#just me musing again

[jadewing-realms]

i don't know if there's a specific term for the thing when... you're so used to being told you're too much? too loud, too quiet, too stubborn, a pushover, too excited, too cold, too close, too distant... so you just kinda give up doing anything without explicitly being told to because you just can't figure out where the balance is?

especially physical affection. what's 'too much'? when is it okay to hold hands? how do you know when you're allowed to hug someone? gods forbid you give someone a forehead kiss at the wrong time and make them uncomfortable. you don't know how to intuit what anyone needs at any given time so... you figure you should just... not move. unless someone specifically asks you to.

whatever That is, it's how i imagine Naven is. stuck in perma-freeze response, unless he has a designated Role to Play. he's been molded into the model support system. he enjoys making others feel good. he likes seeing them smile. feel safe. he always asks how others are feeling; he always asks for their permission before doing anything that might affect them. he's thoughtful, quiet, agreeable. he never asks for things for himself, and he certainly never takes up space... it's been too long since he had permission to. he's always had to be the caretaker, the older sibling, the protector, the adult, mature, rational, self-sufficient, the perfect island content with simply being ground for others to walk on.

i think this is why Astarion catches his attention right away. the vampire seems so... fearless. not in the usual sense, the heroic sense, but in that he's not afraid to be loud. to say what he's thinking. to take up space and a lot of it. and he's funny and confident and charismatic even when he's being an asshole and Naven is a little in awe of it, muzzled and afraid to misstep as he is.

how does one go about being so unapologetically flawed? he wants to know.

then of course... he learns more. glimpses cracks in the mask. learns of the fears behind the facade, learns that what he'd been witnessing wasn't Astarion saying what he was thinking but saying what he believed others expected or wanted and oh, Naven understands. and now he swears he will do anything in his power to help Astarion feel as safe and respected and loved, truly loved, as he can. he's good at that. and... it works. Naven is used to feeling blind to what others want from him, he tries to account for what he can't see so nobody ever feels unheard or unseen. Astarion is used to having any and all his boundaries crossed, he's relearning how it feels to be treated as an individual. he's also not interested in a protector or guardian... he wants an equal. something neither is used to having but both crave like they crave air to breathe.

sitting by the fire at camp, Naven asks if it's okay to lean on Stari's shoulder, maybe even hold his hand. some other time, Astarion is upset and is surprised when Naven asks whether he needs comfort or advice or space. even more so when he asks for space and Naven accepts without question or second-thought and simply waits until Astarion is ready.

at night, a nightmare and anxiety attack leaves Naven a frayed mess and he dares to ask for a hug for himself for the first time in more than a century and gods is Astarion more than willing to give him one. later, Naven feels guilty for being frustrated about something and Astarion tells him to let himself be angry for once. that nobody will hate him for it.

Stari says he needs a little excitement, asks if Naven would like to visit the market street with him; Naven's had a burst of muse and needs to be alone to write. they're both fine with this and hope the other enjoys themselves for the day. Naven asks if he'd like a kiss for luck; Astarion accepts it and gets Bardic Inspiration to schmooze some vendors later, I dunno.

ask and receive. a cycle of love and respect. giving each other the freedom and space to just... be. exist, as they are, together. over time, they get to learn not only about each other, but about themselves, what they like, what they don't. and that it's okay to speak up about both.

[pigeonneaux]

I hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

[deoidesign]

Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

[khickuwa]

a momentary respite.

[helixcraft]

the fish that keeps appearing all over my recommended only that he's out of jail and happy

[inafieldofdaisies]

[acommonanomaly]

I realized I haven't drawn Essek yet and that is just unforgivable here have some floaty hot boi

[ssluggart]

my contributions to the sonic magma tonight with @guiltypandas and @alvalorenzz :]

[stil-lindigo]

craters.

a comic about a love story between two girls who only have each other, and take a chance on it.

Buy “Soliloquy Down To Three”, an anthology of blood stained sapphic comics (including this one) here.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

You cinephile in black and white, all those plot twists and dynamite / Said “forever,” then he blew it up

[shima-draws]

Soooo twirls my hair out of pure curiosity and not for any other reason tee hee. What fandom would y’all like to see me do more art of 👉👈

[kkildeer]

what do you mean. mom what do you mean

[purplink8]

Hate to burst anyone's bubble but I don't think L would've revealed his face to Light if the latter wasn't Kira. The Kira case was the only case in which L shows his identity to anyone besides Watari because it's the first time he (and his authority) has been challenged like this (with the majority of the Japanese task force leaving since they can't trust L coz of the FBI incident).

If Light weren't Kira and went on to become an NPA officer like his father, he might work with L on some cases together but that doesn't mean L would've revealed his identity to him, however intelligent this particular NPA officer may be.

Like I ship Lawlight very much and I'm not (in this post, that is) referring to anyone exploring the idea of non-Kira!Light with L in their AUs as bad (I like those AUs too), but let's remember that it wouldn't be plausible if we're going by canon. Even if Ohba said somewhere that they'd work together if Light weren't Kira, I'm sure he didn't mean working together as in face-to-face.

[pondhue]

i love reading people's replies and tags and comments but not in a "obsessed with numbers/placing my value on interactions" way. i mean it in a, "wow. i love this thing so much. and people also love this thing. and they love the thing i made out of love and appreciation i have for said thing and we can love and appreciate it together" way.

[canisalbus]

I've always wanted to ask how you can draw an oc that you know has a bad end/dies in their story. You are stronger than me and I'd love to know what motivates you

I know I'm in a minority on this and most OC creators don't think about their characters' deaths, but it's never bothered me much honestly. The way I see it, if I know how their life starts and how it ends, it's much easier to figure out what happens in the middle.

[drones-of-innocence]

Traveled Half the World to Say, You Are My Muse...

What if in an alternate universe, Princess Peach was an exchange student studying art?

She might enjoy getting a daily coffee before classes, and particularly over the weekends where she planned to walk around the city in search of her muse.

Until, one day, she finds him.

Her muse appears to her in the form of a man at a coffee shop on a rainy day.

The dreary light from the windows catches the brightest blue eyes she's ever seen, and a frustrated hand combs back dark curls as he focuses on his laptop. A full cup of coffee sits, forgotten, by his elbow.

"Excuse me," she approached him before she can think twice, after blocking the doorway and apologizing to the incoming customers who stumbled into her. A childish sense of shame filled her, and she grasped at the straps of her messenger bag. He glanced up at her with those piercing eyes. Her throat went dry. "May—may I sketch you?"

She sees his eyes dart across her face, to the University's emblem on her shirt, to the messenger bag covered in bright patches. His mustache hides his mouth, so she can't tell what he's thinking behind that even stare.

The lack of a response compels nervous laughter. "I'm an art student. It'd just be really quick. I won't bother you; it's good practice, that's all." the explanation bubbled out of her through his silence. The other people sitting in the shop thankfully paid her no mind beyond a glance or two. She struggled not to force a harder smile.

His eyes narrowed for just a moment. She detected a touch of suspicion in his creased brow.

"Sure. Fine," he said, nodding to the seat in front of him before returning his attention to his laptop.

Relieved, Peach practically sank into the chair. "Oh, thank you. Don't mind me at all, it won't take long." she whipped out her sketchbook and pencil, trying to find a blank page to begin. He didn't answer, reviewing whatever was on his screen.

She started by mapping out the general form of his torso and face. He was quite a short man, much shorter than her, but he had an incredibly sturdy build. He wore a modest sweater, but she could see a hint of definition in his shoulders and chest even through the draping red cloth. She wondered if he was very active. Or perhaps his job demanded a certain degree of fitness.

He seemed older than her, but not by much at all. Maybe he was a recent graduate? She focused a little more on his face, trying not to get distracted by his eyes, to sketch out an accurate shape.

His sharp jawline contrasted with his round cheeks. "You have a very impressive mustache," she said, trying to capture the angles just right. She had never seen such a remarkable mustache. It suited the shape of his face so well that she had a hard time imagining his face without it. He didn't respond except to glance at her, expression still unreadable.

She grazed her pencil over the paper, a ghost of a line indicating a suspected dimple in his cheek. She wouldn't know for sure unless he smiled.

"Your nose is so unique," she murmured, careful to capture the precise form. Such a striking round shape. At this, she noticed him let out a sharp sigh and keep a stern focus on his computer. She was nearly done, though, so she had to persist. Had to get this specimen on paper.

Her education had created an efficient artist out of her. Her lines gained more focus, nearly portraying an accurate likeness.

It was those eyes that had captured her attention in the first place. She traced the shape of his thick brows, framing his face with a soft intensity. Nothing in the cafe could draw her away. Not the constant ringing of the doorbell as people came and went, not the steady noise level from the dozens of conversations around them. Not even the rich scent of the coffee that she so adored. Instead, her nose was more keen toward the fresh, clean scent that she assumed was the man's cologne. Her cheeks grew a little warm.

She just managed to trace the shape of his irises, though her linework could not capture the way the color almost glowed. She had never felt such a spark inside as she did looking upon this man. "Your eyes are so beautiful," she said, looking between him and the page. "I don't think I've ever seen such a bright blue before..." she looked up, only to trail off as she realized he was glaring at her.

"That's enough." The man stood from his stool in a flash, shoving his laptop in a bag. Peach jumped. Eyes wide.

He stopped only long enough to give her a hard look, before he turned and marched out of the cafe.

A few customers turned to look as Peach watched him go. Her heart skipped a beat, an alarmed sting of confusion going through her veins. He disappeared quickly down the street.

She didn't understand. Maybe he was busy and didn't want her to bother him? But if that were the case, he simply could have refused to allow her to draw him, right? Swallowing hard, she looked down at her quick little rendering of the man. His features all together created a soft image, with kind and earnest eyes. But suddenly, all she could see was that icy glare.

The rain picked up outside. Peach slowly put away her book and decided not to explore the city that day after all.

In her morose bewilderment, she could hardly take out her sketchbook over the next couple of days. A few of her classmates noticed and tried to engage her in idle gossip, but she didn't have the heart to pay any real attention.

Her work on the sketch had been solid. When she did take out her book, she would take some time to look at the man, even though the memory of that harsh look twisted the perception of her art.

Where the city had been so colorful and vibrant, it all suddenly seemed so dull and gray.

"Your muse?" her roommate caught her one day going over the lines, and pressed her until she'd explained the situation. "Are you sure he's your muse? Don't you think you might just have a crush on him?"

The suggestion haunted her like his face did in her dreams.

The sun warmed her back when she made her way down the street the next weekend. She caught sight of the cafe, and thought a coffee might do her some good before her excursions for the day. Classes had been long that week anyway; she deserved a little treat.

The bell rang on the door as soon as she walked in. Many people looked up at her on impulse before returning to their own drinks.

Except for him.

In the exact same place she had spotted him before. Those bright blue eyes fixed right on her. Like blue jewels in the sunlight.

Peach froze for a moment before abruptly averting her eyes. Should she leave? This was embarrassing. But an indignance rose up in her chest to fight off the shame. She had just as much of a right to be here as he did. She wasn't going to turn tail just because of some guy.

So she raised her chin, gripped the strap of her bag, and hurried to the complete opposite side of the room as him.

It was only after she had sat down and arranged her books and materials around for her homework that she realized she had forgotten to go to the counter to order herself a coffee.

Well. She had just as much of a right to be here, but she did not currently have the nerve to get back up and show herself and do something crazy like risk making eye contact again. With a deep breath, and heat rising to her cheeks, she got to work scanning over the latest assignment.

The low music playing harmonized with the low hum of conversation in the cafe. Peach tried to make sense of the description of the assignment, but she couldn't quite focus on any of the words.

A cup of coffee and a pastry appeared at her elbow.

Peach looked up. The man, the subject of her thoughts and dread the past week, took a careful step back to a respectful distance. Those pretty eyes focused on her with a hesitant guilt. He had his own coffee cup in his hand.

"I didn't know how you liked your coffee," he nodded to the cup on the table, where he had placed cream and sugar beside it. "But I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

Her throat went dry. Swallowing hard, Peach tried to figure out a normal way to sit without fidgeting. "E—excuse me?"

He nodded and took a deep breath. "I was rude to you last week. I believed you were, ah, trying to make fun of me. With all the things you said to me." He glanced at the floor before looking back at her again. "It was a mistake to assume the worst. You seem very kind. I am sorry for how I behaved to you." he tried to smile.

A new light dawned on Peach's understanding. "Oh. Oh, goodness, not at all!" She set her pencils and books aside. "I wasn't teasing you. I'm so sorry if I came across that way; I must have been distracted..."

The man waved her off. "No, please. It was nothing about you. I think you come across as very sweet, Miss. It was my fault."

Very sweet. He thought she was sweet. Peach tried to ignore the furious heat that rose up to her face. She pursed her lips and nodded her appreciation.

He gestured to the coffee and the pastry he had chosen for her. "Please," he said. "I will leave you now. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, Miss—"

"Wait," Peach reached out. "Um, I just want you to know that I genuinely think that you are handsome. You have the prettiest eyes. And uh, I appreciate the apology. If you want, you could have the rest of your coffee with me?"

The man blinked at her when she moved to make a space for him to sit. She could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush with a little color. He didn't say anything.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Peach. I'm an art student at the University. But you already knew that." she laughed nervously. "Um, what's your name?"

It occurred to her that he was just as flustered as she was. An excited, hopeful spark lit up her chest.

He reached out to shake her hand. "I'm Mario," he said, and moved to sit down.

O~o~O