#man its so odd sketching this way

[artbyzephra]

Was honestly just curious if I could

[fluentisonus]

chiens-loups

[meowmeowriley]

Ghost had been on his phone since Soap had entered the rec room. Not unusual, he tended to read emails or news articles in his spare time. No, what was unusual was that he had his phone sideways. Occasionally tapping at the screen with a thumb. Gaming then.

The 141's resident emo was full of surprises, one being that Ghost loved video games. The man had an old Playstation 3 that might as well have been his first born, the way he adored it. If the PS3 were his first child, then his Xbox One was rebellious problem child, the way he cursed it constantly, threatening to dismantle it and use its husk as a doorstop. Something about changing constantly, and adds on startup had been his most recent rant. He swore he loved it too, but the favoritism was obvious.

Ghost would be found in his room on one of the two consoles nearly every evening. With how often Soap found him gaming, this behavior shouldn't have struck him as odd, and yet it was the first time he'd ever seen the man play anything on his phone.

"Ya winnin', Lt.?" The glare he earned for that comment had him cackling as he fixed himself a midday coffee.

Soap sat down on the sofa with Ghost and turned on the TV. Ghost continued with whatever he was doing.

Beneath his mask the man's brow was pinched, he chewed his bottom lip, and each tap of his thumb was marginally more firm than the last. Ghost was seething, then.

Soap abandoned his show and instead watched something much more entertaining; Ghost's apparent descent into madness. He huffed on occasion, shifted in his seat, hunched his shoulders, and glared daggers down at his phone, a look that could make any of the rookies on base cry and wet themselves.

Soap was delighted. After he finished his coffee he jogged back to his room and snatched his journal so he could draw Ghost having his fit, he wanted to commit it to memory.

Soap was nearly done with his sketch, though it was a bit more than a simple sketch, nearing realism with how much detail he'd poured into Ghost's stormy eyes, when Ghost spoke quietly and for the first time in nearly an hour of them sharing space. "This game is for godless heathens." 

Soap nearly lost it, just barely managing to smother the laugh that bubbled forth. He coughed to hide what little escaped him, and used his hand to hide his face, scrubbing down to erase the smile that tried to give him away. "What, ah, what're you even playin', Ghost?"

"Tile Towers, on Webkinz."

Soap did lose it then. He'd seen the now ancient stuffy in Ghost's quarters, a scraggly looking leopard, but couldn't wrap his head around the man actually playing the game, let alone getting this angry over a mini game for children. He laughed so hard it hurt, tears streamed down his face, and Ghost booted him off the couch without even looking away from his phone.

***

Written by someone who recently found out that webkinz classic has a mobile app, and rediscovered their utter hatred for Tile Towers. Why do I keep playing it? It's awful, fucking stupid! And yet I keep. Going. Back. I'm also miffed that my original account has been deactivated. I've only been absent for like 13 years! Come on! 🤬

[6saints]

Aemond Targaryen x Artist! Reader

Part one? Maybe a smutty part two

Synopsis: Aemond is embarrassed by Aegon. His brother laughing at him for continuing his intimacies with Sylvi. He finds comfort in a little corner of the brothel, where a girl and her drawings seem to capture his affections.

Warnings/tags: Not much to say ngl, sexual themes, suggestive, dude is naked the whole time, it's a brothel yall, Aemond is kind of a jerk at first, soft Aemond at the end tho hehehe, reader is a cutie patootie, cursing and mature language

___

Paper, much less sketchbooks, were difficult to come by through the smallfolk of Westeros. A luxury; coveted by skillful artisans and noble families emptying their pockets for masterful art to be made of their loved ones. You were unfortunately deprived of those luxuries, being born a common girl with no household to claim. Therefore you learned to steal and barter; a skill that has served you faithfully into your adulthood.

It was not an honorable hobby of yours, you could admit, stealing low quality paper from struggling vendors. But when you would return home (and by home you really meant a small room in the back of a brothel. Paid for by your labor in cleaning, cooking, and fetching for the women and mistress) and look at the beige, tawny sheets on your walls, you were proud.

The city was overpopulated, and the people that spent their time out and about at night tended to be delinquents or drunkards. Occasionally, you could swear some of the sleeping drunks were dead. Though you would never check. Lest you wanted an angry fellow to attack you for your coin and body. The moon at its fullest always seemed to cast an odd glow on the faces of these men. You had often wished to recreate it in a drawing if only you could kneel next to them and do so.

It was always easy to slip through the walls, the darkness cloaking you from the wandering eyes of people and into the shacks that held the art materials. And once you would return to the brothel you would have an abundance of not only new supplies, but new muses to illustrate.

Brothels were a goldmine for artists who, like you, enjoy drawing the human body. The anatomy of a man and woman, the way their bodies contort and the plushness of their skin, the markings and scars that often littered their body, disheveled hair and drunken smiles; it was all so beautifully human to you. You had been invited on a number of occasions to join, perhaps earn a little more than just a small space that could barely fit yourself. But you would refuse.

You had kept your maidenhood, if not for anything else but the romanticism that artists always seem to cling faithfully to.

You wanted a lover, not a visitor.

So, you would sit hidden in the corner of the brothel, watching and sketching beneath your cloak merrily. A contentment that only a poor girl in a brothel could enjoy.

"My prince," Sylvi greeted, a smile dancing across her lips as she took the young prince's hand.

Following behind the brothel owner was Aemond Targaryen, a man who by all rights demanded power and authority. Zealous in his endeavors to usurp the throne from his brother Aegon. You knew of the gossip, the smallfolk regurgitating rumors heard through the grapevine and around some.

You had always, always, wanted to draw him properly.

But Sylvi accommodated the prince's needs impartially. Reserving a grander room covered in silks and fabrics befitting the district was her way of comforting him, you had noticed. He only ever came to see the older woman, clad in darkened clothes and hidden away from the other whores, as patrons liked to call them.

Once had you caught a view of his face, proper and thorough. It was just long enough to engrave his features in your memory; though like wood, chips away as time passes. Two attempts were made to sketch him from memory, both looking rather peculiar, different and not at all how your brain wished to remember him so. You hung the sketches up as a way of keeping his face in your memory. He was beautiful, that was all you could remember properly.

You flinched at the sound of bellowing laughs erupting from the pretty room of silk, a small group of men encircling the entrance. A tuft of messy white hair was all you saw before the men obscured your vision momentarily. He seemed to cradle himself, arms crossed overtop his knees as he looked away from his elder brother, shame rising within himself.

WOOF WOOF WOOF

Was one of them... barking?

You could not hear with the sounds of men and women moaning, skin slapping and idle chatter. But suddenly the young prince revealed himself, no cloak to hide his features nor his nude body. Despite the open wound on his face, his body was barren of any imperfection. Milky skin adorning broad shoulders and a lean figure. Aemond carried himself as a ruler, his strides confident and unwilling to cower despite the situation.

"...There are plenty of other whores," was all that escaped the man's lips audibly before he turned the corner towards your little nook in the hall.

Panicked, you backed into your small room, tripping over the sheets on the floor (which was your bed if you were to be specific). Only a few candles lit your room, an easy to miss area that if you continued walking straight would almost look like a compact storage space. It was a generous space for the work you offered, and often times you found yourself rather grateful. Most smallfolk without a bloodline to care for them slept on the streets, or in the beds of men and their sexual whims. This nook of old wood and even older fabrics was entirely yours.

Unfortunately for you, however, it seems the prince might have found comfort in the small space, deciding to turn towards it; only to be met with a girl on the floor, a sketchbook in hand and jostled (h/c) hair covering her, clothed he noted, body.

You were pretty, he pondered for only a moment. Your (s/c) skin was glowing against the wax candles’ light, the flames and brown of the wood around you seeming to cast a glow atop your cheeks and shoulders. You were certainly a stark difference to the white haired and unenchantingly pale family members of the Red Keep. Your clothes were hidden beneath a tattered cloak, small as the fabric seemed to dwindle against your head from what is likely to be many years of use.

And that was when he took notice of the walls, shrouded in ornate and tawny scraps of paper. Charcoals and ink covered them beautifully. The curves and figures replicated on the pages as though he were staring at real people, if not for the lack of color confirming otherwise. His eyes scrutinized every single piece before falling upon the two stuck to the wall beside you, low enough that he could not see the intricacies.

They were of him, he was certain. The familiar scar on full display; and you had decided to depict such in your work as though it were not a foul thing. As if he were not crippled and unworthy of being made into art.

Immediately you moved onto your knees, arms stretching to cover the drawings of him. "My prince, please don't look!" You whisper-shouted, rather embarrassed.

He's gonna behead me for drawing him! He's gonna be so offended, they're such horrible depictions of him! This is the end-

Your thoughts were cut off by his movement towards you, almost saccharine despite the threatening layer he carried in his being. He plucked the pages off your wall easily, the dried sap you had used to place it leaving a residue behind. He was knelt beside you now as his breathing was ragged and heavy, yet his eye softer. It was clear he was still angry so you stayed immobile, opting to quietly allow the prince the respite of looking at your, as you believed to be, shitty drawings.

"How did a lowborn whore get access to all this?" Aemond questioned, almost accusatory though not quite as menacing.

"I'm not a whore, my prince," you corrected rather brashly, "And I bought it."

"You bought it?" He repeated, turning to you.

Gods, that face of his was truly a work of art. You had never seen something sculpted so faire and enchanting. "Yes, I work here. As a cleaner and cook. Among other things." You muttered the last bit. Perhaps being titled ‘thief’ would not sit well with the prince, or any noble for that matter.

"Do you think me stupid? The most fucked whores here could not nearly afford this much paper." He eyed you up and down, causing insecurity to slowly creep up your spine. "Yet the cook can?"

You gulped, fingers shaking as you set the sketchbook down and began kneeling entirely, head pointed downward. "Please, my prince," you begged, "It is something I enjoy."

For some strange, insignificant reason, Aemond found himself enjoying this power he held over you. He could take away this passion of yours, take his frustrations of what had occurred only moments ago out on you; the helpless little brothel servant. He and Sylvi had a certain dynamic that bordered on motherly in its own twisted way. She had taken his virginity at the age of 13, she being well and along into her adult years and well past the taking of her own maidenhood.

And his brother, politically speaking, was mightier and thus rendered Aemond helpless against him. He could saunter into the brothel and laugh at him as he pleased. Even his own mother did not truly care for him as she did his siblings, and his father's weak resolutions were only fitted towards his bastard carrying half-sister. And yet you looked up at him from your knelt position, eyes big and (e/c) and watery. Your dress was ragged but not entirely ugly, or perhaps it was your face; flushed and puffed out that compensated. There was fear present, but not entirely of Aemond himself.

Certainly not of his eye, the disgusting scar that was on full display due to his elder brother's and cousin’s cruelty had not made you avert your gaze entirely. You did not even seem to notice it, staring impartially at the prince as though the ugly thing were not present.

All you cared about was some low quality paper.

"Why did you choose me? To illustrate, I mean." This time his voice exuded authority, the white strands falling against his face as he stared idly at your sketch. "Speak now."

You had been given the opportunity to admire his features more carefully, focusing on the prominence of his nose and thinness of his lips, his working eye soft and welcoming whilst the other was pointed and jeweled. The scar that aligned his cheek, across the sapphire and ending above his eyebrow was healed enough, a wound forever carved into his features.

"You're beautiful," you mindlessly said, soft enough that Aemond almost had not heard it. You caught yourself almost immediately, straightening your back and creating a distance between you two. "I-I'm so sorry! That was rude of me!"

You weren't sure if drooling over a prince could be considered treason or criminal, and you honestly had no desire to find out.

"You find the cripple beautiful?" He laughed out.

Self deprecation was something he had never truly let anybody see, opting for an authoritative approach. All the people of Westeros saw when looking at him was a crippled boy, one unfit to rule a kingdom despite the training and studying he endured, well beyond the abilities of his brother, who did not even seem to enjoy the thought of ruling. If he pretended to be confident for long enough then surely others would believe it too. Power is power, a loss of an eye nor sleeping with a whore could take that away from him. Aemond was chosen by Vhagar, one of the largest dragons who had only recently lost its companion. He was chosen. A privilege not so easily befitted to others.

And yet here he knelt; naked, angry, and oddly frustrated with the girl in front of him.

"Do you take me for some kind of joke?" He was a looming presence, like a gargoyle. A beautiful statue bearing intricacies and underlying dread.

"I only draw things I find beautiful," your trembling hands reached for your notebook to show him, ripped papers sliding between your fingers as you turned the pages deliberately. "Mostly people, mostly those in the brothel." You admitted.

"And I?"

Aemond sounded almost defeated, like the world was weighing on him and the compliment from a pretty little brothel worker was the final push.

"Yes, and you, my prince."

A silence enveloped you both. The lewd sounds outside of your little nook in the corner of the brothel seemed to wane within your ears, the both of you rather present and yet distant at the same time. You pondered if he needed comfort, the abrupt entrance of his brother weighing heavily within you both. You would have preferred to see him again from a distance and not entangle yourself with the affairs of a highborn who could, by all accounts, harm you. You wondered what led the prince to grow up so ashamed of himself. Aemond who felt frustrated and embarrassed, weak even, and you who felt pity and shyness. A need to comfort the insecure prince overwhelming you.

"If you'd like..." You began unsurely, "I will not lay with you, um, intimately. But if I may offer you comfort?"

The sketchbook in your lap held one of the drawings of Aemond atop the pages. It sat gingerly, the ornate paper crinkled slightly from the prince's touch. You were about to remove it to allow the prince to rest his head atop your lap before he stopped you abruptly, his hand overtop yours and stilled. His thumb brushed over yours for a moment, a ghost of a feeling that you were unsure it had occurred at all.

"Leave it." He commanded.

And so you did.

You lifted your hands while Aemond shifted his body weight, laying on the sheets that were scattered against the floor with his head gingerly placed atop the sketchbook as your hands delicately traced along his hair, neck, and shoulder. His legs found themselves beneath the sheets, his arms curled forward to hold onto your thighs. The feeling of your skin against his hand only served to soothe him, fingers rubbing circles harsh enough that it almost hurt, the fat and muscle in your legs massaged into a redness.

Your fingers were soft to the touch, a chill reverberating against himself as he inhaled the mix of your scent and the paper; wood, sap, and the slight fragrance of the rose oils you bathed with. It was different to the stench of the common areas within the brothel, and the intense perfumes that the castle halls were brimming with. Your maidenhood was intact, you had not lied. His hands trailed upward, speculating your morals as he found himself reaching within your cloak and holding onto the side of your waist.

Although you made no move to stop him, the stiffness in your body and the way your breath hitched in your throat gave him an idea of your discomfort. When his hand returned to its original position atop your thighs your body relaxed and you continued kneading at his skin. He thought of you almost like a kitten; only allowing the touch that you wished to receive whilst being tucked away from the peering eyes of others.

"I will return," he spoke matter of factly, "And you will accept me."

"Yes, my prince."

"Aemond," he corrected. "When we are here, you will address me as Aemond."

"Yes, Aemond."

This was a little nook in the corner of the world, untouched by sex and politics.

Just a pretty little girl and her drawings, taking care of the insecure prince who reveled in her touch, art and soft manner of speech.

[zigrethsnotebook]

hey I wasn't sure if u were taking requests so I'm sorry of this is annoying. Do u think u could write a ford x witch reader who like lives in the woods and has a bunch of odd pets (snakes, frogs, small cryptids, etc) I js think it's a really cool idea lol

Have a nice night

Drink water, eat food, and feel loved ❤️

-led

I absolutely am taking requests! ^^ Thank you, and I hope you enjoy💞

In the woods somewhere

Ford x Witch!Reader

words: 1,515

tags: sfw, fluff

Now that Ford was back in Gravity Falls and everything had finally settled, he went out to explore the forests again. Stan had just chuckled and told him to better stay in one piece and be back for dinner.

Ford made sure to walk a straight line pointing away from his house. If he followed it for long enough he would eventually reach a part of the forest he had never before seen. So he did.

It took him about five and a half hours to reach that point. Out here, the forest looked... greener. He wanted to say lighter but that's not true. The sun shone the same way it did anywhere else. But the colors of the trees and plants looked more vibrant somehow.

As he walked he made sure to note down anything he hadn't seen before. While Ford was examining a plant he didn’t know a butterfly landed on it. Ford smiled and pulled out his journal, trying to get a quick sketch of the little guy in his notes.

The insect had other plans though and soon flew onward. Ford followed it with his eyes for a second before his legs decided to follow the creature until it settled again. It had such a pretty pattern on its wings, he really wanted to draw it.

His plans worked out and he got a nice drawing of the butterfly. As Ford stood and looked around for the path he'd been on, he noticed that he had strayed off of it quite a bit. Making the best of a bad situation he decided to just explore this part of the forest instead.

After a few minutes roaming aimlessly, he came upon a clearing. In the middle of that stood a little wooden house, tinier than his own, in parts overgrown with moss and vines. It wasn't abandoned though. There was smoke coming out of the chimney.

His curious nature getting the better of him, Ford decided to approach the house. As he got closer he saw some creatures scurrying around the house and away from him. They seemed very fluffy, it must have been beard cubs, he decided.

Ford carefully walked around the house, trying to see where the animals had run off to. Behind the house he found a little garden where someone had planted vegetables, as well as a little pond that buzzed with dragonflies, bees and all kinds of other insects. The sounds were rounded off with some croaks from frogs he couldn't quite locate.

It was truly idyllic. But it was also a long way from all other people. As far as Ford could tell, he was their closest neighbour. He turned back towards the house and walked back around to its front door.

Ford knocked on the door. It took a few seconds and then the door swung open, revealing a way younger-looking person than he had anticipated. For some reason Ford had assumed that he’d be greeted by some sort of witch that was way older than he was.

The person who had opened the door looked truly surprised. They hadn't been expecting any visitors today.

After a few moments of stunned silence on both ends, you realized who this man in front of you must be. "Oh, goodness! You must be the new neighbour! I am so sorry I never got around to welcoming you properly."

This caused Ford even more confusion. You smiled at him and tapped your forehead as you realized why he was irritated. "Oh, I see. Sorry about that. Why don't you come inside for a cup of tea and I will explain what's going on here?"

Ford just nodded and let you lead him inside. As Ford looked around you introduced yourself and he did the same. He found the house even more charming on the inside. It was decorated with lots of plants and a surprising amount of candles. The rooms were way better lit than he would have assumed from the outside.

It was comfortably warm and a faint smell of lavender hung in the air. While Ford was sitting down at your kitchen table you prepared some tea for the both of you. "So tell me, Ford, how did you find me?"

"I was out in the woods, exploring a part of it that I had never been to. I lost the path I was on because I was... sort of... blindly following a butterfly." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. While he spoke, he looked around your house, really taking in all the little decorations you had scattered around every surface.

You chuckled at his words. "Yes. It happens to the best of us." A few moments later you had finished the tea and brought it over to the table, sitting down in front of Ford, who looked at you with pure curiosity sparkling in his eyes. It was adorable.

"So who are you? Why did you call me your new neighbour? And what did you mean by welcome me? Aren't you a little young to remember me moving to Gravity Falls?" You smiled at him and hummed. His questions were more than justified.

"Yes. Well, actually I assume I am around the same age as you are. I inherited this little cottage from my mother about two years before the reclusive scientist moved into the forest."

You watched Ford's eyes widen as he came to understand that you were telling the truth. "I really wanted to visit you and welcome you into the neighbourhood, but I didn’t get around to it for a couple of weeks. Then, the gnomes started telling me about some mean man capturing creatures."

Ford furrowed his brows, a hint of shame bubbling up inside him. "As you can imagine, I wasn't particularly thrilled to hear that. I went out to confront you about it, but the creatures stopped me, they were worried you'd capture me as well. So instead, I just helped them from here however I could."

Ford shook his head. "I never meant to harm any of them! I only came here to study." You sighed and nodded. "Yes. I know and I believe you." He looked back up at you with an apologetic look. Then it changed into an inquisitive one. "Why would I have tried to capture you?"

You chuckled at the question. "Because I am a witch, silly!" Ford's mouth fell open. How could he not have realized this? "Did you really think I would still look this good if there wasn't at least little magic involved?" You winked at him and he blushed slightly.

You took a sip of your tea as Ford tried to sort his thoughts. Before he could get a new one out a frog jumped into his cup splashing him with liquid. You huffed. "George! You know you're not supposed to do that!" The frog just croaked at you and you countered with a stern look.

You stood and took the cup with the frog back to the sink. "I'm so sorry about him. I'll get you a new cup." Ford thanked you as he tried to wipe at the wet stains on his turtleneck. When you turned back around to him and set the new cup down, you frowned at his clothes.

"So sorry about that as well. Here, let me help you." You chanted a short spell and soon enough Ford's clothes were dry again, no stains left behind. You smiled. "Perfect. Like it never happened."

Ford was speechless as he sat back down. Nearly speechless. "So does he do that often?" You chuckled a little embarrassed. "More often than he should, definitely." Ford joined you with a chuckle.

"So does... George... live with you in this house?" You hummed in thought as you looked over at the frog relaxing in the now almost empty cup. "I always say that my doors are open to any woodland creature that wants to be here. There's only two that really take me up on that though. George over there," you pointed at the frog, "and Theresa."

Before Ford could ask who that was you moved your arm in an apparently very specific way. Ford watched as a little rose-colored snake slithered out of your sleeve and onto the table. He smiled. It was an adorable snake.

You two continued chatting for a while and when you had finished the pot of tea that stood between you, Ford remembered that Stanley had told him to be back by dinner. "You could take my bicycle. As long as you promise to bring it back."

With a smirk from you Ford blushed again. Yes, you'd be happy to see him again.

Ford took your offer and promised to bring it back tomorrow. You were in no rush to get anywhere but you didn’t tell him that. You just smiled at him as he left your house.

He was back the next day. And the day after that as well. You two quickly became closer and even the forest creatures learned to resent him less.

[eldritchscribblings]

Ever At Odds

Thranduil X Reader

Part 2

Reader is an artist who has taken up a temporary residence in Mirkwood, but keeps bumping into an irritatingly handsome elf king. What happens when a late night encounter forces them together?

Word Count: 2876

Warnings:

swearing

part two will have smut

Notes: I'm sorryyyyyy I didn't want there to be a part two but it took me so long to write this part and I wanted to get it out asap for y'all <3 Pt 2 will be out soon, I'm moving across the country, so writing is slow rn.

A cold autumn wind blew through the halls of Mirkwood, biting into the very bones of those who dared set foot in the ancient woodland realm. In the ages past that bitter wind would have only howled, but its teeth had grown sharper in recent times. Not only did the wind sink its teeth into those unprepared for the woods, but it had turned its teeth upon its own people; the elves, as well. The time of elves on Middle Earth was drawing to an end.

You, of course, were well aware of that from your perch in Imladris, watching as elves dwindled and men rose to power. You were a long way off from leaving for the Undying Lands yourself, but you had already begun to feel that tug in your soul to move from your idle nest and wander towards the sea. And so you’d decided to bide your time by traveling middle earth and sketching all that was old and new among the elves; making a record of what you’d leave behind. It had been a comforting work to put your brush and pencils to paper and convey the millennia of love and sorrow that each individual stone and sapling possessed, and it had satiated you to know that once your work was completed you could leave Middle Earth with a contented heart. But as every tree must survive a storm at some point, your storm came in the form of an elven man with thick furrowed brows and a disposition that would make soot taste sweet; King Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm.

You’d arrived in Mirkwood nearly two years prior after being rescued from a giant spider by the guards and losing your favorite quill (poor Flutterflick) among the leaf strewn ground. After a quick interrogation, you were released into Mirkwood to do your duty, and yet everywhere you went for peace and tranquility you seemed to run into the Elven King. The first time it happened you hadn’t realized who he was until he threatened to have you locked in the dungeon for disagreeing with him on the best elven wine and whether charcoal was best used compressed or as a powder. You’d tried to avoid him after that, and yet this maze of a realm kept twisting you back towards him whenever you tried to get away. Which was how you found yourself sitting in an archway sketching your view of the vaulted ceiling within this particular area of the hall in the middle of the night, using a candlestick as a light.

It was the wee hours of the morning; a time you were certain the tall blond of your nightmares would be having one of his own, far away from where you’d secluded yourself. The only noises were the hush of a breeze blowing through an open window and the soft scratching of your pencil against the parchment you’d clipped to the thin drawing board in your lap. Your eyes darted seamlessly from the page to the section of empty hall you were drawing, your steady hand moving quickly to gesture in the wider picture so that detail could blossom with ease when you pulled out your softer charcoal. With the silent night enveloping you, it had been easy to fall into a trance of placing your pencil to paper and letting the world fall away into lines and values. You should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.

“It’s a bit late for sketching fine architecture.” Thranduil’s voice echoed from behind you, and you sighed and pressed your lips together in irritation.

“My aim was to be uninterrupted, My King,” you spoke slowly and surely, presenting each word as nothing more than it claimed to be in hopes he would leave you alone. “It’s a bit late for anyone to roam the halls alone, don’t you think?”

“I am not alone, and neither are you now.” Realizing you had no intent to face him, he walked around and knelt in front of you with a disappointedly curious expression. “How fortunate it is that we can keep each other company on such lonesome nights.”

“Oh, please.” You met his steely blue gaze with a challenging one of your own, attempting to prove yourself unafraid and ward him off. “You and I both know that the two of us together always leads to disaster.”

“Only because you bring disaster with you everywhere.” Thranduil laughed softly and licked the pad of his forefinger before pinching out the flame of your candle between his forefinger and thumb. You were grateful for the darkness to hide a traitorous blush growing on your cheeks, undercutting your disturbed expression. “Finish your sketch in the daylight. You’ll make fewer proportional errors.”

“Is poisoning your kindness with insults meant to be amusing or alluring? Because it is neither.” The only reason you were so confident with your words was because the worst Thranduil could do is send you where you already planned to go ahead of schedule. Of course that was only in theory. In truth, a part of you enjoyed the little games you played together; the spiteful spitting of venom brought energy to your day, negative or positive. You couldn’t deny he was a handsome King, but you could deny giving him the satisfaction of knowing you held him in any regard.

“Have I misled myself on the quality of your mettle? Forgive me if I have caused any true harm.” The first sentence was a sharp retort, the same wit you had begun to expect from him. The second was genuine in a way that surprised you.

“Don’t delude yourself. The only way you could bring any harm to me is with a blade. And I doubt you’d want to stain this lovely hallway.” You responded with a similar genuineness that you hid within your humor, although by the look of his expression he seemed relieved enough to surmise he’d picked up your intent.

What the fuck was your intent? Half flirting with a widowed king? He was an elf who could toss you out a window or carry you down to the dungeons as easily as he’d carry a sack of grain. You inhaled and sharply shoved your charcoal pencil back into your pouch, looking away from Thranduil to shove the image of him carrying sacks of wheat like a handsome miller’s son out of your mind. Truth is you’d daydreamed about kissing Thranduil to shut him up as much as you’d daydreamed about killing him for the same outcome. It was strange to think of how a two letter difference changed the entire context of your fantasies.

“I am no mortal man so easily prone to violence. I take offense that you would think I am capable of such a thing.” Thranduil’s voice changed tone, causing you to look at him again. He was dead serious with a furrowed brow as he knelt before you, reaching forward to take your hand in his. “My guards brought you here and promised you safety. I will not make liars of them.”

“A noble, if impersonal, thought.” You responded with an equal amount of seriousness, gathering your supplies in one hand and placing the other in his as he helped you to a standing position. His intent mystified you, making you unsure of if you’d been wrong about him or if this was a lure to finally catch you when you least expected it. Either way, as you began to walk down the hall back to your rooms he walked beside you with the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise serious face.

“Do you really think of me as cruel and unkind?” Thranduil asked softly after you had traversed a fair amount of the hall.

“Yes and no.” You replied after taking a moment to chew through your words. It was strange of him to ask the question, stranger still for you to answer honestly. You were friends, but it was a friendship that danced a fine line between confidants and the king and his favorite jester. “I think you capable of cruelty. I think your role requires unkindness. Your presentation fits the role you fulfill. I would no more expect a thatched roof on a palace than a wisened king to be tender hearted.”

“I don’t like the word wisened; it makes me feel old.” Thranduil interjected despite you being done speaking. “But I understand. And I appreciate your point of view. You’re insightful. It’s fitting for your role as an observer. I am curious, I always see you drawing and sketching instead of talking to your fellows. I’m curious as to what you draw when you’re not intending on showing it off to people.”

“Truth be told, it’s mostly animals and people. I carry around smaller sketchbooks for those and it’s idle work to do while I watch and listen to those around me.” You felt the words leave your mouth before you could stop them. Not even death would stop you from blabbing about your art when prodded. “Of course, for those sketches I prefer drawing with metals. You can use a stylus made of silver to make marks upon parchment as well as any charcoal. It’s quite beautiful in the light.”

“Then I must see them.” Thranduil stopped abruptly, causing you to have to turn around after several paces and realize he was at the door to your chambers. If you’d known you were close to your rooms you would’ve just stayed quiet. Having the Elven King in your bedroom, looking at your art, was a bad idea.

Art was your escape, your passion, your diary. There were notes about your feelings and poems about your life scrawled among the pages among grocery lists and drawings of cats napping in sunlight. There were also -you realized with sinking dread- one or two drawings of the King that you did not want him to see. You had to get out of this.

“Sire, it’s very late-“

“Nonsense, you’re up later than this quite frequently, as am I.” He stood by your door, waiting for you to open it for him. His excitement faltered for a moment as he seemed to consider the situation, and he then added; “If you truly do not desire it, I will not impose myself.”

“No, I simply hesitate because I am afraid you will not find my art as impressive as you hope.” Your eyes were firmly on the handle of your door as you opened it and allowed yourself and Thranduil into your rooms. He was very close to you as he entered behind you, and you caught a hint of his scent of petrichor and spices in a way that sent your head spinning. 

Your rooms were simple. Far from grand with books and papers strewn about haphazardly. As you entered you felt a wave of embarrassment wash over you at the state of your things, but you would not let it show. Your bed was in one corner, luckily you had remembered to make it up before leaving, but the bedside tables were covered in strewn papers and pencils. In the opposing corner there was a desk with your notebooks and sketches, and that was where Thranduil made his way to as soon as he entered.

“You live your life messily.” He stated, looking around the room before passively picking up one of your loose sketches from your desk. It was a picture of a young couple walking the halls together arm in arm, oblivious to any observer. Oblivious to you. “I do not question it. You prefer to be hidden away whenever you leave your chambers, so it must be comforting to have such things to hide yourself behind in your own dwelling.” He chuckled, glancing at you as he perused through your art, leafing through the piles of sketches on your desk. It wasn’t as if you could tell him not to, and although you were surprised at his understanding of you, you’d never admit to yourself or him whether he was right or not. 

“Or perhaps you simply collect too much and want it all near you, like a raven building its nest.” Thranduil continued despite your silence, unphased by it. He reached for a drawing closer to you, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment that sent a shameful shiver down your spine. It was only when his gaze left you that you realized he had grabbed one of the drawings of him, but before you could protest, he had turned it over to look at it. It was one of the less embarrassing ones; he was sitting with his chin resting on his fist, staring off into some uncaptured distance. His face was peaceful and yet melancholy. It had been at one of the star celebrations that you had forgotten the name of last year; you had been sat at the sidelines happily drawing those partaking in the merriment when you had seen him. His sadness as he sat on his perch above his kin had captured your attention, and you hastened to put his likeness on your paper lest the spell of the moment be broken. He was beautiful to you in that moment, beautiful and wounded. The moment had ended with your eyes meeting and him sending a prideful smirk your way that left your stomach churning, but you would always remember how striking it was to see past his hardened exterior for one brief moment.

As you watched him then, taking in that art piece that had truly cemented your growing fascination with the widowed king, you could not decipher the emotions on his face. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines of his face as they were portrayed on paper, and he hunched over the drawing to better see its details. You almost made a joke, just to break the hideous silence, and yet something stopped you. Your words were stoppered in your throat with tenuous curiosity and something inside you told you to bite your tongue.

“I remember this night,” Thranduil whispered, tracing the roughly sketched embroidery on his portrait. “I was lost in thought, not one of them was pleasant, but my mind was determined to see the end of the chain. I could sense eyes on me, but there is always one person or another watching my every move.” He looked up at you, and the depth of his gaze was hauntingly sirenic, like a calm sea below a dark gray sky. “You were different. I saw your brow furrowed as you looked at me, always fiery and determined to find a flaw where no one else will.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, no more than a twitch of his eyes, and yet it comforted you. 

“A gap in your personified stoicism is more so due to a lack of divinity than any flaw.” The words flowed easily from your lips, and you stepped closer to him so you could look at your art. “Truthfully, when I found you ‘lacking’, I found you more fascinating than I did when I believed you perfect. Like how a fly, when caught in amber, reveals the quality of the jewel.”

“Am I to be the fly in this metaphor?” He teased, lowering the drawing and stepping closer to you.

“You are aware of what I intended, my lord.” The tone of the conversation had turned lighter, but the air remained tense. It was taking all your might to will yourself not to look at his lips, or his chest, or anywhere but his eyes or your feet. You were afraid any slight unexpected movement would be perceived the wrong way and break the wavering thread of connection between you. 

“What if I were not? What if we were to spend another year misinterpreting each other? Dragging out your stay here in Mirkwood for no perceivable reason?” He seemed as hesitant to move as you were, waiting for some unknown signal to allow him to act.

“Then I suppose, should I be prevented from completing my work, I would need to stay here longer.” You were beginning to catch on. Perhaps there was more to this banter and teasing than you had originally thought. Perhaps the guilt-ridden attraction that had festered deep within your gut was mirrored in his own tumultuous emotions. You leaned slightly closer, taking your drawing from his hands and setting aside. 

“To properly record Mirkwood in such sketches as yours would take decades…” Thranduil drew out the idea, but did not finish it. Instead, he stepped forward and tenderly placed his hand upon your cheek, caressing you gently. “May I kiss you?”

The thought struck you like a blind man meeting a drunken bird, and you inhaled sharply as reality dug its cruel claws into your skin. He was the king. He had asked you to kiss him. But more than the king, he was Thranduil. Your playful nemesis who was the bane of all your existence and yet whose presence you yearned for in the darkest parts of night. Was this change in your relationship worth it? Was this a risk worth taking?

“Yes.”

[saturna625]

You work at the Mystery Shack in Gravity Falls.

It's no big deal, really. I mean, every once in a while, you realize that it's gotta be a front for something. A cult, the illuminati, or the mafia, you weren't really sure.

You weren't paid enough to care, honestly.

But the job was fun enough, and the customers were cool to screw with, and it paid the bills, plus your coworkers were pretty cool.

Your boss was.... an odd man, sure. A good con, a great sense of humor, and a mouth that could make a sailor blush, but you wouldn't say he's evil.

He's got a great nephew and niece, who come up every summer. They're chill, too. Mabel sends you home with at least two new stickers every day. Your binder is getting too full. But you didn't mind, the kid was sweet. You'd find a use for these stickers, later.

Gravity Falls was an odd town, but you didn't really seem to mind that either. A little town, barely even a dot on the state map, hidden behind back roads upon back roads in the great state of Oregon. It had its moments, and it's stories.

You were decently sure the lawn gnome in your garden moved on its own, and your attic was definitely haunted (you regret mentioning that to the kids– you've found that Dipper kid trying to look up where you lived), but it was cheap and homey, and a great place to live after scraping past college.

Then your boss– who was really your boss's brother? Who had taken up his name, when he disappeared, the ultimate con, you actually admired him for that– Stanley, and his twin, the original owner of the Shack, Stanford emerged from behind the vending machine, you knew that you were maybe in a little too deep. Mafia ties, for sure.

Then quite some events happen: ie, the sky splits open, you become a statue for a hot minute, and then... aren't, anymore (dude, the squirrel that you treat as your therapist is gonna go wild when he hears this) and you're back at the Shack.

The building is warmer now. Pointdexter– or Ford, the actual one, is a pretty good man. A little blunt, with not much common sense for the amount of books smarts he has, but good.

If you find anything weird, or out of place, it's his.

If you see him fighting an interdimensional squid, and then you're told there's seviche in the kitchen, you don't question it.

And you take some seviche to go.

The shack is a little louder since Ford's arrival. Stan seems happy. Dipper too. And Mabel, well, she still gives you stickers as you leave your shift.

You're on a walk, something you read that could help with coping, through the woods. The weather is nice today, and for once, it's not raining, and even better, the air is crisp and cool.

You decide to take a new trail. It leads into a bit of a clearing, you can see a rock piling, some flowers, and a creek. It's pretty.

You take your journal out, a small, leatherbound thing (the inside cover is coated with stickers. Mabel, please) and begin to sketch it, a hobby you've picked up in the last months.

You're not the best, but you're not the worst, either. As you're finishing up, you spot a weird shift in the rocks.

Weird is normal here.

So you get up to go investigate, holding your journal at the ready, like a defensive position.

The statue does not move.

It looks like the illuminati symbol. Like the top of the pyramid on the back of a dollar bill. It's overgrown with moss, but you do not recognize it. It's hand is held out, like it's ready to shake yours.

Heh. That would be pretty funny.

If you shook the statue's hand.

It's what it wants. Shake it's hand. Shake the hand.

You draw the statue. It's a shoddy deal, but you actually enjoyed how it turned out. It looks cool.

The hand is outstretched.

You leave one of Mabel's stickers on the statue. It looks a little less intimidating that way.

Your shift starts in twenty minutes, so you tuck your journal in your jacket, and you're off to it.

Maybe you'll come back later. There's a bit more you want to do with the drawing.

Shake the hand.

You've gotta fix the angle on it. You wonder how the sculptor got it to be that way.

You clock in, and pull your journal out again, as Dipper walks through the doors, followed by Ford.

The younger twin asks what your journal is about. He's got a few of his own.

"Kind of random." You tell him. "I draw things I see on my walks, or write down recipes, or stuff like that. Dude, wait until I show you this statue I found in the woods. It'll fit right in with those notebooks you keep..."

[sleepyghostuwu]

The Artist and the Gem (Part 2, rewrite)

Synopsis: You start brainstorming about your mysterious client's request and begin working on it. Unfortunately, that means finding a way to get your unconventional art subject to cooperate with you, whether or not he knows about it.

Notes: (Edit: I wasn't too happy with how it turned out and it was bugging me a fair bit, so I had to redo it for my own peace of mind.)

Fem! Reader POV will be used in this series as it is what I'm most comfy writing in ^^ Also it's really lengthy lmao (I got too excited writing this) so get ready-

Previously: Part 1

It has been a good number of months since you've received the mysterious client's commission.

You've been finding yourself becoming increasingly productive in both your white collar and artistic jobs, presumably from wanting to rid yourself of as much work as you could to work on Aventurine's portrait. It has gotten to the point you even managed to send out most of your commissions to your other clients, even the impatient one who had been living on your nerves for what felt like an eternity. What made you want to get his portrait done and over with so badly? That was a question you were too afraid to find answers to.

Speaking of Aventurine, you have a slight problem: while you knew how he looks like very well, you had no clue how to draw him that well. The fact that the both of you work in different departments and hence very rarely see each other made your task of observing his appearance better all the more difficult.

With all possible odds pitted against you, only two solutions remain: you could either spy on Aventurine during your lunch and tea breaks and sketch him in secret, or directly ask him to pose for you for a few minutes. Given your current ranking in the IPC, you have a slightly better chance at the former. As the clock strikes at lunchtime, you quickly grab your tablet and head for the first place you can think of: the lounge.

-------

"...Don't worry, I'll be sure to send you the updates as soon as I get them," Aventurine's carefree voice echoes like a chime as he and the other Stonehearts leave the meeting room for their break. Your breath hitches and you quickly crouch behind the nearest potted plant you spotted in the vicinity, peeking through its leaves cautiously.

"This is the worst idea I've ever thought of..." you curse under your breath as you stabilised yourself against the wall. You have passed by Aventurine during work before on several occasions, and rarely ever get to briefly speak to him about work-related matters, so seeing the man himself with your eyes was not something unfamiliar to you. However, what left you the slightest bit horrified was the next thought that entered your mind.

Aventurine is stunningly handsome.

His sandy hair, which was slightly tucked behind his left ear, flowed down his neck like sand in an hourglass, and his eyes were as vibrant as stained glass windows in the sun. The deep green and gold coattails trailing behind him reminded you of a brightly coloured bird as he strode across the hallway, always seeming like he had people to show off to in every corner.

(Y/n)! Focus! You frantically shake your thoughts out of your hand and ready your tablet. It's your only chance at this, so don't mess this up! Propping yourself against the wall as you continue crouching behind the potted plant, you whip out your stylus and begin drawing furiously.

The first few attempts you made were a little sloppy (by your standards, at least), but in a short while, you manage to fill the better half of your drawing spread with surprisingly good sketches. The fact that Aventurine was perfectly still as you drew each pose made your success feel too good to be true. As you watch Aventurine leave the vicinity with a few cups of coffee in hand, you heave a sigh of relief and stood up, propping yourself against the wall as you wait for your legs to recover from crouching on the ground for so long.

And it's still lunch hour, too! You smile to yourself as you turn to leave for the office cafe. Everything went according to plan. Surely nothing could possibly go wrong after this-

"Oh, (y/n)? I didn't expect to see you here."

A chill runs down your spine as you slowly come face-to-face with none other than Aventurine himself.

-------

"H-hello, sir," you squeak, clutching your tablet in a tight embrace as you desperately tried to hide its contents. Clearing your throat, you add, "I was just going to the lounge to...well, take a rest."

"Hmm..." Aventurine stares intently at you before checking his watch. Then, he looks up at you again and chuckles. "Really? With that tablet of yours, too?" He raises an eyebrow at the tablet in your arms. "I'm pretty sure doing extra work isn't something a person would be doing to take a break."

Damn, he's catching onto me. Embarrassment and fear kicking in, you avert your eyes from his. Aventurine tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. "What are you doing here anyway? Are you...hiding something from me?" His eyes shift to the tablet in your hands.

"No..." You cling to your tablet tighter as the voices in your head scream for you to run before he does the last thing you want him to do. However, Aventurine swiftly swipes the tablet (which, much to your dismay, was still switched on) from your hands before you can physically react.

"Well, well, what do we have here- oh?" Aventurine's smirk gives way to a more surprised expression as he gapes at the canvas of digital sketches of him. "Oh my. Is that- is that me?"

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks as your worst possible outcome unfolds before you. Frantically, you attempt to snatch your tablet back, only to have your hands flail in vain as he kept moving it out of reach, only relenting and returns the tablet to you after a good few minutes.

"Oh, relax, (y/n). I didn't mean anything negative by that. Those sketches of yours are quite majestic, really. I'm just...pleasantly surprised, hehehe~ Though, I have to ask..." He leans slightly closer to you, his iconic sly grin now back on his face.

"What exactly are they for?"

[whereserpentswalk]

It’s fascinating that you think trans people’s names come to them like wands in Harry Potter, you can’t just culturally appropriate bc you’re trans

Ok, this is about comments I made like a year ago on a comedy bit. While I stand by my feelings that the bit was bad and transphobic, my reasons why are a lot diffrent.

When I first wrote the comments my arguments were very thermian. I treated the story the comic was telling as if it was real and objective. Which feels right for most people, because stand up comedy is often presented like conversation, where we do treat stories like that as real things. But that's not how comedy works, comedians don't tell stories the way we do in conversation, they're creatives, the stories they tell are basically fictional, the art form might look like real conversations but it's not.

Comedians want to make you laugh, and sometimes want to send a message or make you think about things in a new way, but they have no reason to want to portray events accurately. They might be basing some things off of real experiences, but that's true for everyone, Tolkien might have chosen to explore his experience in world war one in lord of things, that doesn't mean we have to argue about orcs as if they're real entities when we're talking about if those books were racist.

So let's actually look at the skit, and analyze its outlook on trans people keeping in mind its a story that a cis man is telling, and not actual events: So the summery of the skit is that a white trans man comes out to his to his family, and he picked a name you'd expect a black person to have. He has older black relatives (who are implied to fully accept him, which would make him possibly the only trans person on earth with a fully accepting family) who refuse to use this name, and instead call him "the boy". The sketch ends with the comedian saying he should pick a name like Kevin, because even if he's trans he's not interesting (keep your thoughts on that last one).

Now, ignoring how this would play out in real life, what does this as a peice of fiction say about trans people:

First off: it's creating a plausible but unlikely situation where the woke thing to do is to not respect a trans person's identity. A lot of political humor exists to call ideas into question with hypotheticals, and the idea being questioned here is the idea that trans people's identities deserve respect.

Second off: it's creating a situation where a trans person is entitled and arogent for wanting his identity respected. In the fiction this trans person is that. But it's promoting the idea that they are in real life. Transphobes will show you a lot of spooky examples of trans identities that are unreasonable to respect, but that's not useally ever what it's like in real life. (An otherkin robotgirl isn't going to demand you communicate with her through beeps and boops, she probably just wants you not to laugh at her.)

Third off: it's pitting minorities agaisnt eachother. Conservatives love this, but it's super common when people try to convince progressives to a specific group from their advocacy. It shows us a world where trans rights and poc rights are at odds with eachother, in the real world they aren't, in the real world they're part of one larger struggle and diminishing one is diminishing the other. A lot of people do this with different identities, lgb types do it with gayness, terfs do it with womanhood, class reductionists do it with class, trscum do it between trans people. But it doesn't help one oppressed group when you shit on a diffrent oppressed group in their name. It's white conservatives who love it the most when trans people and poc at pit agaisnt eachother, and it's trans poc who suffer the most.

Fourth off: it's feeds into a very old myth amoung queerphobic progressives, which is the idea that queer people are privileged people looking to pose as the marginalized to get special rights. This is a myth we really have to get over, because its been internalized by a lot of people, and we get these hunts for fake minorities. This is why the "you're not interesting" line sticks out to me. Most trans people don't give themselves inappropriative names, but trans people as a group constantly get accused of trying to steal other people's struggles. This is a myth that preys on the fact that white skined white colar queer people are more visible, and its one that is based on treating that disparity in visibility as a fact. We have to cut this out, nobody fakes minority status to get privileges because minorities aren't privileged. It's not true for queer people, even the queer people other queer people hate like bi people and ace people. It's not true about mentally ill and ND people, or converts to non Christian religions, or East Asian people, or anyone who gets accused of this. Stop it dearly.

Fifth off: this entire sketch is based in the idea that families can accept their trans kids, but only conditionally, only if they prove themselves to be doing it for the right reasons, and they please their family's whims. This is a transphobic idea, it's a transphobic idea most neolibs hold. Comedy bits are a lot like story books (no shade at either) where a problem is presented at the beginning, and a solution at the end, that the audience is expected to take for their own problems. And the solution here is a form of transphobia, the idea that trans people aren't owned acceptance, they need to earn it. I've seen a lot of trans people tormented by their families over that idea. And when a person of color goes and stage and wraps that idea in racial justice, it's young trans poc who get hurt by it the most.

Sixth off: not a huge point, but I feel like a cis black man, of all cis people, should be the most likely to understand that calling a trans man a boy is dehumanizing and insulting. I guess this goes to show he's not interested in thinking about how trans people's struggles are like his, he stands alongside a lot of marginalized trans people there.

Finally I kind of don't know how to end this. This is long. Really long. I don't know whose going to read this, because its a lot. Hopefully you got a bit of media literacy from reading all of this. Early on in my tumblr career, when I had just moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan, I had read an essay by @wifelinkmtg about a concept called the ditch. The idea was we often argue about media wrong, talking about things in hyper literal cannon obsessed terms, and that was the ditch, the ditch we dig for ourselves when we ignore things like themes and audience experiences. Hopefully this series of words dug less of a ditch than my words did a year ago. Sorry I don't have the actual sketch on hand. Mabye I'm wrong, but if someone wants to prove me wrong I'd rather they do it outside of a ditch. Mabye the ask wasn't even about that post. Mabye I'm tired. Maybe you should be tired too.

Sorry for the long post. Media literacy matters. Black trans lives matter. Goodbye, enjoy your night well.

[cod-thoughts]

silly ghostprice headcanons?

I HAVE A LIST IN MY NOTES!!! rest is under the cut its uhhh quite long 0_0 i have some silly headcanons for every character i write and for every relationship i write too its my favourite way to find a characters voice!! Thinking about all the things that arent really in character but could be lol. This was a joy thank youuuu

Ghost

Ghost has the craziest sweet tooth ever and any time someone hints at him having a sweet tooth he denies it vehemently.

Animals, particularly cats, seem to gravitate toward Ghost, which he pretends to hate but secretly loves. Soap once caught him petting a stray cat and called him Snow White for a week after.

Despite his stoic demeanour, Ghost is a master of deadpan humour and silent pranks. He once moved Soap’s entire kit three floors down and acted like he had no idea what happened.

Ghost says unintentionally funny things in his dry, deadpan way, and the team is never sure if he’s joking. Soap once laughed so hard he cried, and Ghost just blinked at him.

Ghost has the same pair of boots he’s worn for years, meticulously cleaned and maintained. Once caught Soap trying them on as a joke and nearly disowned him.

Ghost keeps a little potted cactus in his bunk. He named it “Spike” and gets genuinely annoyed if anyone even looks at it funny.

Price

Has an absurd number of backup hats. Once lost his hat during a mission, and Soap joked that Price was more upset about the hat than the firefight.

Price has an incredibly detailed routine for making tea. If anyone interrupts it, he’ll grumble about it for days.

His idea of “relaxing” is reading military strategy books or going fishing alone in the middle of nowhere.

Price has a knack for showing up exactly when he’s needed, even if it’s just to interrupt Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets the last biscuit.

Price once tried to sketch out a mission plan on the fly, and it looked so bad that Soap framed it as “modern art.”

Price always brings back something odd from missions if he can—like a carved wooden owl or a tiny snow globe. His desk looks like a charity shop exploded on it.

Couple Antics

Price's snoring is so loud sometimes that the team jokes it could scare off enemies. Ghost wears earplugs when they’re sharing quarters if its that bad.

Ghost always wears dark, tactical clothing, while Price’s off-duty wardrobe is full of mismatched jumpers and ancient jeans. Ghost pretends to be embarrassed, but secretly loves how comfortable Price looks.

They have a knack for understanding each other without words. It’s mostly handy in the field, but Soap insists it’s creepy how they finish each other’s sentences off-duty.

They play card games during downtime, and it gets competitive fast. Price accuses Ghost of cheating because he always wins, while Ghost just shrugs and says, “You’re predictable, old man.”

Price is a tea purist, but Ghost introduced him to iced coffee, which he secretly loves. Price drinks it when no one’s looking, and Ghost never lets him live it down.

They can’t exercise in the same room without turning it into a competition. Who can do more push-ups, who can run faster—it always ends with them both sore and laughing.

Price insists he never gets lost, but Ghost always calls him out when they’re wandering in circles. Price claims it’s “strategic reconnaissance.”

When they’re on a black op together, they give each other silly code names. Price once called Ghost “Shadow Biscuit,” and Ghost has never forgiven him.

They tried to take a cute couple selfie once, and it ended up with Price’s hat covering half his face and Ghost standing like he was posing for a mugshot. It’s the only picture of them together, and Soap and Gaz both keep it on their phones. (its blackmail but it also makes the sergeants happy to know that their CO's are happy)

Ghost constantly steals Price’s jumpers and shirts because they’re “comfy.” Price complains but secretly likes seeing Ghost walk around the house in his slightly too small clothes, belly peaking out the bottom.

Price loves fishing, but Ghost has zero patience for it. He’ll sit there, dead silent in his mask, but the second he catches something, he starts narrating it like it’s an epic battle with a sea monster. Price is half-amused, half-exasperated. (i really want to write this one it sounds like a really fun one and also Ghost would make a good DM i think :O)

Price always insists on carrying the heavy bags or doing the dangerous tasks, which Ghost finds ridiculous. Ghost once let him carry all the shopping bags just to prove a point, but Price still claimed it was “no trouble.”

[viktorybell]

Tight Spaces

Jayce x Viktor x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k (EXACTLY 3.8k I will never achieve this again.)

Warning: slightly suggestive at the end, but that’s it

Ask:  is it ok if i request some poly jayce and viktor x reader? if you dont do poly just jayce is fine =] maybe the reader is an artist and they love drawing their crush(es) but because theyre a journalist they cant normally show off their art, but while at the lab one day, the other notices their sketchbook and asks to flip through it - and reader, forgetting that its a sketchbook and not a notebook for articles, says yes. after that, everythings up to you >=]

You’ve always been good with tight spaces. It’s part of what makes you one of Piltover’s most prolific reporters. You’re willing to go places that the majority of the prim n’ proper Piltover journalists wouldn’t dare. Which is partly because you grew up in a shabby neighborhood on the edges of the Undercity and partly because you were just a damn good reporter.

Growing up in the Undercity was integral for developing your reporter skills. You didn’t have many toys or trinkets to fill your time with, so you found alternative ways for filling your afternoons as a child. Alternative ways meaning snooping. Creeping around the Lanes and finding new hiding places. Unseen and unnoticed places where you could camp out for an afternoon. Your favorite spot had been a gap in the wall behind Vander’s old bar. You’d sit there for hours, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick while listening in on the dozens of conversations that felt infinitely more interesting than your life had at the time.

Your start in the Undercity also helped to endear you to a certain renowned inventor with similar origins. 

You were in his lab now, sketching out the shape of him and his lab partner where they’ve been hunched over a complicated set of blueprints for the last hour. This is usually how your sessions worked. With you wandering aimlessly around their lab while they bounced between assignments and answering your questions. The drawing was a more recent addition to the routine, though.

Viktor, who was from the Undercity despite the two of you having never met, was a dream to draw. For as much of a show he put on trying to scare you away during your first report, those sharp angles softened pretty quickly when he realized you didn’t startle easy. His long legs and messy hair just inspired the artist in you in a way that you hadn’t felt since you were young. It was like coming home after so long being stuck in the stuffy yet isolating atmosphere of Piltover.

Then there was Viktor’s partner, Jayce Talis. Jayce didn’t feel familiar like his counterpart, but was intriguing and alluring all the same. Where Viktor’s shape took form in sharp, wispy lines, Jayce’s were sturdy and bold. He was comforting and bright, like sunshine after a storm. And wasn’t that the most fitting way to describe it? Jayce had been full of apologies and little jokes during the first meeting between you three. Where Viktor was a little less than welcoming, Jayce doubled down on friendly smiles and encouraging pats on the back.

Not that either of them could scare you away now. You’ve moved far past the awkward first few interviews, your questions stilted and the atmosphere tense with the distrust coming off of Viktor in waves. It was hard to keep up with how many pieces you’ve done on these two so far, you stopped counting when you ran out of fingers to count them on.

Somewhere between your first article on an exclusive Hexbros interview and the piece you’re currently working on talking about the environmental benefits of Hextech technology, the three of you grew close. Viktor was comfortable, like sepia memories drenched in nostalgia. He was a man from the Undercity through and through, tough and resilient despite all the odds. Then there was Jayce, who was his opposite in every way besides how much he cares. He hadn’t needed more than a day to win your favor, it was like he always knew what to say to you. It did things to your brain. Hence why you’re sitting on the couch in their lab and scribbling down their likeness instead of pestering them for answers like you should.

“It’s been an hour and I’ve answered maybe a question and a half for this piece. Should I come back when you two come back down from outer space?” You call out just loud enough for them to hear as you put the finishing touches on your sketch.

“Sure, let me put a pin in our progress on life-saving, world-changing, investigative technology for your silly newspaper questions,” Viktor hums sarcastically, rummaging through his desk drawer for something. To his right, Jayce’s stomach growls loudly.

“Maybe a break wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Jayce grins sheepishly at you while you’re holding back a laugh. “Science can wait for lunch time, right?”

“How quickly you abandon our team when your stomach’s involved,” Viktor comments while moving over to rummage through Jayce’s desk now.

“Hey! I’m not abandoning anybody, ok?” Jayce scoffs, folding his arms defensively. “And besides, Y/N’s a part of the team too at this point.”

“For putting up with your never-ending appetite?” Viktor grins slyly at Jayce.

“I was thinking more for putting up with your attitude, but…” Jayce has to quickly dodge the balled up paper that Viktor beams at his head. It does nothing to dampen the goofy smile that’s burning your eyes from the sheer warmth and fond exasperation it exudes. “Hey! Stop screwing with my stuff!”

“I wouldn’t have to screw with your stuff if you just kept the lab tidy.”

“You’re messier than I am!”

“You cannot prove that.”

“You wanna bet?”

“Girls, girls! You’re both equally as disgusting as the other! Can we stop arguing now?” You groan, shutting your sketchbook and setting it on top of an identical notebook. Identical except for the paper inside that was lined instead of blank. You tried to keep your reporter’s notes and questions separate from the drawings you did as a hobby. Especially when your hobby mostly consisted of drawing the two other men in the room. “What’re you looking for, Viktor?

“My toolkit. The one I use for detailing,” Viktor huffs, knocking the desk drawer he’d been digging through shut. Both you and Jayce could tell in the tense line of his shoulders that he was actually getting frustrated now.

“Do you remember where you put it last?” Jayce asks, his voice softer as he steps closer to Viktor. You don’t think either of them even notice, but as Jayce moves in, Viktor unconsciously sways towards him. For as much as they bicker like an old married couple, they care deeply for each other.

Maybe it was your reporter’s habit of looking into things too much and drawing conclusions, but you’d thought the two were an item. FOR MONTHS. It’d been earth shatteringly awkward when you called Jayce ‘Viktor’s boyfriend’ in front of them and they had instantly stopped their playful arguing to stare at you, jaws dropped. You’d stopped talking outloud about the conclusions you drew from their behavior since then. For your sanity.

Which was probably for the best seeing as, despite their insistence that they were just friends, the two had obvious feelings for each other. It was clear in the way they spoke to each other, understood the other’s eccentricities and adored them for it. You got the feeling that the two didn’t get to fully be themselves often, making it that much more of a privilege that you can sit on their couch and be a part of it, no matter how minor. There was a sick jealous part of you that squeezed in on itself as you watched Jayce rest a hand on the side of Viktor’s arm. You weren’t sure who you’d rather be in that moment, as Jayce leaned in just that much closer, lowering his voice until it was soft enough only the two could hear it.

Notebook. Yes. Reporting. Mhm, yep. You were here to write a report about Hextech. You should probably stop gawking at the two and actually do what you’re paid to do.

Tearing your gaze away, trying to ignore the pit of longing in your gut and give the boys some privacy, you absently reach for your notebooks and pens and they topple to the floor. You roll your eyes as your favorite color pen rolls under the lab’s couch.

Figures.

Getting on your hands and knees, you stack your notebooks and set them back on the coffee table. Then the hard part. You try and slip your arm under the small gap between the couch and the floor. It’s dusty and you try not to think about what you’re touching until you grab something decidedly un-penlike. Wondering what sort of horrific artifact you’ll find under the couch that has clearly never been cleaned under, you’re surprised to pull out the missing toolbox.

“Good find, Y/N!” Jayce cheers, making you jump where you were still kneeling in front of the couch. Turning to look, you find both men staring at you. You hadn’t even realized they stopped talking to watch you fighting for your life trying to find your pen. Aw, damn. Your pen…that thing’s gone forever now.

“Go figure, looking for my pen and I found your toolkit,” You chuckle goodnaturedly as you stand up from the floor, dusting yourself off.

“Our little lab good luck charm strikes again, however can we repay you?” Viktor teases, him and Jayce headed over to your side of the room now. Whatever Jayce had said to him certainly seemed to put him at ease, your face going red as you played Viktor’s words over and over in your mind. You could think of a couple ways he could repay you. Shit, focus, they’re both staring expectantly.

“You can repay me by getting some actual work done while I grab us lunch,” You make a big show of rolling your eyes as you hand over the box. Viktor gasps in mock offense while Jayce makes puppy dog eyes at you.

“Aw, you’re leaving us?” Jayce whines. “But I didn’t even get to read through your notes yet!”

“There’s not even notes to look through yet, we haven’t gotten anything done this last hour,” You point out. Jayce sighs dramatically, his big, sad eyes still staring pathetically back at you. Incapable of resisting, you grab a book off the table and shove it into his chest. “Here, you big baby. You can look through my old notes while I grab you ungrateful wretches some food.”

Jayce flutters his eyelashes and hugs the book to his chest, “Awww, you always know just the things to say!”

Viktor glares over at Jayce, “What? That’s not fair, what am I supposed to read?” Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest as you watch Viktor swipe the other book off the table.  

Drawing Viktor and Jayce in the lab wasn’t just a random thing you decided to do today. Your sketch book was almost entirely filled with different sketches of the men from almost every time you visited the lab for the last six months. If either of them looked through your sketch book you’d probably have to quit your job, move countries, and then completely change your identity so nobody will ever know you’re the poor schmuck falling for the brightest minds in Piltover.

“Not that one!” You yelped, quickly trying to snatch the notebook back from Viktor. Unfortunately, Viktor shoots his arm out of reach lightning fast, filling you with dread. Both men look at you in shock. Which quickly gave way into the most devious smirks you’ve ever seen.

“Why? What’s in here that you don’t want us to see, hm?” Viktor practically purrs, half lidded eyes making you stutter over your words.

“What? Nothing! Give it back!” Making another grab for it, this time Jayce swipes it from Viktor and lifts it high up above his head. You could kill him.

“Hmmmm, I dunno, Viktor. Sounds like there’s something pretty important in here,” Jayce has his free hand on his hip, carrying on a casual conversation with his partner as you jump up and down. You’re getting nowhere with snatching your notebook back. “Maybe we should keep it safe while our darling reporter gets lunch?”

“Oh how kind, Jayce! You wouldn’t mind, would you, doll?” Viktor hums at you. He’s not hiding his amusement at your struggle at all as Jayce chuckles and wiggles the book out of your reach.

Your face is burning from the energy you’re wasting trying to jump as high as you can and also because maybe you’re a little flustered. You’d almost missed the pet names the two had given you. Almost. It wasn’t helping out with your situation at all, though. Focus, time to think of a different tactic.

Neither inventor was prepared for you to take a running start and leap onto Jayce.

“Woah!” Jayce borderline squeaks as he immediately lets go of both books to wrap his arms around you. His big, strong arms that are built with muscle from all the time he spends in the forge. Big, strong arms that are wrapped around your waist to stop you from slipping where you're hanging from his shoulders. You almost don’t even notice that he dropped your books, too caught up in the sheer heat radiating off of him. “Are you ok??”

This hadn’t been your plan.

Originally, you had planned to just climb him until you reached the book, but now with your notebook free and one of the two most handsome men at the academy holding you tight…could you really call it a failed plan?

Right. Jayce asked you a question. And he was staring at you in shock. Viktor was doing the same. OK, yeah, time to be normal. You could do that…right?

After untangling yourself from Jayce’s arms and hopping to the ground, you snatch up your notebook and give the boys a sheepish smile.

“Oh geez, no idea what came over me, guys! Probably just hangry, I’ll go grab that lunch now, enjoy the old notes!” You manage to just duck out of the room as both scientists open their mouths to say something. The bang of the lab door slamming shut has never sounded so sweet before.

It’s a herculean task to not replay that awkward interaction over and over in your head. Feeling tortured as it plays through again and again in your mind’s eye, but it almost feels worse when you try to think of anything else.

You shake yourself mentally as you stand in line at the academy’s dining hall. Yes, you’re the world’s most socially inept reporter. BUT at least you grabbed your book and prevented the world from ending via your stupid crush drawings being exposed to said crushes. Flipping to a random page in your book, you nearly drop it when you open to lined paper and a paragraph detailing the top ten most unconventional uses for Hextech.

The book slams shut, your shaking hands doing so on impulse. Quickly you tear the book open to another page, maybe you were seeing things. It’s an interview on Viktor’s work ethic. Another page. A think piece on Jayce’s past and how it led to where he’s at today. Another page and another and another.

You grabbed the wrong book.

From behind you a student clears their throat, asking if you were gonna move up. The dining hall continued to slowly shuffle forward like your entire world didn’t just stop. On autopilot, you stumble to close the gap in the line, muttering some half-assed apology as your mind reels.

The notebook for your reports was here, which could only mean that your sketchbook was left behind with the last two people you’d ever want it to be left with. There’s no chance in hell they aren’t flipping through it right now and laughing over how hopelessly and desperately in love you are.

To your agony, the dining hall line was steadily shortening, even as you do your best to drag your feet the entire way. You were dreading coming back to the lab.

Maybe there was a chance they had opened to a life drawing of Piltover.

Yeah! Maybe they opened to a less damning picture and decided to respect your wishes for your sketchbook to remain untouched. You were worrying over nothing. It’ll all turn out fine in the end. Probably.

—

“Did you really draw all of these yourself??” You hadn’t even been back in the lab for five seconds before Piltover’s golden boy was in your face, holding a head shot of himself that you’d done in graphite last week.

“I quit. Find a new reporter who will pick up your stupid lunches.”

“Oh, Jayce, leave them alone,” Viktor looks entirely too amused where he’s sitting with his legs crossed. Jayce is leaning against the desk to Viktor’s right and flipping excitedly through the pages. “This is obviously personal to them.”

“What? My private sketches that I never let anyone touch? No, go ahead,” You shrug your shoulders, unpacking your bag on Viktor’s other side. The knowing look in his eyes was making you twitch, so you refused to look at either of them.

“These are incredible, Y/N. Seriously, I’m floored,” Jayce gushes, passing the book over to Viktor.

You fight back the urge to throw Jayce’s lunch across the lab and sprint out, never to return. “It’s just drawings, Jayce.” You mutter through gritted teeth. This was like torture. There’s no way in hell they didn’t know you had a crush on the both of them by now.

“Don’t sell yourself short, now,” Viktor hums as he thumbs through the pages and stops at the one you did today. Through the messy bits of his hair that are constantly falling into his eyes, he looks up at you. Almost right through you, honestly. It’s like he can see through your act, the way you play unbothered when you’re nothing but a hot mess inside. His golden eyes are piercing from this close, and when he points back to the drawing, you’re almost relieved at the excuse to look anywhere else. “There’s obviously a lot of passion that goes into these, hm?”

“Stop fucking with me, Viktor,” You grit out, not even pretending to keep yourself busy with the lunches anymore. In your ears you can practically hear all the blood rushing to your head. It’s fucking with your head, you don’t know what Viktor’s up to and you just want the games to be over with. You’re so busy glaring daggers at Viktor that you don’t even notice that Jayce has shifted from his partner’s side to right behind you until he places a gentle hand on your waist.

“Fucking with you? I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Viktor hums. The corner of his mouth twitches up as you jump at Jayce’s touch, and you almost don’t hear him add, under his breath; “Not yet anyways…”

“We just wanted to thank you for all the lovely art work you’ve made of us,” Jayce’s voice comes from directly beside your ear, and you absentmindedly sway backwards. Leaning into where you can feel the heat coming off of him in waves. Good lord, does he always run this hot? You feel like you’re melting. “That ok? You gonna let us thank you?”

“I - well, I wouldn’t say no, but-” It felt like your head was spinning. Jayce was practically snug against your back at this point, Viktor smirking in front of you while watching you slowly lose composure. You try to gather yourself enough for a full sentence, “Wait, I’m sorry. I’m confused. You guys aren’t…weirded out?”

“Of course not,” Viktor assures you as he takes one of your hands and uses the desk to help push himself to his feet. “I like getting to see this side of you. For someone who spends all their time digging into other’s secrets, you aren’t very forthright.”

“Although I kind of wish you had felt comfortable enough to show us yourself. I’m sorry you grabbed the wrong notebook,” Jayce says, pressing a kiss to the top of your shoulder. An action that nearly wipes every thought from your brain clean. There’s absolutely no way this is actually happening. You’re half tempted to pinch yourself.

“I wanted to,” You blurt out, the words surprising you with how much conviction you put into them. Once they were out in the air, you found that you meant them. The words came out easier this time, “I just didn’t know how. Honestly, I just felt like an asshole for assuming you guys were a couple and didn’t want to make things awkward again.”

You can feel more than hear Jayce chuckling behind you. In response, Viktor shoots him a fond look over your shoulder. You’re more than a little bit lost when Viktor makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

“Ehh, about that.”

“What. What?? Have you two been messing with me this entire time??” You try to turn around in Jayce’s hold, catching a glimpse of his red face before he turns you right back around.

“No, no! Nothing like that!” Jayce reassures you. Huffing and leaning back into where Jayce is standing sturdy and strong behind you, you raise an expectant eyebrow at Viktor. “We really were just friends when you asked if we were dating.”

“It’s just your little comment made the both of us realize we wanted something more than that,” Viktor is staring into your eyes again, although the golden hue’s less piercing this time. His eyes are full of intensity, but less like an interrogation this time and a bit more smug. Like everything was falling into place exactly how he wanted it to.

It took a large amount of restraint to hold back from yelling out a triumphant ‘I KNEW IT!!!’ Instead, you settled on “Oh? And where do I fit into all of this?”

Like a cat who got the canary, Viktor’s smirk widened. Apparently that had been just the right thing to say.

“Where you’ve been fitting in this entire time, my dear,” Viktor purrs, almost closing the gap between you two as he places his hand on your waist, opposite of Jayce’s.

“Right here next to us,” Jayce finishes Viktor’s thought, and you wonder if they rehearsed this beforehand. Not that you had much time to wonder after Jayce started placing a trail of kisses along your shoulder and up the side of your neck, effectively killing any and all brain function you had left.

Your head was still spinning but in some weird way you were growing used to it around your two muses. Fortunately, you’ve been growing fond of their brand of chaos. There wasn’t anybody else in all of Piltover or the Undercity that could leave you reeling like Viktor and Jayce. It was almost suffocating, the heat being generated from where you were stuck between the two of them, but you found yourself rather enjoying the feeling.

Afterall, you’ve always been good with tight spaces.

[chiyuumiii]

Miles-1610B Headcanons

Giving you guys some content whilst Labyrinth is still in process !

♡♡♡

IN-A-RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS:

• Miles would be the typa guy that gets super concerned whenever you're out alone without him, texting you every 10 minutes like a worried mom.

Miles: “BABY ARE YOU OKAY??”

You: Yeah i'm just out with my friends, don't worry!

Miles: “ALRIGHT TEXT ME WHEN U WANT ME TO PICK U UPP, ILY AND STAY SAFE PLS ❤️”

• At the first months and weeks of your relationship, he isn't as clingy as he doesn't wanna pressure you too much, but when the two of you have been together for a long time, he starts to get a little clingy.

• If you have pets with him he will absolutely cherish and treat the pet like its his child, even purchasing a stroller for it when you walk around malls!

• Buys the two of you matching sneakers, he just thinks they're stylish and cute.

• Words of affection, quality time, and acts of service are his main love languages.

• Sketches you from time to time, if you take a peek at his sketch book, you find doodles of you and beautiful sketched portraits.

• Sometimes when you're not with him, he gets bored and goes to put up a graffiti with you on some places, and at some point, you see the graffiti, taking a picture of it and asking if its him (ofc it is)

• When he first had a crush on you, you could notice he was always a bit nervous to talk to you.

Miles: “Yo...! Um.... You got a pen...?” He says with obvious unease and anxiety.

• Babbles to Ganke Lee about how amazing you are and all your best qualities, sometimes he rambles for so long Ganke is sleeping on his gaming chair.

Miles: “They're so adorable and I love the way they hold me and I love their hands, I love their eyes and I love-”

Ganke: *snoring his ass out*

• If you know he's Spider-Man, sometimes he knocks at your window to your room when he gets the sudden urge to visit you.

BEST FRIENDS HEADCANONS:

• A cool best friend to be with, sometimes he lets you decorate his skateboard and takes you to paint graffiti with him.

• He tells you EVERYTHING, even gossips he overhears.

Miles: “Did you know what Peter did-”

You: “No I did not know what Peter did.”

• You know his deepest darkest secrets, and it was he accidentally painted on a cat while he was out painting graffiti and his dad saw the cat.

Jeff (Miles' dad): “I saw a cat on the road and I was like ‘oh a cat’ and it turned... there was some spray paint on its ass...”

Miles: *chuckles nervously* “wow dad... What an odd discovery...”

• It's always a blast having sleepovers with him, if you're an artist, he challenges you to an art battle, and if you're much of a gamer, he challenges you to with him.

• If you can play an instrument, he requests you to play his favorite songs sometimes, and even posts you on his insta.

♡♡♡

Pls wait patiently for labyrinth guys I am having a hard time writing 😭😭😭

[al6nst]

Heyoo can i request smut afab mayoi x top gn reader?You can just ignore it if its uncomfortable

Mayoi's self-depreciating has been a lot worse lately. Finger him, praise him and love him until he no longer looking down on himself

cries so hard i love my boy mayoi 💔 no. this doesn't make me uncomfy, dwdw!

i dont smoke, mayoi ayase

smut under read more!

sketch info : cursing, praise, self depricating/negative thoughts, no sex, comfort smut, mdni obvi, kissing, dom gn reader, ftm mayoi i suppose, cringe writing, maybe ooc mayoi(jp only😒), hand holding⁉️, ED warning ( like. not even mentioned, just described)

a/n: im bitchless but im a therapist so this is amazing for me, anon thank you!

"aah.. i look horrible, " he mumbles, staring at his chest, eyes following the line down to his stomach, to his thighs, and back up to his face. his hands come to his arms, and he feels worse than ever, he cant stop looking at every single one of his flaws, the way his bones made an appearance almost every time he breathed wouldnt please.. you. panic is evident in his voice, mayoi throws his head back, "Does yn even like me.. i- I'll just... ah?!" loud footsteps could be heard outside of the quiet and dark room..— "mayoi~.." Your soft voice rings from behind the door along with a quiet knock. his response is delayed, extremely; a long period of awkward silence before he screams. you open the door in an almost panic, eyes wide.

"Are you.. okay? Huh," he's fine, just.. in a weird position on his bed. "mayoi, baby.. come here, " you giggle, walking torwards the purple haired man with open arms. he sniffles weirdly, throat closing up; tears begin to flow down his flushed face, you smile and kiss them away, eyes crinkling in contentness. "Hey, mayoi~... What's wrong?" its a stupid question, but you know hes going to answer it well. mayois voice is even shakier than before, almost unintelligible. "im not feeling great– about me.." you huff, trying to look at him, but he just moves closer. "i dont look good anywhere.. and you must hate being with me," he continues, you could barely hear him breathe."i dont know what i would do if you left me..."

you cock your head, stepping away from him. "If i left you?.." your voice is sincere, "i dont think i would." and its hurting him. mayoi clings to you like a koala, trying to bring back his composure— and fuck, his glossy eyes looking back into yours made you really want to cry. he blinks away tears, looking up at you expectantly. "Really? you won't?" No, you wouldn't. I never even thought about it, but you can't say that, can you? You shake your head, smiling softly. "i love you, you're really great." his breath hitches, and he looks away quickly. "Listen, mayoi.. you're amazing, look at yourself!" You ask gently— of course.

he turns his head, facing the mirror for a few seconds, and then looks away, body trembling. "What do you see in me.. uuh, i dont want you to leave!" he cries, gripping your shirt like a vice. your eyes water, breath becoming labored. "You're so handsome, mayo~ my beautiful boyfriend. Your face is so pretty, and so is your body," stopping for a brief second, staring at his face for confirmation to continue. It's strange, his eyebrows furrowed, and his flushed cheeks were either from his tears or embarassment. "Your flaws are what make you.. yknow, you, and i love that." its not odd for him to be like this, but you wanted to try something different.

you crawl behind him, letting him sit between your legs. hands hovering over his thighs. "Is this okay, mayoi?" You were conflicted between just hugging him til he slept and doing this.. neither felt right. he hums, fiddling wth his fingers. you run your hands up and down his legs, stopping at his crotch. your head rests on his shoulder as you begin to speak, "You're everything I've ever wanted, mayoi." you slid your fingers between his thighs, toying with his clit. he hides his face behind his hands and grinds into your fingers, longing for your touch "youre my pretty boy, forever, i promise" he looks ethereal, his hair messy yet so clean, face tired and tear-stained. this is what makes him pretty, his emotions. "you do so much for everyone around you," you whisper, curling your fingers inside of him. "hn.. do i really?" mayoi whimpers, putting his legs over your thighs.

hes almost so engrossed in pleasure, the feeling of your voice reaching his brain, scratching the itch that had tortured him for so long. it was rewarding for him, for staying strong. "Yeah, my pretty boy. youre always worrying about everyone else" mayoi lifts his head, staring at himself. He no longer looked pathetic. sweat drips from his forehead and tears well up in his eyes, "uuh.." he whines, trembling worse than before, taking deep breaths, he follows your heartbeat. "you learn so quickly, its amazing." with his legs spread on your lap, being so close to you made him so happy, but your reassuring words and praise

mayoi grabs your hand, bringing it close to his heart. "and you spoil me so much, and i want you to rely on me too, handsome boy" you feel his heart skip a beat, rate rising in bliss. your pace speeds up slowly, fingertips reaching deep enough to push and prod at his g-spot. he gasps, shutting his eyes and squeezing your hand tighter. "fufu.. i love– oh.. ah, i love you!" he weeps, closing his legs yet still leaving them open enough for you to keep going.

he keeps pushing against your hand, desperate for his release. "mayoi~ you're greater than a lot of people i know, my favorite." you mumble into his ear, mayoi actually sobs, cumming around your fingers. you sit there in shock, worried you did anything. "im sorry.." he sniffles, kissing your cheek. you grin, removing your fingers from inside of him and hugging him tight.

for the rest of the night, the clothes he had prepared to wear were left somewhere on the floor. instead of forcing himself to go outside, you both slept peacfully.

ugmughhh this feels so wird i didnt finish it how i wanted i just didnt know how to explain it lol... welp, here you go anon, sorry if this wasnt how you wated it to be!

[draconeye45]

So, since its been easier to write than draw lately because i'm working so much and its easy to write on the go....(i will hopefully have art to post very soon though)

have some fic-WIP in the meantime for my proto warner fic Second Draft involving my interpretation of Smakky. he ends up having a kind of wierd dream.

(There was light on the other side of his eyelids.

Smakky tried and failed to open his eyes all the way. There were hands, pressing parts of his middle, muddled voices talking about…

Me?

He wasn't sure.

The tides of unconsciousness washed him away again. Calm, inviting, a place where he could drift in a space between thought and feeling, but nothing could touch him…

I'm so tired.

Smakky just wanted to sleep.

Yet there was a tug that disturbed the peace. A connection, the deep one to his twin. Which had always seemed so unusually strong, even for twins. And made him feel incomplete if he was too far away from Wakky.

Why?

In the back of his mind, Smakky had always wondered why. Why he felt that sense of incompleteness when Wakky was too far away, why his temper got even worse…

Smakky fully drifted into sleep again.

….A fuzzy dream came to him then. He saw a chubby man, pouring over a piece of paper. Four pencil drawings of toons, all in the same standing pose. No other doodles present, the lines of the drawings slightly messy. Clearly the results of brainstorming, nowhere near being defined. Not a drop of the special ink that brought toons to life present.

"Hmm," the man hummed. "Come to think of it…perhaps these two would be better combined as one toon. A bad temper and prone to violence doesn't seem quite distinct enough…but merged with the trait of being wacky?"

A pencil tapped on a desk. "That could go somewhere."

The man circled two of the toons, still muttering things, but Smakky didn't care; he only cared about the paper that the man had pushed aside.

The two circled pencil sketches looked almost like -

'Me. Me and Wakky -'

It hit, then, as the odd dream washed away into a blur of color and noise. Why he had come out so wrong, why he had no powers, why….

Everything made sense now…)

[beebundt]

would you mind sharing a bit about Angel's character design and the process of developing it? are there qualities of her personality/story that inform her appearance that you haven't shared so far? have you talked about her tattoos yet??

yeah absolutely!!! i have a Lot i could say here actually because its my favorite thing to think about when designing a character! this is going to get a little long. thanks for the question! 💕💕

to begin with, since she's paired with 2D ill be comparing the two a bit here. i intentionally wanted to use a lot of curves in her initial design from the git go (body shape, her curly hair, etc.) and generally contrast other features against his, so how i draw him with circle eyes, i draw her with much sharper ones, or him being like 6 ft and shes short af. which is not to say there's any real importance behind that besides my satisfaction seeing this scrawny coward of a man tower over this 4'9 chill af beef queen and knowing she could easily snap him in half if she wanted & he'd worship her for it. but anyway it is something i consider in contrast to 2D even in outfits. not that it's purely the only way they dress or anything, but angel tends to wear a lot more leather + punk elements in comparison to him so there's also contrast in style there reflective of their general attitudes.

her development + concept is sort of an odd one for me because i already had a mostly clear idea of what kind of character i wanted to make from the start, im sure it has something to do with just how long i've already been into gorillaz so ive.... def had the time to think about it lol. here are some REALLY rough sketches from the very first time i drew her, they're very ugly bc i never expected anyone to see but just want to show how little she's actually changed from initial conception? disregarding style ofc. i can't really explain my motives anymore than i wanted someone who was not afraid to challenge 2D, equally as wild + independent, but also supports his vulnerabilities, is protective of him. someone who would be similar to murdoc in attitude in a lot of ways but uses it to protect, not destroy.

spitballing some little stuff because ive been so in my head im not exactly sure what i've shared and what i havent lmao. some things angel used to do were habitual out of insecurity like when she used to straighten her hair from teenage-young adult years, but then started wearing it natural from p3 and on, or plucking her eyebrows so much she doesn't have really left anymore & has to draw them in. also her brothers used to make fun of her tooth gap and shit when she was a kid so she stopped open smiling but since being 2D she's felt confident about it again. has a lot of tats + piercings bc she was big into the rock/punk scene way back and that's something i try to show at least a little throughout her wardrobe no matter the phase. like an aging rock fan trying to get with the times. her style does get more "modern"? as the phases go on though, so her rock influences become a bit harder to spot by p7, but are most prevalent p2 & p4.

for tattoos, i have talked a little about it on her toyhouse page but ill go more into it here!! all current tattoos include:

large wings on her upper back - angel symbolism of course. she really leaned into liking her name the she older she got because it almost became a sense of pride to her as she's sort of a local legend to the general community. so with this one she got to represent that, her community and friends is what gives her her wings.

long roses + stems from her right forearm to her shoulder/collarbone - honestly she just fucks with it. was done by a friend who wanted to test her skills on her & angel really does not give af so ofc she was on board with that.

a small star under her left collarbone - represents an old friend she used to know and is put there so she can always keep them close to her heart.

a chubby cupid with a bow and arrow on the top of her right upper thigh - dare by a friend because they thought it was funny. plus you know. angel symbolism with her name. anyway the arrow points directly at her you know.

a heart with an arrow through it on her left shoulder - used to have her ex best friend/crush’s name on it but she had it completely removed later when they had a big falling out, so it's just the heart now. was one of the first things she had tattooed on her when she was a teenager)

a large black scorpion just below the left shoulder and all down her upper arm - represents her old band, the scorpion was a symbol they used for a one-off album.

a dagger with a snake wrapped around the blade on her left forearm - honestly she just fucks with it. another done by a friend to test on her.

and a small cross on her left middle finger - she grew up in a christian household, although she's atheist, it still holds some comfort to her. but mostly it's just funny to flip murdoc off with (and why she initially got the tattoo lmao bc she cant stand his ass)

when thinking about angel's design/lore i have to be mindful that not even gorillaz cares this much about their own lore or go deep into it at all lmao. so i always struggle with how far should i cross that line in the name of developing an interesting character i can imagine for the world and how much i should step back and be like.... "its just gorillaz bro" lmfao. so i TRY (keyword try) to only briefly go over some things in her lore and not dig too deep into it. but its hard being a gorillaz fan and wanting to be invested 💔

[faun-the-hound]

Little fish man

sketches of Daybreak!Dante with some ideas for Siren anatomy and his outfit.

rambles about Siren Magi and some specifics about Dante under the cut

(Aquatic) Siren Magi have three fingers, as do most of their half-human offspring (like Gene and Dante). Their hands and feet are webbed and full-blooded Sirens have reptile-like tails, fins down their spines and scales across their bodies that allow them to swim like crocodiles. They spend a lot of time in water, lazing about in shallow rivers, swamps and along coastlines.

Their blood is dark blue, making them appear pale or cold/greyish out of water, and turning the beds of their nails dark navy coloured. They nails are black and extremely sharp, forming natural points unless trimmed down. The webbing between their digits can be cut/trimmed away to allow for gloves or rings to be worn, or to hide their nature, and regenerates over the course of three months.

Like starfish in a way, Sirens (aquatic only) can regenerate injuries, from small cuts/bruises, to missing limbs, but this takes a massive amount of energy and time, larger injuries essentially putting the individual into a coma, usually at the bottom of a deep body of water.

Dante's regenerations extends only to smaller wounds. He actively cuts into own hand webbing off to hide his magi heritage, having to repeat the process every month as the webbing gets in the way of gloves. If he lost a finger, he could probably regrow it over a year or so, but it was exhaust him and leave him in a hibernation until it healed, losing a limb, his body would stop the bleeding and seal the stump on its own, but the limb wouldn't regrow.

Sirens can also pass their hyper-healing to others with their own Magick. Aquakinesis, mind control and memory alteration are shared between both subraces (Aquatic/fish and Aerial/bird), but the healing is exclusive to Aquatic Sirens. They have a deep, innate connection to the water that can last through generations of non-siren partners, allowing them to channel their innate Magicks through the water they control to heal others.

There is a very vocal part of their Magick, be it singing, humming or just speaking plainly. They can plant ideas into the minds of others, make themselves appear charming and friendly in spite of their intentions, and alter a person's memories at will just by talking to them and choosing their words very carefully.

Dante isn't so good at this part of his powers. Partially because he's hard of hearing, he can't hear what he's saying if he talks in the necessary tones to use his mind Magick, and partially because he is deeply afraid that everyone around him and claims to be his friend is just a victim he's manipulated and that no one actually likes or cares about him at all. It's just because he's making them like him.

He's great with water though. And a great singer in general. After moving in at Phoenix Drop, he spends his evenings destressing by singing on the docks. Sirens can project their voices through water as well, audible clear as daylight at the surface even from miles deep. Nana was drawn to the docks by Dante's singing, hearing a voice from the ocean and thinking it was a ghost. When the odd new guard Lord Avira brought home surfaced, she was shocked and fascinated.

Dante sings for all the kids in the village, Kyle, Levin, Malachi, Yip and Alexis, and Nekoette/Naoki and Donna's kids post-timeskip. Gene sings in the halls of the Empty Palace, his voice echoing hauntingly off the walls, freaking out the other Knights inside and filling the Nether with an eerie melody. When Gene sings, he projects fear and uncertainty directly into the minds of those who hear him, unsettling the other Shadow Knights and causing Guards he fights to panic. Forcing them to act irrational or attack their own allies in a blind panic. He alters their perception of reality to hide himself, making it far easier to sneak by and slit their throats, or just making them fight each other instead.

Anyway, that's what I got for now, thanks for reading this far.