence. Could’ve been a shared workspace, or the kind of everyday transfer of ink and smudge that happens when two people sit close enough, long enough. But something itched under his skin. Not painfully. Not even uncomfortably. Just… enough.

He started keeping track, though he never admitted it out loud. Not even to himself. Just a mental tally. Quiet observations.

When she drew a sunflower behind her ear, one appeared on the inside of his elbow the next day. Faint. Delicate. Like a whisper of ink. When she doodled a crooked star near her knuckle, his thumb tingled all afternoon. He scrubbed his hands in the break room bathroom, with harsh soap and hot water. The mark didn’t come off.

Still, he said nothing.

He told himself it was absurd. Impossible. Magical thinking, or maybe sleep deprivation. But part of him waited for it now. Watched her fingers, the way she idly twisted her pen between them. The way she tapped it against her lips before she started drawing. Each new sketch on her skin felt like a secret message he hadn’t learned to read yet. And each time something showed up on his hand, his breath caught in a way he couldn’t explain.

Soulmates were messy. Complicated. And Victoria? Victoria was already a mess of ambition and nerves, all tightly wound focus and trembling hands. She couldn’t afford the distraction, and he couldn’t afford the hope.

He let it go.

Tried to.

And then she got stabbed.

[arn359]

A lil changes in my Russ design, just wanna give him scars but don’t want him to look too much different.

Eyes are like something to identify person. I draw Russ and his eyes are too much alike to Orange. It’s disturbing…? Idk. Im the one who make them have the same eyes looking. Their differences are teeth and scars, but just eyes made me feel disturbed??? oh?

The so called twins, Money and Orange have more physical differences than Orange and Russ. Money eyes are droopy, his teeth also dif from Orange.

I usually draw Russ eyes closed too. He cute with eyes closed. And hoodie-up. Now he look weird without his hoodie up

[dreamsy990]

heres my designs for all the important gods (I FORGOT HEPHAESTUS SORRY) in epic

thoughts/explanations behind the designs + sketches under the cut

general notes: my biggest headcanon for the gods designs is that they can be just about anything because they (within some limits) choose how they appear. so a god can look like just about anything, but its almost always mostly human. the only real rules to that i think are that 1) their design should usually try to incorporate their main symbols/domain in some way (in some way allows for a lot of range though, so athena for example is very much a bird creature since shes very associated with owls, but aphrodite has just some roses and shells in her hair, and 2) things like scars and such cant be hidden. this rule mostly only matters for athena. i realize i incorporated gold into almost all of their designs but that wasnt intentional lol. anyways let meee talk about the specific gods now. also for fun, no god has normal eyes. theyre either shadowed out entirely, weird shapes, or have no pupils. or all three! i think weird eyes is what distinguishes a god in my designs. i havent done this in my circe or calypso designs but since theyre not quite gods but adjacent i might give them similarly weird eye shapes but also pupils. idk we'll see!

aeolus: so my aeolus design is originally from a sketch i did in class. i was trying to draw telemachus with long hair based on a friends fic and then i was like "oh this looks like how i imagine aeolus would" and the next thing i drew is pretty much Just this final design. i drew aeolus very loosely, he has a clear shape but he should never be fully defined if that makes sense? so when coloring it i decided fuck it he looks like a weird mass of clouds now. its fun! i might change that but idk. also its subtly trans colors because i believe in transmasc aeolus supremacy. i imagine him moving around very freely and seeming to appear and disappear out of nowhere

apollo: so i think apollo is actually the oldest design here? which is to say that i drew apollo ONCE in my sketchbook at the start of my epic hyperfixation and got really into this specific design. i sort of wanted to color him similarly to uh, if you know ginjaninja their design for their oc kynthia? but i ended up going with more just white and gold to keep it simple. i LOVE tiny color palettes lol. the original outfit i believeee was inspired by gigi's hermes actually? but i havent looked at that design in a while so its probably changed. he has a halo that originally looked more like the sun but ive simplified it a bit. why? its cool. also i mightve stolen that from somebody else but i literally CANNOT remember. anyways one fact about this design is that the first time i drew it i labelled it WHORE. you can see i did that in the sketch here too. in his honor.

hermes: little freak guy!! theres honestly not THAT much to say here about hermes. i drew him with a little messenger bag once and i cant NOT draw him with it now i think its cute. i draw odysseus, ctimene, and telemachus all with a gaptooth, and i've never drawn anticlea but i've had the conscious thought that id give it to her too, so fuck it! hermes gets it. it comes from him. the family gaptooth is from him i hope youre happy hermes erfgfrefgfr. color scheme wise i wanted to keep it mostly simple again, i always pictured hermes with silver/white hair for some reason idk why but thats here! and he has rainbow. because is it even hermes without rainbow. i might darken this palette a bit but i am pretty happy with him.

athena: so my athena design ive drawn a ton and shes changed a lot over time. i didnt originally want her to look tooooo birdlike? and then i committed to owlthena because its just FUN man. anyways her silhouette is meant to look very closed off, her "cloak" covers most of her body, just generally shes supposed to seem sort of unapproachable. (note: hes not here but i do this with odysseus too! both because i wanted a similar kind of closed off look for him, and that i wanted him and athena to have visual parallels). her cloak is actually just her wings though! i doodled them unfolded so you can see her without them, as well as without her helmet. her helmet covers one of her eyes with a shadow (again to make her look like shes sort of hiding something), which was a design choice i made BEFORE we found out she lost an eye to zeus, so! coincidentally its good for hiding that scar :]. i doodled her with long black hair ONE WHOLE TIME and its stuck in my mind since so i have to keep that design element forever now. sorry official brunette athena youre not real to me. her color scheme was a STRUGGLE for me though. i knew i wanted to fit blue in there somewhere, but i wasnt really sure how? i eventually caved and made her mostly black and silver with a bit of blue in there. the blue and black gives more magpie energy to her than owl, but i dont know, i like it. i might mess with it more, but yeah! athena! shes really fun to draw lol. i imagine shed be animated in a very constrained sort of way most of the time like her design sort of implies. she doesnt really make big gestures or unnecessary movements she would be sort of uncanny in how still she is most of the time i think.

aries: ive had an aries design for a while so i was basically just finalizing it here. he was supposed to look both very similar to athena and very opposite of her. so they have nearly identical outfits, they both have a helmet shadowing their eyes (but it shadows both of aries' here), theyve both got a lot of animal features (although aries is less visible here, he's a bit dog inspired. you can see his tail eheh), etc. the main difference is that aries is meant to look a lot less, for lack of a better word restrained? his scarf (because its really more of a scarf than a cloak like athena has) only covers part of his face and absolutely none of his body, so it think it gives him a look more like hes ready to fight at any second than athena. i also wanted him to look very scarred/like his armor is scratched up. he and athena are both war gods, but aries is much more likely to throw himself into things and get hurt, while athena plans things in such a way where shes almost never actually hit. brute force vs strategy and whatnot. i sort of wish id made his scars golden too, to look a bit more like athena though. originally the black was red, but it looked really bad, which SUCKS because i wanted the red to contrast with athenas blue. but he just has red eyes here.

aphrodite: very little thought behind this one because my first sketch of her was like two days ago and very inspired by gigis. i sort of wanted her to look doll-like and have a cupids bow lip, but otherwise i got NOTHING girl. shes got pearls and shells in her hair to allude to her connection with the sea though. also roses because i wanted to put in one more symbol and that was a nice way to get a bit more red in there.

hera: im the least happy with this design, almost entirely because of the coloring. i sketched it being more purple, but then i realized that 1) peacocks are a lot more green and 2) IM STEALING FROM JUNE AGAIN!!! THATS HOW JUNE DREW THEIR OC IN A MIRACULOUS AU GODDAMNIT. so the colors are traditional peacock and im NOT happy with them at all. the design is also still basically stolen from june once again i am SO sorry their work is just so integrated into my mind that its a part of me now i do it without thinking. very little notes here otherwise unfortunately,,,,

zeus: weirdly enough i think this is my favorite design? which is WILD because i basically thought of it on the spot like two or three days ago for a shitpost based on a silly manwhore au-adjacent fic i read. the design over all is inspired by neal's? but honestly i think ive done my own thing with it a bit. i didnt really want to do clouds in his hair because id associated that with aeolus in my head, but then i thought of it fading into a dark grey like stormclouds, and having his scarf like lightning? and then he appeared fully formed in front of me. bro is BARELY dressed dude put a shirt on. also his eyebrows are cloud shaped like ursaluna. i fucking hate this dude but im happy with this design

poseidon: OKAY SO POSEIDON IS THE MOST OUT THERE DESIGN HERE I THINK. hes definitely the most inhuman looking one despite us having literally a bird right there, but that was somewhat intentional? and also somewhat because i had a very clear vision of him and needed to make it real exactly as i first thought sorry. anyways, for some characterization, i think with my idea of the gods choosing their appearances and poseidon being a lot more monstrous, you could say he CHOOSES to look unnerving. side note, this is very personal to me but i really like the idea of athena looking more like poseidon than any of her other family. i dont know WHY i just got really attached to that idea. so they have the same hair and somewhat similar faces i think. the resemblance isnt major but it is THERE for sure.

and thaaaats all the gods! i hope you like them :] im going to go review for a test i have tomorrow now