#like me saying ‘I think I’m good enough at art that people would buy it from me.’ that feels so bold and like. arrogant or something dhjsjd

[carpisuns]

theOrEticalLy . if I opened commissions at some point. would there be. a smackerel of interest . ??

[cal-flakes]

sorry for spamming your acc i’ve js been obsessed with your fics!! i was thinking like reader only just getting used to Rafe spoiling her and then overhearing people call her like a gold digger and going back to not wanting him to spend as much as a cent on her and crying that people think of her that way and him comforting her and assuring her he WANTS to spend his money on her and takes her on a shopping spree the next day or something? idek, ignore this if you don’t like it ❤️

╰┈➤ spoil you

warnings: cursing, threats (sort of)

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓

hot tears trickled down her flushed face as her hands struggled, furiously shoving the lavish materials back into their rightful bags. ‘she’s just using him’ — the words cut and nipped at her as they did laps in her mind, spitefully. she couldn’t see the jealousy in those same words through teary eyes, she almost believed them. what am i doing? she thought.

exhaling deeply, she sat back against her bed, her fingers threading through the plush carpet as her eyes scanned the shopping bags before her. dollars upon dollars lay before her, scattered around her bedroom, hidden by the paper wearing all of the expensive names. dior, chanel, versace and so on. her hands moved to squeeze and pinch at her own skin, desperately wishing to be out of it. she felt disgusting, how could she let such a sweet boy do this for her? how could such a shallow girl wear such materials?

her racing thoughts were quickly distracted by the heavy footsteps on the stairs, coming to a stop outside her bedroom door.

“y/n? baby? you ready to go?” the voice asked so calmly, blissfully unaware of the mess on the other side. through sniffles, y/n quickly wiped away the remaining tears. “i—um, i don’t think i want to go..” she muttered, just loud enough for a frown to pull at his features.

he tilted his head, unbeknownst to her as he moved to the handle, working quickly to shove the door open. rafe’s mouth fell agape as he rushed towards her frame, curled up on the floor, tear marks painting the beautiful dress he’d requested she wore to their date that day.

“sweetheart, what’s wrong? did someone upset you?” he cooed, yet the gruff, threatening undertone didn’t go unnoticed. shaking her head, she relaxed into his touch as he slotted himself next to her, pulling her head into his sweater clad chest. “then why are you crying baby?”

catching her breath, her eyes moved to the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes as if she’d burst into tears once again. “do you— do you think i’m using you?” y/n whimpered, blinking away any tears threatening to spill. rafe’s eyebrows knit together as he craned his neck to look down at her, all sorts of questions filling his mind.

“my sweet girl— what are you talking about? ���course i don’t” he soothed, reaching a steady hand to cup her cheek. “why would you say that?”

—

after a good, long hour of more tears and an abundance of reassurance, rafe had finally managed to calm the flow of tears seeping through his sweater, through the art of forehead kisses and soft words.

“baby, what have i told you about listening to such spiteful words? huh? you are in no way a brat, or using me, or shallow, m’kay?” he sighed, pulling his lips into a thin line. “i buy you these things—“ gesturing to the mountains of bags and teddy bears, “because i want the absolute best for you, i want you to feel good, i want you to feel so unbelievably adored you don’t know what to do with yourself, alright?”

“but— but i can’t do the same for you rafey, i want to, i want to buy you things too! but i can’t..” she frowned, her bottom lip wobbling as she spoke. “you do enough y/n, you don’t need to buy me things, the feeling of you lying on me at night is enough, the smile on your face when i walk through that door— is more than enough”

sighing contently, y/n nodded as she melted further into him— if that was possible.

“you gonna cheer up now? let me take you out?” he chuckled, twirling a slender hand around a couple strands of her now tangled hair. “mhm”

—

“wait! your walking too fast rafe!” y/n pouted, drawing a hearty chuckle from him as he came to an exaggerated halt. holding out his arm for her, he waited as she skipped along the concrete, giggling profusely as she quickly linked her arm with his. “where to first?” he asked, the infamous smirk once again plastered on his face.

y/n’s face scrunched as she thought hard about this question, her hand— which was tightly wrapped around his forearm, coming to her attention. “well, i do need my nails repainted, they’re so grown out now!” she chirped, beaming up at him hopefully.

chuckling, he pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before leading her through the streets. “little brat..” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “hey!” she yelped, swatting his chest. “that’s not funny!”

“only teasing sweetheart, what colour were you thinkin’?”

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

[my-darling-boy]

It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

[myauntspen]

I only have a tiny handful of followers and I’m not super active on here so it’s not like anyone was waiting for my input on the current Neil Gaiman situation, but it’s getting to the point that it feels weird to have an entirely GO-related blog and not to say something about it.

The main thing is this: I believe the accusations (five that I’ve heard about so far, but it would surprise me if we don’t hear even more) and hope the women he’s assaulted and mistreated are doing well. I hope, in fact, that they are feeling empowered and supported because that’s what they deserve.

Far, far less significantly, this is the first time I’ve really had to question whether to separate the art from the artist. I never really have before because I never felt strongly enough about the work for my enjoyment of it not to be ruined.

For whatever reason, this time is different for me. GO (the TV show) makes me feel something joyous and literally mood-altering. I’ve interrogated this feeling over these last several weeks and I’m still feeling that way. It’s stronger than the disappointment and disgust I feel toward NG.

Personally, I’m not going to stop engaging with GO unless that changes. I’m not going to buy NG’s books or support him in any other ways, and I dearly hope that he will ultimately not be the S3 showrunner. But Good Omens feels bigger than him and wouldn’t exist without the hard work of hundreds of other people.

Who cares, really, what I think? It feels silly to write this. Except I’d never want anyone who feels differently, or who has suffered similar treatment themselves, to think that I support that man in any way or that I don’t care.

Again, I believe the women who’ve spoken out and I wish them strength and joy. And this is a great time to donate to RAINN. Anytime is. https://rainn.org

[familyvideostevie]

october twenty-fourth

day twenty-four: james potter james forgets his gloves on a walk along the river | established relationship, fluff, first i love you | 1.2k

The city is lovely this time of year. People clinging to the evenings where a heat lamp is enough to convince everyone to sit outside, vendors selling scarves and hot nuts on the bridges. The days are getting shorter, yes, but you bask in the chill and the energy of it all. Autumn is a season of change, of preparation, and you adore it.

The path along the river is bustling, full of young people drinking beer and kids on skateboards and couples like you and James. You’re due to meet your friends for dinner in about an hour but you got here early to stop at a bookshop and just spend time together.

He’s bought you mulled wine and himself spiced cider. The cups are doing wonders for warming your hands, which are cold even through your gloves. James, however, has forgotten his entirely, and the tips of his long piano fingers are starting to look the wrong color.

“Are you sure you don’t want at least one of my gloves?” you ask him. He shakes his head and reaches for you with one hand. You twine your fingers together as if it’ll keep him warm. James is the kind of person who will not admit that he’s cold even as he’s freezing to death.

“I’m not sacrificing your fingers because of my idiocy, love,” he says. “I’ll be alright.”

You pout at him and he laughs.

“None of that, come on now.” He kisses the pout from your lips until you’re laughing.

“James, don’t spill my wine!”

He tugs you into his side. “Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

You study him as you walk. His hair is windswept by the breeze coming off the river, his glasses clean only because you cleaned them a few minutes ago. He did remember a scarf, one you knitted him last month in preparation for the cold. Maybe you should buy him a pair of gloves for every coat. You really wish he would look out for himself more, not just everyone around him. But you can handle it being your job.

“Do you think Marlene will be cross if we show up tipsy?” you ask.

He looks at you with amusement in his eyes. “Are you already? You’ve had less than one wine.”

“No!” He laughs. “I just think we should get another, since they’re so warming.” James has finished his and tosses it in a bin.

“You don’t need to worry about my body temperature,” he says. “I will be just fine.”

You grumble. You worry! How could you not? He’s your boyfriend.

The smooth sound of a cello drifts towards you as you walk. “Do you think the buskers are out?” you ask James.

“I love that guy with the tuba that spits fire.”

“Please tell me you don’t think you’re hearing a tuba right now, James.” He kisses your temple with a smile.

“No, love, I know what it is. Let’s find it.”

You end up having to walk under a bridge and through a narrow tunnel but you end up by the art museum James took you to on your first date. It’s a weird one, full of experimental art and big, open floors of interactive installations, but you’d been smitten with him immedietly.

“Good memories,” he says, as if he can read your mind.

“The best.” It’s you who presses a kiss to his cheek this time. “There’s the cellist. Shall we watch?”

James allows you to drag him to the edge of the small crowd that has gathered to listen. He stands behind you and, in a move that makes you feel slightly triumphant, wraps his arms around you and sticks his hands in your jacket pockets.

“You’re warm,” James says into your ear. You lean back into him, one hand on your wine and the other resting on his arm.

“You’re welcome.”

He sways you to the music. It’s like you’re in your own little world with James, sometimes. He has this ability to make everything else fade away, to make you feel like you’re the most special person in the universe, like he’d do anything for you. And you think he would. Your heart aches with the desire to tell him you love him, you realize, to whisper it in his ear every second. To shout it from the bridge so the whole city can hear. It hits you like a truck.

How did you not realize before?

Standing here with him, his hands in your pockets because he likes to be close to you and he knows you’ll keep him warm, is the best place you could be right now. You are happy. A laugh bubbles its way out of you as the cellist starts to play a love song you heard on the radio this morning.

“What’s with you?” James asks, tone cheeky. “Got the giggles?”

You keep laughing, turning your face so it’s in his neck while his hands are still in your pockets.

“God, I love you,” James says. He pulls his hands from your coat and cups your elbows instead and you stop laughing.

“James —” you say, turning in his hold.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he mutters.

Oh. Ouch. “Did you not mean it?” He hears the hurt in your voice and his eyes snap to you, reading the devastation in your gaze.

He quickly cradles your face and presses his lips to your brow. God, his hands really are cold.

“Of course I did,” he says in a rush. “I love you,” he says again. It sends a thrill down to your toes. “I just…meant to tell you in a more romantic way. Candles and dinner, or something.”

He kisses your lips this time, quick and hard, and flops his forehead onto your shoulder. The cellist keeps his rhythm, oblivious to the enormity of this moment between you.

“James,” you say, feeling a bit giddy. He loves you. “James, come back.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled by your jacket. “I’m embarrassed.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and he rises. His glasses are cooked so you straighten them.

“This is just fine,” you say. “This is perfect, actually.”

“Oh, is it?” he scoffs. “You’re just humoring me.”

“Maybe I am,” you say. You tug off one glove so you can rest your bare palm on his face. He leans into it. “But it’s alright. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

His gaze brightens, his mouth tugs up at the corner. “That so? How do you know, pray tell?”

You scrunch up your nose at him for playing this game, but you love it. You love him. “Because I love you, you silly man.”

He closes his eyes for just one moment as if he’s gathering himself. “I love you,” he says again.

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it a million times.” You throw your arms around his neck and he pulls you tight to him, picking you up and spinning you around just once. People are probably staring but you don’t care.

“See?” you say once he sets you down, a little breathless. “Plenty romantic.”

James presses his forehead to yours. “If you say so, darling.” The cello plays on.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here! promptober masterlist, find all fics under #fvspromptober23

[calliecwrites]

Shifter HRT, part 4 – First Changes (2 Months)

It’s happening! Slowly – but surely. I noticed the first small changes over the last few weeks. And, despite obsessively checking myself for changes every day, I found the first thing completely by accident.

I don’t bleed anymore. I nicked my finger while cooking, and nothing happened. Eventually there was a little blob of red goo there, but it wasn’t watery like blood, and after a while it seeped back into the wound. That’s what my blood is like now. It kinda makes sense that it would be the first thing to change, since it’s already liquid, and it’s what’s carrying the shifterising hormone around my body. I can’t feel it, I can’t control it, but knowing that I’ve got goo in my veins (what a thing to say) is weirdly validating. All those pills I’ve been taking are actually doing something! And I’d swear the cut healed faster than usual – though that might just be me seeing things where there aren’t any.

Speaking of seeing, my eyesight is changing. Or, maybe not the sight itself, but what my brain is doing with it. I’m noticing details more. It’s like how, sometimes, after meditation, I feel like I’m seeing things more as they are, rather than seeing what I expect to see. I imagine it’s what it’s like for an artist studying something they want to draw. Except now it’s happening spontaneously, and more intensely. For a moment, I can look at a tree and take in the whole thing at once, every leaf and branch, and remember it. It’s intermittent – more often than not I’m still seeing things the old human way – but it’s happening enough to notice.

Everyone always says shifters have a really good eye for detail. In all the human stories where shifters are monsters, that’s how they’re able to imitate and replace people so easily (assuming they don’t just absorb them, which also often ends up happening in those stories). I think this must be the start of it.

Some patches of skin feel different, too. There’s one on my leg, one on my stomach, and another on my back. They look the same, but the texture is slightly different, and I can tell where they are even without touching them. If I really focus, I can make them feel just a bit softer and squishier than normal flesh. Not quite like goo, not yet, but definitely different. I’m thinking these will be the first parts to turn fluid, eventually.

And one more thing: I bought one of those shifter art things. Maybe you’ve seen them? – a little bowl full of goo, with a button on the side that you twiddle to change the goo into different shapes. Or, maybe ‘putty’ is a better word – it’s a bit like wet clay that doesn’t dry. It’s a sculpting toy, basically – that shifters invented. I’ve wanted one for years, but never dared, because someone might see it and… guess what was going on in my head? Who am I kidding? – no one is going to see that and think maybe you want to be a shifter! If they even noticed it, they’d take one look, think that’s a funny little thing, and move on. Paranoia is… well. I don’t think paranoia is too strong a word for it. Everything I did had to be checked against would this make people suspect?, and that overrode everything else. Any sign had to be hidden at all costs. I still didn’t dare buy it in a shop – I ordered it online – but now it’s here, sitting on my shelf, and so far no one has called me a monster. I don’t think anyone’s even noticed.

Right now it’s in the very rough shape of a dragon. Well, OK, so it’s basically a blob with two little blobs that kinda maybe could be wings… and looks more like a mushroom… what you can do with the button is very limited! But the real appeal of these is that once I can turn fluid, I’ll be able to flow into it, mix with the putty, and sculpt it from the inside using my own shapeshifting ability. It’s no wonder shifters love these things. Some of the pictures I’ve seen online are amazing – almost as amazing as what they can do with their own bodies. What I’ll be able to do, eventually.

And so that’s it! Two months, and things changing already! I’m still taking my human hormones – I’ll have to keep doing that for a while – and I still haven’t told anyone (ugh, don’t want to think about that), but for only having been on this for such a short time, things couldn’t be better!

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[charmingpplincardigans]

How’s everyone doing? I’ll go first, I’m bad!

I have been ~*~struggling~*~ since mid-September and in the last two weeks it has just gotten unbearable. I feel like I’m drowning all the time. I’m having trouble keeping up with and reaching out to people I want to talk to. And that’s like, on top of always having been bad at getting back to people. *stares forlornly at the ask Chaz sent me like, literally two years ago that I think about daily but just. haven’t. RESPONDED TO.*

Things are just. Closing in on all sides unfortunately. I’ve been sick several times. I bounced this month’s rent check. A thing I had NEVER DONE BEFORE IN MY LIFE before this last move. My job is literally never going to pay me what I’m worth. Or anyone what they’re worth, frankly. I broke down in front of my boss the other day and just sobbed for an hour because after I pay my bills every paycheck I have just enough left over to buy groceries for two weeks, if I’m careful, and little else. Which means I’m putting stuff like gas on credit cards, which isn’t helping the debt that makes me feel like drowning in the first place.  I’ve been at this job SEVENTEEN YEARS. A steady, corporate job. And I’ve never once in my entire time there made an actual cost of living raise!! The cost of living just keeps raising without me! (And also everyone else, I know!)

I’m super overdue on getting people the art they commissioned from me, but my brain just hasn’t been in a good enough place to create much of anything, and I keep thinking I have to get this done and then thinking they deserve better than this, around and around on a loop ad finitum. And there are a couple of other things going on personally that just fucking blow that I don’t know how to fix and I’m just gonna choke on it.

I haven’t done any fandom stuff since NYCC. I haven’t written on my WIP. I haven’t read fic. I don’t check in on the madness happening on twitter. I’ve barely popped my head into my favorite pirate group chat over the last five months or so. I miss doing all of that so much and my stupid brain is so broken that even when I try I can’t enjoy it.

Shit. I’m having a hard time getting work work done. I just sit down at my desk every day, answer emails, and then spend five or so hours frozen with anxiety because there’s too much to do and doing nothing is only making it worse every day.

I need to be back in therapy ASAP, but unfortunately you can’t eat therapy so I can’t pay for it!!

And I feel guilty saying any of this to almost everyone I would usually talk to. (Congrats and condolences to the rest of you!) Because they’re having a harder time than me. Or because they’d just want to give me a bit of money about it, which would fuck me up even more. Or because it’s just tedious and boring and no one wants to listen to me talk about this over and over again, even though it’s all my brain does every hour of every day. It’s a wonder I’m ever able to talk about anything else.

My boss is pretty great, in spite of it all. She’s constantly supportive (to the extent she can be), and she just. She tells me all the time how creative and wonderful and smart and cool to know I am. And every time I just like, tear up, because none of it feels true. But I also tear up when my friends and my partner say those things too. Because to me, a full grown adult without a savings or a 401K or the ability to like, go get drinks just because I want to, I feel like a complete and utter failure.  So like. Whatever I guess!!

I need to find a new job that pays me way more. Then I can get a therapist to fix my brain and save money to pay down my debts and have money to have fun with my friends and not feel like a constant financial burden on everyone. Then I can have the brain power back to maybe work on my fic or complete that art or like, I don’t know, talk to the people who actively want to talk to me. You wouldn't think that part would be so hard, but it really, really is.

I’m working on it. I’ll keep working on it. I have LinkedIn open right now. I’m gonna fucking sob through it, but that doesn’t mean none of it will get done.

In the meantime, if anyone knows of a good way to make a quick $30 grand, I’m all ears.

[bullet-prooflove]

LA!Series Part One: Relax - Manny x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @darqchilddaydreamz @theesirenteller @wnbweasley @bonni-98 @skyesthebomb @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @redpool @trublu2u @fleureeee @yezzyyae @jeybae @thiashazzywriting @lauraaan182 @hatersaremymotivators @fanfic-n-tabulous @ravennaortiz @just-a-throw-away @yousigned-upforthis

LakeTahoe!Series:

Part One: Black Bear Lodge - Your life changes when you meet Manny at Black Bear Lodge.

Part Two: Something Special (NSFW) - Manny gives you a night like no other.

Part Three: Goodbye - You and Manny say goodbye after spending the weekend together.

Postcards: Manny recieves a surprise in the mail.

It’s over a four-hour ride to L.A. Manny’s arranged to stay a couple of days with you before he needs to be in Santo Padre to discuss the pipeline deal with Bishop. It’s become clearer over the past few weeks that Canche has been subsidising his income with club funds. They’re missing a massive portion of cash and that means they can’t buy into the pipeline.

On the drive up he starts to think of it as a blessing in disguise because it allows him to think outside the box, to consider other options. He wants more for Yuma, he wants better, safer options for his brothers, ones that won’t result in prison or a bullet. Santo Padre has been heading that way for a while, they have links to the community, they work with legitimate businesses, their income is clean and constant. Manny wants to emulate that.

He’s exhausted by the time he makes it to your suite; he uses the key you’ve left for him down at reception. It’s a little past ten pm and the day has taken its toll on him. He’s been up since six getting Melina ready for school and dealing with club business, all he wants is to sooth his aching muscles in a red-hot bath.

The lights are dimmed when he steps inside. He removes his boots by the door before padding quietly into the bedroom. They’ve gone all out this time; he thinks as he pauses for a second surveying the view from the window. In the distance he can see the San Gabriel Mountains silhouetted against the night sky.

Everything about this room screams indulgence, the well-made luxury furniture, the dark wood floors, the gourmet snacks in the minibar. It piques his curiosity because he knows you’re getting by on a freelancer’s wage, and he can’t imagine that any magazine would put you up in a place like this, no matter how good your work is.

He finds you in the bathroom, soaking in a tub that large enough to fit another two people inside. You have a glass of whiskey in your hand, classical music serenading you from the Bluetooth speaker in the mirror. You watch as he undresses, his dark eyes fastening on yours as his clothes fall into an untidy pile at his feet. You shift forward and he slips in behind you, the water raising over his weary bones. He exhales at the sensation, sinking low. You lean back against this chest, placing the whisky glass in his hand and he sighs because as relaxed as he is right now, he can’t shake that niggling feeling that this is all to good to be true. He lips brush over your temple, his cheek coming to rest upon your hair as he says.

“I need you to tell me why we’re here tonight because I know that neither of us can afford a suite with a mountain view.”

“It’s comped.” You tell him, tilting your head up so you can meet his gaze.

“Not by your magazine.” He murmurs, his thumb ghosting along the line of your jaw. “These rooms cost nearly two grand a night.”

“No.” You whisper as his lips brush over yours. “A private collector wants to buy my photographs, they’re exhibiting at the Hive Gallery tomorrow, this trip is his way of wooing me.”

“Will you sell?” Manny asks and he feels you smile against his mouth.

“I’m donating them to Arts+Practice, they have a lot of great art programmes for kids in the foster system.” You tell him as he graces your skin with a featherlight kiss. “He thinks he has four days to chance my mind.”

He grins because you, you are just full of surprises.

“I’m sleeping with a hustler.” He murmurs before he kisses you properly.

There’s a softness in it, a tenderness that he reserves only for you. You sigh at the sensation and it’s a noise of contentment, one that he feels in the very depths of his soul because now he knows the truth he can actually relax. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, the water washing over him as the fatigue overtakes him.

“I’m tired tonight.” He tells you, his voice drowsy as your head comes to rest in the crook of his neck.

“Me too.” You mumble. “All that travelling is starting to catch up with me.”

It changes things. If this was supposed to be about sex you would have kicked him out by now or at least made a move, but you haven’t. It means you’re as comfortable with this shift as he is. This thing between you it was always more, this is just your way of acknowledging it. He knows guys who would drive almost three hundred miles for pussy but there’s not many who would do it just to spend the night sleeping next to their lover.  

That’s how the evening ends, you and him curled up in a bed that costs more than your annual salary, his face buried in the curve of your throat as he holds you close.

It’s the best night’s sleep he’s had in a long time.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[shiraglassman]

Hey, I know this is kind of a dumb question, but I came across a TikTok about a month ago suggesting that dragons (the western, fire breathing, princess snatching, treasure hoarding ones) were rooted in antisemitic in the same way something like goblins are. I couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, and it kind of sent me into a tailspin, since I’ve always loved dragons (I read the WoF series ONCE and wouldn’t shut up about it for 3 years), and I was worried that I would have to drop them entirely for fear of offending someone. I can definitely see the similarities between common antisemitic tropes and dragon tropes, but I’ve always heard that the origins of the western dragon were that it was just a scalier of the devil and not meant to represent any marginalized community. However, I am not Jewish in any way, and I’m aware it’s not my place to dictate what is and isn’t harmful, so I was curious as to what you thought. (Sorry about how long this is TuT)

I held on to this ask for a few weeks to try to make sure my response made sense, so here goes. Disclaimer that I'm just one Jewish woman who loves dragons, and I claim no expertise or position of authority. I can't guarantee that someone won't look at your special interests and judge you unfairly. I also can't guarantee that you'll be hyperaware enough and careful enough to catch dogwhistles if they're subtle, compared with ordinary fictional dragons. What I can guarantee is that your average Jewish person is not going to assume you are more unsafe to be around than other unknown gentiles just because you like dragons, but fandom spaces and Tumblr spaces sometimes represent a skewed or specific cross-section of the population and may react differently. I can't make any of those calls. I don't want to tell you to start tuning out marginalized people when we speak about our issues including bad representation, but I also don't think "every Western dragon" is a problem the same way the entire perception of Halloween witches is, for example. For "some reason" (antisemitism) we've decided that big hooked noses are a thing you strap to your face to fake being a witch, or the way witches look in clip art. This is an issue because it takes a simple, neutral feature that some of us have and exaggerates it to the point of looking nonhuman. "Ha ha," says the trope. "Wouldn't it be funny if this trait that these Others have was so different and so jarring in appearance that they looked as different as they truly are, from us, the In Group?"

If the same group of folks who had anxiety about us coexisting alongside them created the witch aesthetic as created the Western dragon lore, and indeed much of old-fashioned European fantasy, it's easy to see how their feelings about us an other marginalized groups (disabled people etc.) creep into the stories. HOWEVER, it's also incredibly easy for dragons to not be us. Or have anything to do with us. If you're nervous when writing your own stories that someone is going to mistake your greedy characters for Jewish-coded, try to establish that real (human or otherwise) Jewish characters coexist with the greedy dragon or whatever to show that you're not using the dragon as a subconscious Jewish reference. But if you're talking about just "can I continue to buy dragon merch from creators who draw cute art", the only thing I can tell you is that there's an intense diversity of opinion among the Jewish people and even though I'm saying it's fine and probably most people at my temple would say it's fine, I can't account for strangers on apps I don't even have. Personally, I think you're safe as long as you avoid dragon things that evoke the trope directly. And many MANY dragons don't even evoke the trope these days, because so many millennials and younger grew up adoring dragons so we launched media where dragons are good. And don't even always hoard wealth. Much of modern dragon media seems to ignore the greedy and/or hoarding tropes entirely or have replaced greed as a motivator for the collections with "this dragon has a special interest", which is cute and doesn't evoke antisemitic tropes at all. You'll probably be able to make good judgments about what does the trope and what doesn't, but for some additional help here is a post Meir and I did on @writingwithcolor, which is where we'd prefer these questions be directed (yes, I know we're closed currently but we're reopening soon.) P.S. If this was sent to my personal specifically to avoid the WWC ask box being closed, please don't — that's an amount of volunteer work I simply can't take on. But I also know that it's possible and likely that you didn't know about WWC at all, so now you do — feel free to peruse our vast archives of past posts. @im-tired1124

[twistedwonderlandfantasies]

(Repost)

Leona Kingscholar as Your Sugar Daddy 🦁🧡☀️💛💰

Fem!reader

Out of all the boys Leona is like the most careless one when it comes to money i mean Ruggie can testify, dude just flippantly throws his wallet around anywhere and DOES NOT care (can't relate me and the poor people gang r crying aka me and Ruggie) so i can just imagine with his attitude and rich background he would love to see u in that sexy rich shit. ok remember to drink water bye 😘 ✌️

Song- Qveen Herby Sugar Daddy

🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡

- expect random boxes of gifts at your door that Ruggie delivers (this poor guy never catches a break). Beautifully packaged with luxurious ribbons and designer gift bags. When you open it up expect to find fine jewelry (gold, diamonds, pearls, whatever) or a silk dress. Heels? Bags? You name it. The price? Don’t even ask. He wants to see you dolled up at 8, so be ready.

-Besides the gifts, if you two are out somewhere and something catches your eye, it will show up in your room later. Broke your headphones and saw a pair you liked? Boom, yours. Saw you looking at your favorite snack that was on sale, buys you like 10 bags of it.

- If you’re into teddy bears and roses, will also occasionally send those. He will take note of your favorite flowers and soft plushies and specifically send you that. Don’t forget the chocolates! He loves when you run up to him later and talk about how beautiful your bouquet is.

-just spoils you absolutely rotten at this point.

- Dinner with Leona will make you dizzy. If he wants to impress, dude will pay for the best wine at a restaurant without even looking twice at the price. And the restaurant itself has a months long waitlist to even get in, so it's PRESTIGIOUS. French wine? Italian wine? Oh you like the stuff from Spain, sure thing. And yes, the food is served by a personal chef, full course meal of foods you’ve never even seen before. He would ofc have the audacity to say if something tastes awful, meanwhile you’re trying to figure out how to even eat the plate of food in front of you that looks like a piece of ART.

- Leona enjoys the speed. He doesn’t have a nice car— he has nice cars. Newest models of whatever brand you can think of: Mercedes, Lambo’s, even a Ferrari. Loves seeing you try and drive a car that costs more than both your kidneys as your hands shake even holding the keys. “Leona…. I think my fingerprints might damage the wheel…” “don’t be ridiculous. Come on, let me see what you can do.”

- Vacations are the BEST. I’m talking Bahamas, tropics, Fiji, cruise ships and private plane rides to some island that their family literally OWNS. Need a vacation outfit? Shopping spree~ Leona will 100% be seeing everything you wear, including Bikinis or swimwear. Will also buy you the things he likes and convince you to wear them. If you especially love traveling he will frequently plan get-aways for just the two of you.

- If you like getting your hair or nails done, he will always pay for it. He loves seeing you take care of yourself. This includes massages, facials, whatever the hell you want. You always being in top condition makes him feel confident, especially the looks you might get from others where he can then grab you by the waist and let them know this fine piece of work is his.

💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛🧡💛

NSFW

- He enjoys a personal show. I'm talking about throwing bills at you for a lap dance, pole dance, he’d even pay you to play with yourself while he watches. The conditions? He has to control you. If he says do something again, you do it. You finish when he tells you. He picks the lingerie, he gets to rip it off. Leona is ruthless and dominating; his gaze alone is enough to intimidate you into following his every order without question out of fear of what might happen if you disobey. If you are, however, in a bold enough mood to talk back expect no gifts that month, and a painful disciplinary session. “Sit on me like that again… mmm yes good girl. Why aren’t you shaking your ass yet? Want to get spanked again? Tsk.”

- You lost count of how many times you’ve had to give the sucky suck (IM SORRY). I think it might be Leona’s favorite activity, watching you devour his massive cock as he pulls on your hair to force you to take more until you're gagging and tears are forming at your eyes. The way your lips kiss his length, your fingers playing with him; having you literally kneel before this man in submission awakens a primal instinct that drives him feral. Payday’s usually follow in a sore jaw and cum stained face.

- He more rarely gives gifts in person, usually in exchange for something *ahem.* If it’s a particularly valuable or expensive item he wants to see your reaction and saves it for when you two are alone in company. So the things you receive directly from him usually end with a hot and steamy thank you. “Put it on, I want to see it on you while I fuck that pretty body of yours.”

[docholligay]

Souvenir

I like people, I think it would be fair to say. Not even in the way you might describe a social butterfly, or someone who is necessarily good with people,* but in the way that someone loves art. I like listening people, I like watching them, I love hearing about what strangers do with their lives, I love eavesdropping on the little bits of people’s lives that they share into the open air and I learn things, constantly, from this**.  

It’s a bit of an odd trait, I guess, and maybe could even be considered nosy, to look at strangers like this, to chat up the gal on the train to Ely***and find out that she was a translator, she’d worked translating a sailing manual, and isn’t that such an interesting thing for people to do? She offered the opening door, and I walked right through it. I will all the time. Every person I meet gets added to a bank in my mind to draw from, for writing, for experiences, for simply lying awake at 3 am and mulling over in my mind****. 

In an actually fairly rare bit of lacking self-reflection, I had no idea that I constantly did this--it is not a calculated act--until Dani pointed it out to me on this trip, that I often make these little connections with strangers for no reason, and that it possibly makes me a good traveler. I had never thought of this. I suppose it’s true, though, that even when I’m somewhere my grasp of the language is, shall we say, tenuous, I have a very open sort of nature that allows me to find those little points of meeting. A conversation with an employee in Cologne, trying to buy tights, and we both ended up laughing, between my bad German and her slightly better English, and many hand motions, we got it handled! It was a very positive and lovely interaction, and though I knew my German wasn’t up to it, *I* was. That’s a mindset thing. 

I like being this way, I think. Not only do I have these small moments, but I also, to creep out anyone who’s ever hung out with me, sort of memorize my friends. When I’m with them, I catch myself looking so carefully at the way their hair moves, the way they phrase things, how they walk and the exact curve of their jaw. How will I call this person up in my mind, later? I have trouble paying attention to things sometimes because I can’t stop paying attention to things. I am a good mental mapper for this reason, and I mentally map people, as well. I keep them, in a way I’m not sure other people do.*****

I do catch myself wondering if they know they have lives, still, in my head? Does Sylvie from British Airways know I think about her smile from the jumpseat? Does Ian the cabdriver know I still turn over his voice in my head? Will the girl across from me on the train know how she lifted my spirits along with hers as she loved someone? Does anyone ever know the thosuand tiny gifts I receive every day of my life, simply by the decoration they bring to my world? In the novel of my life, the background has so much texture, because of all the wonder of each and every person, even the ones I don’t like, bring to it. I am so grateful for all of them. 

I like people. I hope they continue bringing their gifts to me and little weirdos like me. 

*I think we can all agree that sometimes I am very Not That, and that ‘smoothing things over’ is not necessarily a gift I am given (nor do I cultivate it, let’s assign blame where blame is due here) and I can be brusque and impolitic and annoyingly self-assured in any given situation where I have no fucking clue what I’m doing. 

**Just today I learned that sledding is called sledging in the UK, or at the very least in the North, if this gal’s accent is anything to go by and I’m not sucking at broad identification. I know this because she was talking about having enough snow to do it with someone she clearly loves and misses very much, from the way her face lit up as she was talking to them on the phone, and the way she leaned in toward the table as she made plans to meet up for dinner. I teared up a little bit. I love the moments we see people in connection and joy, some of my favorite little experiences in the world. I still think about the day one of my friends got married and she was walking around like a little piece of popcorn in hot oil, and there was nothing ODD or MAGICAL or WHATEVER about that, except that it was the exact kind of human magic I love, where something or someone gives you such joy that you can’t help but show it. ANYWAY. 

***See: Transit for a full explanation of how we all on the train ended up being, if not friends, foxhole comrades. 

****Upon reading this back, it sounds very negative or like I’m suffering, but I have slept in ‘shifts’ since I was a small child, and lying awake thinking for an hour or two around 3 am doesn’t bother me at all. It gives me a lot of time to imagine Haruka in situations and whatnot. 

*****Poetic as this sounds when I make it sound poetic using the power of making myself sound good writing, it might be fairly argued that my brain would be better served to spend a little less storage space on how often my friend wears a particular sweater and a little more on, oh, remembering a box I’ve been meaning to ship for MOTHERFUCKER I JUST REMEMBERED I HAVE A PRESENT I FORGOT TO GIVE DANI AND BEL IT’S IN MY FUCKING BACKPACK RIGHT NOW (see??? What I mean???) 

[huoyd]

Emotional Support Animal

Summary: After a couple of bad months following a stressful event, Wakko finds that Huey isn't recovering from his nervous state. He decides that a emotional support animal might help, and brings Huey to pick one out. Ao3 Link: [ link ] Pairings: Wakko Warner/Huey Duck Words: 2,842 A/N: A cute little fic set in my au where Huey and Wakko start dating when they're 13/14, eventually moving in together when they're older. This takes place when they're about 20/21? Please comment and reblog if you like it ! Also features art at the end that I commissioned from @starlingdrawz and coloured myself!

“Hey, duckie, ya’ ever think about gettin’ a therapy animal?”

Huey looks up from where he’s perched on the counter, his phone in his hand casually scrolling through social media as his boyfriend does the dishes. It’s not unusual for Huey to be a bit glued to Wakko’s side when the other is home. Ever since their home invasion episode had brought back some unresolved anxieties from his childhood, his anxiety had become a bit high.

He’s alright, he knows he is, but the nightmares keep him a little shaky. A little off balance.

Wakko’s comment processes, and he looks back down to his phone.

“Funny, I thought that’s what you were for.”

Wakko laughs, a quick bark of a sound as he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, right, very funny.” He sets the last dish to the side before lifting his hand to flick water at Huey. “Quite the comedian.”

Huey lets out a squeak as water hits his face, pulling his legs up and lifting his arms up to try and block the assault. “Stop it!” He laughs, and Wakko can’t help but to smile at the sound.

As long as Huey is laughing, things can’t be that bad.

“But seriously, what do ya’ think?”

Huey settles when Wakko speaks again. Wakko used the word seriously, he knows he has to give a legitimate answer. Or at least some thought into the question.

He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes moving down into his lap, though he turns his phone screen off.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not that great with… living creatures…”

It’s not entirely true. He’s good with plants. But people and animals, they’ve never been something that he excels at.

Or at least, it’s not in his opinion. Wakko seemed to have a different one entirely.

“I think ya’d be great with an animal.” Wakko smiles at him, trying to be reassuring. "Yer great with keepin' track of things. Ya' could make yer own schedule with 'em. Feedin', groomin', that sort of stuff. An'… it might be good… fer when 'm not here."

Huey stiffens a bit at that.

It’s silly. He knows that Wakko will eventually have to start leaving him home alone again. He’s not a child, he’s an adult. Who has to go back to university in the fall, and get back to his life despite his.. troubles.

And that’s fine. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.

“Yeah, maybe.” He’s still unsure about the animal though. He knows he’d be able to take care of one, he just doesn’t think an animal would like him.

“Well, how ‘bout this, then.” Wakko sets the towel back down and instead scoops Huey up off the counter. He spins him around as he moves towards their couch and flops down onto it, Huey still in his arms. “Me an’ you go t’a pet shop t’morrow. Jus’ t’have a look ‘round. If ya’ find a lil’ guy ya’ like, we get’em, if ya’ don’t, we don’t. Simple enough, yeah?”

Simple enough, yeah.

Or at least the way Wakko says it makes it sound simple enough. Huey doubts it will actually be that simple. Not with such a sudden plan as this. But Wakko does have a way of getting Huey comfortably out of his comfort zone.

So he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

It’s not like he has to buy anything. They can just look.

The next morning comes faster than Huey expects it to, and noon even quicker. He feels like he’s in a bit of a fog waiting for noon to come; the time they decided to leave their apartment and head to the pet store.

Huey had found one the night before that’s teamed up with a local shelter. All animal adoption proceeds went directly to the shelter, which is nice.

He had also done a little research on emotional support animals, though he still doesn’t know how keen he is on the idea. It has anxiety bubbling up within him, the idea of finding a pet, adopting it, and then having it not like him.

When Wakko asks if he’s ready, though, he pulls on his sweater and grabs his phone anyway.

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Well then, let’s be off.” Wakko smiles as they get to the door, opening it up and letting Huey exit before him. “After you, darlin’.”

Huey smiles at the pet name before he exits, reaching out for Wakko’s hand like a security blanket as soon as the other joins him in the hallway. He leans into them as they make their way out of their building, both for comfort and security.

The walk to the store isn’t overly long, just a few blocks from their apartment, and when they get there it’s not overly crowded. Huey is thankful for it, even as he falls further into Wakko’s side, closing himself off to the public.

It makes Wakko feel a bit sorrowful, thinking back to the happy, adventurous duck he had met as a kid. How much Huey had loved the world, and being out in it. How Wakko had to watch the constant danger he was in from his family’s adventures slowly knock him down, and now this, his traumas being thrown back at them by a man who had thought he could get a quick buck out of Scrooge?

He takes a deep breath.

The pet will be good, he thinks. Or at least a good start.

“Alright, I’m makin’ the executive decision that we’re not gettin’ a dog, but how do ya’ feel ‘bout a cat?”

Huey lets Wakko lead him towards the cats, a few kittens tussling inside the cages. It’s not unlike how Wakko and Dot used to play. The memories make him smile, but it falls away from his face quickly after.

They’re cute, but he also knows that cats can be picky about the people they like and don’t like, and he can’t help but to imagine bringing a cat home just for it to like his brother the cat whisperer better.

So he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t think so..”

Wakko walks up to the cages where the cats were playing and takes on a mock-serious tone.

"I'm sorry fellas. Thank ya' all so much fer comin' out ta' th' auditions, but we've decided ta' go in a different direction. Please, please, no tears or hard feelin's."

Huey offers another small smile before Wakko takes his hand again and leads him further into the store.

They slowly make their way through, Huey passing up on a hamster, gerbil, parakeet and a fish. He’s near to calling it quits, when suddenly Wakko is leading him with a little more purpose.

He pretends to hold a clipboard, just as he had for the last several animals.

“Fer our next, and last, audition for the role of Huey’s new fluffy critter, we have: Bunnies. They will be playing the part of ‘Bunnies.’ Annnnnd begin!”

Huey’s smile returns no matter how many times Wakko makes the same joke, like the animals are auditioning for some kind of role. Though, it still doesn’t make him any more confident in picking out an animal.

He has to admit though, the bunnies are cute.

“You don’t think Babs will get jealous, do you?” He asks as he walks closer to the pen, referring to his boyfriend’s best friend.

Wakko only smirks, “Oh, she’ll get super jealous. That’s why I pointed ‘em out.”

The bunnies take notice of them as Huey gets closer, some hopping away to go play somewhere else in the pen, while a few more come up to the edge. They lean up on the side, their little paws sticking through the bars followed by their little noses.

“Aww, ain’t they cute?” Wakko comments, and Huey can’t help but to agree.

He watches as the little noses twitch as they hop along, playing with one another. He leans over the pen, only just barely able to reach out and touch one of them. The fence is too tall for him, but he’s able to graze his finger along the back of a light brown one.

“They’re soft.” Very soft. Softer than most things he’s felt. Like a little cloud under his finger tips.

“I bet they are.” Wakko leans down over the pen, trying to reach out and pet one, but they all scurry away at the sight of his large hand. But that’s fine. This is for Huey, as much as he so desperately wants to pet one.

“I think I scare ‘em.”

Huey looks back up at Wakko’s words and retracts his hand away from the cage, even as another one of the rabbits tries to nudge up into it for their own pets.

“Oh, then maybe a bunny isn’t a good idea.” He takes a step back, getting ready to move on even as his eyes linger on the small animals for just a moment more.

“No, no, we can spend more time with them. It’s jus’ ‘cause ‘m a dog, I think, but this’s fer you, not fer me, duckie.” He doesn’t want to ruin this for Hueyr. If he likes the bunnies, he should look at them a little longer, not have his decision swayed by their reaction to Wakko.

But Huey is already a bit more unsure, even as Wakko points him back over to the rabbit pen. He does want to look at them some more, though, and maybe if he were to get one it would eventually warm up to Wakko.

He steps back towards the pen, leaning over the side to try and pet one again.

“This one seems nice.” He comments in a quiet voice as the same one that had come up to him last time comes back up. It stands on its hind legs so that Huey is able to pet the top of its head a bit easier.

Wakko smiles as he watches. The one Huey was petting was one of the few that hadn’t run as soon as Wakko got near, though it still tensed as he got closer.

“Awe, lookit, Huey, they’re like yer twin.” He looks down at the little rabbit, their fur the colour of new snow, and their eyes like two bright little strawberries, just like Huey’s.

It was also small, much smaller than any of the others that had been around.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He pets it one more time, running his fingers over its soft ears before he retracts his hand. “I don’t know, Wakko…”

Though, Wakko seemingly has already made up his mind. He had already stepped away, flagging down one of the shop workers.

“S’cuse me, miss? Could my boyfriend hold one of th’ bunnies? The lil’ white one?”

The clerk, a brightly coloured tropical bird of some sort, looks up, taking stock of the situation in front of her, and smiles.

"Oh, yeah, sure, you just gotta be careful." She smiled before walking over to the pin. She leaned over, having a better reach than Huey did and easily scoops up the little bunny. “Especially with this one. She’s been known to bite. I'm surprised she's even over on this side. She doesn't usually like people. Might be fate." The clerk’s voice is cheery as she carefully transfers the bunny into Huey's arms.

At first the bunny squirms in Huey's slightly nervous hold, moving around in his arms, trying to get comfortable. It takes her a moment, but she manages to scramble her way up so that Huey is holding her to his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder.

Huey's eyes widen a bit, but he holds her securely.

Wakko watches on, smiling, falling a little more in love with his boyfriend as he does. “I think she likes ya’, honey duck.”

Huey can feel his hands shaking as the bunny nuzzles closer into his neck. He can feel something stinging the back of his eyes as this little rabbit seems to attach herself to him in an instant.

Very slowly, he adjusts her so that he can hold her with one arm, while his other hand raises to pet down her back. He takes a quivering breath as the first tear falls down his cheek, and then he tightens his hold on her, wrapping his other arm around her back as his head tilts to press it against her.

"I think I like her, too."

Huey knows that Wakko is watching. Watching him start to cry as he holds this small animal to himself. He can’t help it. Holding her like this, the warm, tiny but secure body, it just feels right. Like there’s been something missing and he just found it.

And Wakko knows it too as he watches on the sweet scene. He knows this is Huey’s pet. He can’t imagine them walking out of the store without her.

Not in a million years.

He moves towards them slowly, not wanting to startle the bunny, and wraps his arm around Huey so that it settles on his other shoulder.

“Let’s go pick’er out a pen then, huh?”

Huey sniffles, the sound small, nearly silent, but easy to pick up for Wakko’s ears.

“I’d like that.”

Later they get home, having spent more money then they had intended on the small mammal.

Wakko lugs in the pen, the food, the hay, then toys, anything and everything you would need to make sure that a rabbit lives a long, healthy life. A grocery order was on the way with some fresh veggies on the way, and Huey had been speaking about potentially setting up some garden boxes on their balcony during the car ride back.

Wakko rolls his eyes playfully as he watches Huey carry only the rabbit in.

“She’s gonna be one spoiled little bun, tha’s fer sure.”

Huey only smiles down at the carrier she’s tucked away in. “She deserves to be spoiled, just look at her.”

“I’m lookin’, I’m lookin’.” The words come out in half a laugh as he hauls the many bags up into their living room.

He starts unpacking them immediately, making sure that they can set up a nice little area for her to settle into.

Huey brings the carrier to the living room, opening it up and slowly putting his hand back into it. He doesn't want to spook her, just in case if in the short amount of time out of his arms she'd become unused to his scent again. But immediately she snuggles up to his hand and he thinks he might start crying all over again.

"Hi there." He says in a soft voice, running his fingers down her back and revelling in just how soft she is.

After a moment of her getting used to him again, he reaches in and pulls her out with gentle hands. He’s careful, possibly overly careful, but there are still a good amount of nerves running through him. He doesn’t want to hurt her. She’s so small.

Though, with a little humour, that’s probably how some people think of him.

“Welcome to your new home, little girl.” He lets her squirm for a moment before she goes back up to being tucked into his neck, and he slowly turns as if showing off the house to her.

Wakko looks up from where he’s beginning to set up the pen. He stands up, figuring that he would have time to build it in a few minutes. He wants to watch Huey get their newest family member acquainted with their home while he can.

He walks over, smiling at the two of them.

“As adorable of a name little girl is, ya’ got any ideas as t’what yer gonna name’er?” He asks, and Huey looks up at him, smiling.

“I’ve been thinking about it… her eyes remind me of strawberry lollipops… so I was thinking maybe Lolli..?” He looks up at Wakko, nervous, unsure, like he needs his opinion on the name. Like he needs to make sure it’s a good name.

“I think that’s an absolutely perfect name, love. Little Lolli, the second sweetest thing in this house. Right behind m’honey duck.” He moves his finger up towards the rabbit’s nose as he teases Huey, only for the rabbit’s teeth to bite down on the tip. “Ow! Alright, alright, the sweetest thing. M’goodness.”

He pulls his finger away, smiling as he does, and Huey can’t help but to let out a small laugh at the interaction.

“The clerk did say she likes to bite.” He comments, though he’s happy that she hasn’t bitten him yet. She’s had more than a fair chance and the closest she’s gotten was nibbling on his sweater while they walked around the pet store.

“Feisty, just like her owner.” Wakko teases again, before he leans down to kiss Huey on the bill. “I’m glad ya’ found’er, love.” He says, his voice turning soft.

Huey smiles back up at him, holding Lolli a little tighter.

“Yeah, I am too.”

[nightghoul381]

Licht 3rd Anniversary Event

A Beast's Dream Realized by Beauty

Chapter 2

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Prince. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

I’m very sorry I don’t have screenshots for this translation until the epilogue!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

There are three things we can tell from Licht’s drawings.

The first is that every drawing has a big, round full moon.

The second is that there are no roses in bloom.

And the third is that he hadn’t drawn any people.

Relying on the few clues I had, I immediately headed out to town with Licht, but nothing came of it—

Fruit shop Clerk: “These are wonderful colors but I have no idea where the drawing is supposed to be.”

Grocery Store Clerk: “Miss Emma, is this some kind of riddle? Is there a hidden code or something?”

Passing Soldier: “I do patrols a lot, but I haven’t seen scenery like this… I’m sorry I can’t help you!”

Emma / Licht: “Hmm….”

Licht and I go into our favorite café and take a seat to rest our feet, tired from walking around.

Immediately after ordering our sweets, I let out a sigh.

Emma: “This is pretty tough.”

Licht: “The toughest thing is how bad my drawings are…”

Emma: “No!? I like how unique and creative your drawings are.”

Licht: “You don’t have to force yourself to like them.”

Emma: “I’m not forcing myself.”

Licht: “But it’s true that it’s not good enough to work as a clue.”

Emma: “That’s not true.”

I arranged the pictures on the table to see if there were any clues we may have overlooked.

(We went to all the places I could think of and asked the people in town.)

(Even so, the landscape drawing didn’t trigger any memories.)

Emma: “Maybe this scenery isn’t from Rhodolite.”

Licht: “We’ve searched a lot and can’t find a similar place, so I think the possibility is high.”

Emma: “That’s right. Bu what should we do when it comes to other countries…”

(It’s suddenly become even more difficult to find…)

The store clerk sets the seasonal peach tart on the table in front of me.

I hurriedly set aside the drawing and inhaled the scent to my heart’s content.

Emma: “Looks delicious…”

Licht: “You’re drooling…”

Emma: “You’re lying!?”

Licht: “It’s a lie.”

Emma: “…Licht.”

Licht: “I just wanted to see your cute reaction.”

Licht cut into the tart, putting a slice onto a plate and handing it to me.

After I took the plate and thanked him, he started cutting his own portion of the tart.

Licht: “I want to keep your current cuteness in a picture.”

Emma: “…If you say that, I’ll have to get revenge okay?”

The tart that Licht had cut into pieces had the most delicious parts.

While he had a somewhat melancholy air when he dug up the box, Licht was now smiling.

(Licht’s smile is a national treasure no matter when I see it.)

(…national treasure…)

Emma: “Ah!”

Licht: “What?”

Emma: “I have a good idea.”

(With this you might be able to find scenery from other countries!)

After savoring the seasonal tart slowly, we convinced the staff to package the rest for us to take home.

I took Licht’s hand and headed to a certain place.

Sariel: “You want to see inside the treasury?”

Emma: “Yes.”

I had approached the subject while offering tea and a lightly sweetened cake to Sariel while he took a break.

It was only natural that I got a questioning response.

Emma: “Rhodolite is the land of art and roses, so there are many works of art in the court, right?”

Emma: “I want to see paintings by artists from all over the continent.”

Licht: “… I see.”

Licht: “If there’s a similar painting in the court that would definitely be a clue.”

Emma: “Right?”

Sariel: “Are you looking for something? I’m not sure you’ll find it, but it’s fine for you to look in the treasury.”

Emma: “Eh…it’s okay?”

Sariel: “Why are you surprised?”

Emma: “Well the treasury is such an important place that it’s heavily guarded, so I didn’t think it would be possible to get permission so easily…”

Sariel: “Is it really that strange? You are Price Licht’s fiancée.”

Sariel: “You have the right to freely browse the treasury. Here you go.”

Sariel takes out a key from the desk drawer and drops it into my hand.

Emma: “Thank you—”

Sariel: “However, as you said earlier, it houses important cultural property that is under security.”

Sariel: “Don’t play hide and seek in the treasury and break the artwork like Prince Licht did in the past.”

Licht: “…don’t bring that up, Sariel.”

(That really happened?)

Emma: “I understand, I’ll keep my head up!”

The treasury of Castle Rhodolite was even more expansive than the dance hall.

(Even so, it feels cramped because there are so many things.)

As befits the name of the land of art and roses, countless works of art were stored in the treasury.

I froze… if I should fall, I would crash right into the ceramic vase displayed in front of me.

Licht: “You’re too cautious.”

Emma: “Aren’t you nervous, Licht?”

Licht: “Not really? Guess I don’t understand the value of art.”

Licht: “You are far more valuable to me than the national treasures here.”

Emma: “Ah, thank you…?”

(…Licht’s words are always so sweet and make me smile.)

Licht: “There are a considerable number of paintings alone.”

Emma: “Yeah, it’s rewarding to have this many!”

Licht: “Too excited.”

Licht: “…that kind of thing is cute though.”

Licht casually presses his lips against my forehead and immediately begins to remove the cloth from a nearby painting.

(The treasury…. it’s really warm.)

After hours of quiet work—

Emma: “I might have found it.”

Removing the cloths that were hanging on painting after painting…

That’s when I found one picture that stopped my hand.

The painting was a delicate depiction of a foreign dancer.

The dancer is beautiful, and takes your breath away in admiration.

But what caught my attention was the scenery behind her.

Licht: “Which one?”

Licht came closer to the sound of my voice.

The two of us stared intently at the painting like appraisers.

Emma: “Look. First, here’s the beautiful full moon, right?  Then there’s the stage where the dancers are dancing.”

Emma: “The jumbled masses in your drawings look just like that, and most importantly, this…”

I compared one of Licht’s drawings with the painting in question.

In the picture that Licht drew when he was young, there are parts that were colored with yellow and green.

On the other hand, the painting depicts a beautiful sandy landscape that is almost transparent and green plants that are not seen around here.

(I don’t know if it’s really right, and it’s possible that it’s just a stretch, but…)

Emma: “The picture you drew was a desert, isn’t it?”

Licht: “…a desert…”

Licht: “That means it’s in Tanzanite, the land of divination and illusion—”

I try to recall the information while imagining a continental map in my mind.

Emma: “Tanzanite… I think that was the country neighboring Jade.”

Licht: “Yes. Tanzanite is the only country that has a desert, and it’s famous for its dancers.”

Emma: “So the person who told you the stories was talking about Tanzanite?”

Licht: “It’s very possible.”

Licht: “I heard that the country over there welcomes dancers and songstresses freely.”

Licht: “…and my mother was a songstress.”

I can hear my heart pounding heavily.

Emma: “Wait, Licht…”

Emma: “Who told you the story that made you draw this picture?”

Licht: “…”

Licht: “…my mother.”

An unfathomable shadow casts into his crimson eyes.

Licht: “This is where my mother wanted to go.”

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

The other day I wanted to show someone a photo of something on my camera. This involved clicking through a LOT of pics.

On seeing some of my sculpted faces… “What do you DO with them?” Well, I sculpt them like doodles, take pics to post on Tumblr (and have a record if they break) during breakfast, and then wrap them in tissue before throwing them into a storage container. When the storage container is full I start another, but they never come out again….

I mean, what could I do? Little faces sculpted with little care, no work space or money to buy materials for casting or adding them to anything, and too fragile for a lot of handling.

I sculpt them because my fingers need to sculpt. I sculpt because it’s a quick and easy way to have made something at the end of the day. I sculpt to hold the hollowness of my existence at bay. The act of sculpting and having sculpted is all that matters. Turning them, reducing them really, into a product never crosses my mind!

On seeing my photos of the woods… “You need to make Tik Tok videos of them! People make a LOT of money on there and your photos are so good!”

Well, first, most people on Tik Tok probably don’t make any money at all. And the ones that get rich are the equivalent of community theater actors becoming movie stars. They are rare.

Secondly, TikTok means videos. I don’t even make video things I want to record (ex. those otters chatting and playing) because my very old tech is so rickety and out of memory. I can’t fit a video on my computer, and I can’t edit it. Plus my internet is so poor I doubt I can upload videos if I wanted to.

Thirdly, as far as I can tell without being on TikTok, it involves a lot of people filming themselves. I can NOT put my ugly face and hideous voice online as it might be considered a crime against humanity!

Look, there isn’t enough me for MORE social media. Just posting on Tumblr is getting to be almost too much for me. It has been YEARS since I posted on Facebook (hate it! That place does my brain in). I keep meaning to do something with my Ko-Fi, but I can’t even get around to adding more pics. I’d never have the time or energy for TikTok!

I get it though. I have heard it before. Someone once said there was “No excuse” for someone so “talented” (HA! That’s a joke!) not making money. They think it’s just a matter of throwing things out there and the world will flock to you.

It isn’t like that. Even if I were as talented as they assume, it would take at the very least a huge investment of time and energy I don’t have. I got soooo envious of a sculptor at a comic con who told me how her husband takes care of the business so she can make art. Not everyone has someone to help them. Mostly though, success is simply a matter of luck!

But there people go, letting you know that anything you do that doesn’t make money is a waste. It’s proof you aren’t trying hard enough.

There are people creating masterpieces out there that will die in poverty, but their making things is NOT a waste of time! It’s not a waste of time to make things that make you happy, even if you never make a damn penny! If your life is better for it, that’s enough!

And here I am, working my ass off to survive, living in isolation and wearing myself away, even cutting back on my own food to save money (grocery shopping once a month now…oh, joy!), and yet I am made to feel guilty for spending a couple hours at night sculpting or taking pictures during my increasingly rare and short walks in the woods. How dare I make myself smile instead of falling down dead chasing hypothetical dollars???

I’m barely sculpting anymore. I’m struggling to get to the woods at all. I’m so worn out I’m having trouble even finding these things fun anymore, and now I’m supposed to add guilt and shame because I’m not making a profit?

It’s like if you live in a desert but have a spring on your property. The stream is drying out, but you need it to survive. And someone rolls up saying, “Hey! You need food, so why haven’t you sold your water rights?? I’m being helpful here, but you just aren’t trying!”

People always assume I’m sitting on a gold mine I’m just too lazy or stupid to exploit. It makes me angry. And tired.

[princessconsuela120]

Chapter Eight: Rubble to Rubble

—✧

Series masterlist

Chapter Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, cursing

Authors Note: Enjoy these next few chapters you guys🫣 shits getting real now.

Chapter art by @silvell

—✧

“Where the hell you been, Junebug?” My dad asked, getting up with concern as I walked in the door.

“Oh, I just drove to Denver to show Mark and Vanessa the ultrasound. I ended up staying a couple hours.” I explained, shrugging my shoulders as I tried to keep going upstairs, but my dad stopped me.

“A couple hours? Why are you going there in the first place?” He asked angrily, causing me to look back at him confused.

“Oh, well, they wanted to know about the stuff… And I said I'd keep them updated, so I did.”

“You could have mailed it to them. Why would you drive an hour out to East Jesus, Nowhere?” He lectured, making me even more confused.

“I just did. You know, and while Mark and I were waiting for Vanessa… We watched Ghost… And then he burned me a couple of CD's of this weird music, so…It was cool. He's kind of cool.” My dad shook his head at me.

“Juno, you can't just drop in on them like that.”

“No, it was not a big deal. He was totally cool with it.” I said to calm him down, though it didn’t work much.

“You don't understand. Mark is a married man. There are boundaries.” He explained, and I scoffed at him.

“Oh, come on. Listen, Dad. Now, you're acting like you're the one who has to go through this. Like you have to get huge and shove a baby out of your vag for someone else. What does it matter if he's married? I can have married friends.” I grabbed my car keys from my pocket, slamming them on the table infront of my dad, knocking over the jar of weed he had been putting together.

“It doesn't work that way, honey. You don't know squat about the dynamics of marriage.” He yelled back, glaring at me as he put the bids back in the jar.

“You don't know anything about me.” I snapped at him. It was safe to say I got easily defensive with my dad. He was gone for most of my life, why should I let him affect me. Well, he wasn’t home, he was still there, slowly making everything worse for Stan Shelley and I. And my mom too. I know he was trying, but it takes a lot of hard work to fix that.

“I know enough.”

“We don't even sell at the farm anymore.” I teased, making him roll his eyes.

“We don't sell anymore because you and your siblings had to be little babies about it and complain to mom! When you guys move out I’m gonna be so rich, I’m gonna buy a parakeet.” He explained, ignoring me as he focused on making his jar look good.

“Whoa, dream big.” I remarked, heading up to my room as he shouted after me.

“Oh, go fly a kite.”

—✧

IT WAS STRANGE COMING BACK TO THE BROFLOVSKI HOUSE. Kyle and I had agreed that we weren’t telling his family about the baby, there was no need to stress them out if the baby was going to someone else anyway. I missed coming here. It was right next door, it was always the house I’d look at on my way to the garage, look at with hope. Back before we understood what anything was, when I’d sit on our ‘throne’ as Stan and Kyle worked to build our elven kingdom. Kyle and I getting married in the highest point of the tree house with ring pops so that we could rule our kingdom together. It was all so innocent back then. I collected myself, taking a breath before knocking.

“Hi, Juno. What can I do for you?” Sheila Broflovski asked, smiling happily as she answered the door.

“Kyle home?” I asked, smiling back.

Kyle’s mom was possibly attractive once, but now she looks mostly like you’d expect a mom to look. I’m sure his dad was head over heels, I don’t know maybe Jersey people were his thing. I didn’t mind though, I’d always thought of Mrs Broflovski like my second mom. She would always treat me as such. Making sure I had extra sunscreen at the beach, helping me learn to ski, making cookies every time I came over.

“Hey, man. Don't concentrate so hard. I think I can smell your hair burning.” I teased, seeing Kyle leaning against his bed with his homework binder in his lap. I swore his face must’ve lit up the room when his eyes met mine, jumping from his seat as he stood to come help me walk over.

“Hey, what's up?” He said cheerfully, grabbing my arms to help me come sit down in the beanbag chair from across from where he had been sitting.

“Not much. I just wanted to come say hey. I mean, I miss, like, just hanging out with you on school nights, you know?” I said, which caused Kyle to smile even more, his face softening of it even could more than it was. He pour a few to face into his hand, plopping them in his mouth before looking back at me. Orange tic tacs are Kyle’s one and only vice. The day I got pregnant, his mouth tasted really tangy and delicious.

“Wow, you really… You really seem to be getting pregnanter these days.” He said, chuckling slightly as I laughed along.

“You know, I set up this whole private adoption. And this married couple in, like, Denver, they're gonna be the parents.”

I couldn’t explaine it really, the way his face seemed to drop the slightest bit when I mentioned that. That the fact we weren’t gonna keep it, disappointed him. I didn’t know why. We were 17, you’d assume it would hurt us more to have to keep it. But it didn’t. And I think I understand. Something that would connect the both of us forever, gone. I guess that stings.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, what are they like?” He asked, and I sighed, laying back slightly.

“Well, I mean, the guy, he's awesome. His name's Mark, and he likes old movies and he plays the guitar. We actually hung out this afternoon.” I explained, causing Kyle to look at me with furrowed eyebrows.

“Is that normal?” He asked in response, making me shrug.

“Probably not, but…Listen, I talked to my mom and dad...And they said they wouldn't narc you out to your folks...So I think we should be cool, you know?” He smiled, but it wasn’t a Kyle smile, more like the smile you give someone to get them to stop talking. More just pressing your lips together and trying to smile but you couldn’t.

“That's a relief. How pissed was Stan?” He asked, now frowning as he mentioned Stan. As much as Stan was my twin brother, he was Kyle’s best friend. I know he hadn’t spoken to him since he found out, and it stressed Kyle out to no end. He knew I had told him, he knew it would come out eventually. It just broke his heart a little to know that his best friend felt that betrayal from him.

“He was, pissed. I think now he’s just mostly afraid you’ll never talk to him again for being a dick.” I explained, chuckling slightly at the dramatics my brother showcased.

“He wasn’t a dick, he was just mad.” Kyle said, making me nod sun agreement.

“That’s what I said.”

“I just miss him, you know?” He said quietly, causing a thick silence to fill the room. It was a weird feeling, kinda like when I told him I was pregnant. It felt empty, painfully empty.

“Yeah, yeah I get that. You know, I'm gonna… Start looking like a pretty big dork soon, so…” I explained, making him chuckle.

“You always look like a dork Jo.” He interrupted, causing me to roll my eyes, shoving him teasingly as he laughed.

“Oh shush. Are um, are you still gonna think I'm cute when I'm huge?” I asked, looking up at him as a light blush covered my cheeks.

“I always think you're cute. I think you're beautiful.” He replied quickly, not even taking a moment to think about his answer. My face turned an even brighter red.

“Jeez, Kyle.” I couldn’t help the nervous laugh that left my mouth when I replied.

“Well, I do. Hey, Jo, when this is all over, we should get the group back together.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, that would be awesome.”

I hadn’t hung out with the boys all together much since everything went down. It was awkward, I really only had been with Craig and Kenny through it all. Hell I hadn’t seen Butters in weeks.

“I mean, once Cartman goes back on his meds…” Kyle continued, making me nod. I hadn’t seen Cartman in weeks, I didn’t even know he was refusing to take his meds again.

“We're just, like, ready to rumble.” I said, and Kyle sighed, as if he were preparing himself to speak.

“And I mean, we could always get back together too. That's an option.” He looked down at the ground as if he was trying to avoid my eye contact, and I gave him a confused look.

“Were we together?” I asked, making Kyle look back up at me, nodding awkwardly.

“Yeah, we were once, you know? That time.” He explained, forming a new awkward silence between the two of us.

“What about Rebecca Cotswolds? You could totally go out with Rebecca Cotswolds.” I offered, trying to change the subject. He furrowed his eyebrows at me at the mention of the girl. She joined our school in freshman year, though we had know her since fourth grade due to the spelling bee. Even then everyone thought she was sort of strange, she didn’t communicate the same way due to being homeschooled. The entire time Cartman teased Kyle for being “in love with her” because he talked to her so much. It was Stan who found out the reason he talked to her was to learn more about girl, so he could talk more to me.

“I don't like Rebecca. She smells like soup. I mean, have you ever smelled her? And her whole house smells like soup.” Kyle explained, shaking his head with defiance. He let out a low sigh, looking down at the ground to avoid the awkward situation. I couldn’t help but feel my heart pang at the sight. This was different, it was weird.

—✧

[sseastar]

woke up and had a dream - and now i’m in kevin moon brainrot (despite being in sunwoo brainrot just yesterday)

crushing on kevin moon from a distance during high school BAD because he was the cute but goofy band kid with giant glasses and wavy hair who was super polite, a little introverted, but everyone loved. also, everyone was aware of how good he was with art and with kids because his sister or cousins always picked him up with their kids and everyone was gushing over how he ran over to them and picked them up or whatever.

you and him end up at the same university and your crush on him lasted even through the summer vacation. gets worse when you realize you’re in the same freshmen orientation group and when you learn that kevin’s learned how to wear contacts and something other than the same combination of open flannel shirts, graphic tees, and skinnies. you also learn that he’s remotely aware that you went to the same high school, befriends you for the rest of orientation. high fives you the next morning of orientation and that’s how you know you at least become acquaintances with him. you’re too shy to ask for his socials so after a few days of being with him, you lose sight of him for the school year (different majors).

fast forward to the next academic year and you end up in the same gen. ed. class and he plops down in the seat right next to you. you have your headphones on so you kind of just ignore the person who decided to sit next to you in a completely empty classroom until you feel someone tapping on your shoulder and you realize that omg it’s him. you make it a point that’s it’s been so long since you last talked and ask how he’s been. he says you should catch up over coffee or something bc lectures about to start so you slide your ipad over to his with a note on the lecture slides you both have open that has your number and “so we can catch up” and a smiley face. he grins, and pulls out his phone to make a new contact profile for you. when you walk out of class because you have to rush to your next one, you get a text from a new number that says “catch up tomorrow for lunch? :)”

it’s not a secret how head over heels you are for him the more you get to know each other during study sessions. at some point, study sessions turn into let’s grab dinner after this to oops it’s late, do you want me to walk you home to oh it’s good, i drive to campus - did you need a ride? you realize you don’t live too far from each other so y’all carpool now too.

kevin starts to see how much you care for him and how much he cares for you. finds you cute and y’all just become really important people to each other. although you find that you’re falling in love with him more.

kevin, who knows you’re sick just from saying hi and makes it a point that you get enough sleep to get better. kevin, who finds it cute how you pack your lunch in a little lunch bag you got for free for spending so much at a bakery instead of buying lunch from the cafeteria or restaurants near campus. kevin, who regularly asks you if he can take naps in your car bc you have a really soft blanket and that one strawberry plush he won for you at an arcade that feels like the pillow equivalent of mochi.

kevin moon, who didn’t know you knew him back in high school and kept showing you photos of him from high school and who you told, “omg i would totally have a crush on high school kev back then. i totally would now too.”

kevin, who would reply with “what about me now? you don’t like me?”

you, who would stupidly put yourself by saying, “what no i still d- i mean, uh.”

kevin, who would have a shy smile from knowing your feelings and look back down at his physiology homework and just say “good to know.”

you, who would be visibly shrinking into yourself and saying, “good to know that i just outed my feelings for you?” with your head face down on your ipad.

kevin freaking moon, who has the audacity to say “i think it’s cute. besides, i’ve been starting to feel the same too,” as if you hadn’t been completely in love with him for a majority of your life. doesn’t ask you out then and there in the library but decides to ask you on a date when he asks you to park the car and rushes to your side of the car. usually you just park and wait until he gets inside safely but he forces you out of the car and takes you by your two hands as he faces you. smiles and says good night, but not before asking, “i know it’s the weekend tomorrow and you were planning to catch up on sleep, but maybe you can come over and hangout?” atp, he’s still holding your hands and like swinging them.

“only if i can take a nap here, as payment for the times you nap in my car.”

“jacob won’t mind. i definitely won’t.”

“it’s a date then.”

“goodnight yn,” kevin says and he finally drops your hands to swing his backpack over his shoulder. and you’re just watching as he starts walking towards his unit but he suddenly stops and rushes back to you. you’re in the middle of asking what’s wrong but he just swoops towards you and drops a kiss on your cheek. you’re visibly shocked and he just says “cute” before placing one on the other side before running back all giddily to his front door and shouting “drive safe!”