#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! 🤬

[syntheticavenger]

Mr. March (teaser)

Someone asked if I would ever write a Bucky spin off from Mr. July and after some thought (and a small window of time to myself) I was able to do it!

I'm calling it a teaser because I don't know how this will be received but if you like it, please let me know!

Alpha! Bucky Barnes x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Language but pretty tame as it's world building.

Summary | Making fun of a friend for his new found fame is one thing, falling for a rule following librarian while balancing his own rise of attention is another.

Libraries have always been his little indulgence. He’ll never say it out loud – the stigma is enough for him to be laughed at and Bucky really doesn’t want to break any jaws. It was his comfort when his mother brought him and his sister to check out books, reading so many in a short time that his mother started to quiz him to make sure he wasn’t just flipping through the pages. He could get lost in books, transported to other worlds with a few sentences on a page, the long bookshelves going on for miles at a time, people around him engrossed in particular passages in the easy silence. Time seemed to slow in that space and when the world was moving too quickly, he found himself following the same path that he’d memorized as a child, opening the doors, the comfortable, soft hum of people just being settling around him.

Steve is off working his second job as the maintenance man in the building, a job that he finds helpful, because Steve has and always been a helper, even if it means he gets less sleep with always being on call. When he’s not working full time with his construction job and the other job on the side, he’s taking art classes, sketch books and pencils askew on the kitchen table – a welcome sight when Bucky gets home from work because it means that Steve finally has had some time to himself.

For now though, Bucky browses the fiction aisle, fingers running over the spines of books before he stops at a familiar author. It’s been years since he’s read this particular author, pulling the book out of its place. It’s a murder mystery, enough to pique his interest, flipping through a few pages to get the cadence and if it will hold his interest.

He’s five pages in when he closes it, tucking it under his arm, searching for another and then another before he’s got four books in his hands, maneuvering his way through the people who are doing the same, engrossed in a particular paragraph or flipping through the pages.

By the time he reaches the counter, he breathes a sigh of relief, almost embarrassed for the reprieve. A little calendar shoot for charity has been quietly building momentum, the radio station he regularly tunes into giving away five signed calendars, each one he remembers signing with Steve and the other ten that were featured. Being celebrated for just a designation is odd, something he knows is a privileged take seeing as he’s at the top of the hierarchy. Whatever it is, it’s enough to get him stopped in the grocery store, the local coffee shop that used to know his order by heart because the whispers became louder, the stares got bolder and while he’d be lying that he didn’t like the attention, the conversation of his physique got boring to talk about.

Besides, he got more fun out of seeing Steve turn bright red when people would recognize them. There’s something so innocent about a big, burly man blushing when he’s asked for his autograph.

“I can help you over here,” comes a voice to his right, breaking his thought of what Steve ordered for dinner.

He doesn’t have to get close to already nearly taste your scent – notes of caramel, peach and a hint of jasmine. But at the sight of you, he can’t help but blink twice at you, taking you all.

An Omega, unbothered by his presence, your stern expression and gaze at a loud teenage boy who is talking with his friend who instantly quiets down when he realizes you’re looking at him. It’s a commanding presence you have, something he doesn’t see too often with Omegas but there’s nothing wrong with being surprised.

Even in a place like this.

“Library card?” you ask, Bucky placing it in your hand.

With a quick swipe, he observes you reading the screen, a frown on your pretty mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bright red warning at the top.

“You have an overdue book, James,” you inform him, turning the monitor toward him. “It’s been out for over three years.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, knowing exactly where the book is. It’s still on his nightstand, a good read he’ll repeat at least one more time this year. He passed at least two more copies while he was looking for more books, so it isn’t like it’s the only one in the entire library.

“I can bring it back when I bring these back,” he counters, seeing you shake your head with authority.

“Library policy means we can’t let you check these out,” you answer, pulling the books toward you as he hears himself scoff loudly before he realizes what he’s done.

Still, he likes the candid reaction he gets from his audacity, your polished demeanor finally cracking. He knows it’s not the nicest thing to do, especially when you’re just doing your job but it’s refreshing to see an Omega sticking to her principles, even if he’s a little inconvenienced.

Or a lot, depending on if you’ll change your mind.

“You can’t be serious.”

Your frown tells him otherwise.

“Why can’t I? It’s policy,” you remind him.

“If it was such a big deal, why didn’t I get a notice? Three years have gone by for a twenty-year-old book that you clearly didn’t miss.”

Your mouth tightens at his response. It’s obvious you don’t agree with his reasoning.

“We sent notices and clearly they’ve been ignored. How you’ve been allowed to continue to check out books with this hold is beyond me.”

“Maybe I’ve been lucky with the other librarians.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his comment. It hits a nerve, your back straightening, his gaze on your sweater that gives him a perfect glance of your mating gland, unblemished and slightly covered when you shift to focus on him.

“Been,” you rush out, your hand on the stack of books. “As in past tense. I can’t let you check out any other books until you return that one.”

“So let me get this straight,” Bucky says with irritation laced in his tone, mostly surprised you haven’t cut him a break. “You want me to go home, search for a book that I’ve had for three years, bring it back so that I can borrow these.”

“As I’ve explained, yes.”

He wants to laugh, seeing your strained politeness as you swallow. It’s not nice to push your buttons, his mother taught him better than that but damn if he doesn’t like the way you’re struggling with losing your cool.

“Fine. Can you put a hold on those for me?”

It feels like a big imposition, the way you exhale slightly, your lips pursed as a few moments tick by. There’s still no one behind him so you have all the time in the world to make a decision. Quite honestly he would stand here for hours just with the back and forth. He’s never had someone match his energy and for the short amount of time he’s interacted with you, he realizes you must be new because he definitely would have noticed you before.

“I can hold them for a day. After that, they go back on the shelves.”

He shakes his head at your final offer, seeing your shoulders tense up, as if you’re waiting for an argument.

“You run a tight ship. Does Janet know you’re this strict?”

At the mention of Janet, the head librarian, you say nothing but he sees the quick glance behind your shoulder, the woman somewhere in the building. Not that he would tell her about this interaction. 

It’ll be his little secret.

“Rules are rules, James. I don’t make them.”

Bucky straightens, running his tongue over his teeth, your mouth-watering scent enough of a consolation prize for him to return.

“I get it. You’re the enforcer. And it’s Bucky,” he says, holding his hand out for his library card.

For a moment, he can tell you’re frazzled, looking down at his palm in confusion. He can tell his scent has some sort of effect on you as he clears his throat.

“Did you need anything else?” you ask.

“My library card.”

Almost as if you’re shaken out of your stupor, his library card is slapped into his hand, turning your back on him as you place the books on the back counter with a note.

“I’ll be here tomorrow if you want to come to the counter,” you offer politely, Bucky placing the card in his wallet. “I hope you’re able to find the book.”

“It’s not lost,” he tells you casually, seeing your mouth part slightly in shock. “But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

He gives you a nod, moving away from the counter, your scent still lingering when he makes his way outside and back outside.

You may have called him James, but the note says Mr. March.

[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.”

[mocultation]

                                 CHROMATIC                                  NANAMI KENTO

warnings: mature content. oral (f. receiving). odd descriptions of sex positions.

small note: it's great to finally get back to writing something. have fun reading! reblogs are highly appreciated.

what artist hasn’t lost their mind during the genesis of their chef-d'oeuvre?

it was far through the evening when you have begun making your ‘sketch’⸻your fingers tracing over the sharp lines of fair-skinned man that was pressing his lips against yours with a form of yearning that could only be described as sweltering while he brought you down onto the softness of the mattress. this little ‘association’ was something you hadn’t expected to flourish in such a matter, truly. it was just some mindless flirting at first! a little quip here and there! how were you supposed to know that it was going to drive the guy against the wall? that it was making his hands itch to pull all of those pesky clothes you had on your body and show off the smooth skin you had hidden beneath the cloth. to let his tongue and lips make their path on your figure for the umpteenth time.

 “what’s with the silence, huh? usually you love being a pain,（name）.” the warmth of his breath tickled your mouth, making the situation even more wonderfully frustrating. there was a subtle restraint lingering on his fingertips as he traced a path of fire onto the flesh of your body, causing you to arch into his touch. sparking every nerve and dragging out quiet gasps from deep within⸺resulting in you carving all the more of his temporary affection as the greedy person you knew you were. the kind of dame he reluctantly welcomes in his arms for a passionate dance beneath the sheets. just to move your separate ways once the sun makes its unveiling once again. a part of him secretly hoped that the cycle would never stop, that it would simply keep repeating itself. again and again and again and again. “tired of running your mouth?” “me? of all the times we've met, please don't tell me that it troubles you now.”

next was the ‘form’ of this masterpiece; as you were placed on your back, his hands gripped the flesh of your thighs and raised them up, and there was that tension in his eyes, and the damp patch on the thin fabric of your underwear got prominently bigger. while the heat in your belly increased, he leaned over to kiss you on the ankles, which was a little more chaste than the nature of this interaction. every one of his smooches had a certain intimacy to them, a delicate touch that relaxed and thrilled you at the same time, leaving you temporarily gasping for air as you enjoyed the delicacy of the moment. the trail of his kisses only lowered down as with his other hand he had pulled away the thin barrier that kept your cunt and him away from each other. the cold air caused it to soaken itself even more while your breath intake was shortening itself—not from fear but unadulterated exhilaration. “but i must say that you are quite the talented one with your—” yet your words had fallen flat on his ear once you felt his lips collide with your drenched folds in an instant. “fuck!” the variety of actions his tongue delivered against your clit and weeping folds were making you see all kinds of pleasant colors; the vibrations of his endeavors throughout his attempt made your toes curl with excitement. 

sweat droplets were collecting over your forehead with every lick he put on your cunt⸺withdrawing the sweetest melodies from your throat. he was making it obvious to you that he was ravenous for the depth that your pussy was generating; the intensity of your ambrosia was something he could grow addicted to. perhaps he already was. the juices were drooling down from his chin as he redoubled his efforts on pushing you off the edge you were dangling from: “oh god! i..i think i might—!” with a blurry vision, a certain ‘cord’ snapped. with that followed a moan from your lips⸺so loud and so overly hedonistic. it snapped him right out of his debauched actions, but only for a moment as he felt the success of his conduct gush down on his mouth, shamelessly, almost smugly taking it down his throat before he lifted his head from your crotch and made eye contact. “…is the idea of a second round off the table?” 

shading, giving a painting depth⸺blasé blasé. it was the coloring process that you were genuinely interested in. 

“fucking hell you are so soaked,” he moans against your neck as another burgundy-colored mark on your neck. it was the kind of paradise that only nanami could provide—the constant thrusting of his hips against your own. your inner walls had his cock on lock, melting due to the position you were in; from your legs positioned upward like a tower, the two of you were now spooning with him, and your leg bent over his thigh and your back facing his hard chest. his mushroom tip was bullying the depth of your cunt, whereas you proudly spread your legs apart to welcome its brute force. while he resumed an excellent pace, just to add on the anguish his fingers were making quite the mess on the sheets beneath your body. adding circular movements to your pulsing clit. the squelching sounds from your pussy reverberated off the wall, working overtime as it was coated with the creamy pre-cum on the outside. constructing an illicit portrayal.

his meaty dick sliding in and out of you with such fervour. “ngh—! don’t you dare stop now. mmpf!” his balls, drenched by your juices at this point, churned by your wanton demand. slapping over and over again onto your ass. by this time, both of your bodies are bathed in a sheen of sweat, and the bed's squeaking has been  reduced to plain white noise. he had you stretched all the way out to your limit, and in return, you were making sure that the man would prefer to never leave your sopping hole. “look at you. you love taking my dick so deep, don’t you?” each word gained emphasis by a deep thrust. “you’re going to be very good and finish with me, uh-huh?” nanami's ears began to race with blood as soon as he said those words. a snarl echoed at the back of his neck as he pressed your lips against his for an additional time. your breaths merged into one, your pants becoming heavier as the forceful gush of cum plunged straight down to the lowest point of your womb. as he overflows your cunt, his balls quiver and convulse to extract every last drop of his spunk. it resulted in you following soon with your own final act for the night. when your body finally decided it was time for a well-earned slumber, your eyes slowly rolled back to your head.

©mocultation

[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 appropriative 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.

[harrysarchive]

so you wanna

marry me?: h.s.

pairing:

tattooartist!harry x baker!reader

warnings:

smut 18+ please, h eating out reader that's it, oral (f receiving) in a tattoo parlour (scandalous;) ) .

summary:

"but what if i wanted to propose to you? wanna get you ya dream ring bee." he grabs ahold of my hands and brings them to his lips pressing kisses on my knuckles.

i pull my hands away and grab ahold of his face and pull him in for a kiss, " i'd marry you with a ring for the coin machine at the pizza place down the street."

or

harry's overworking himself for money to afford for the future.

or

another adventure with tattooartist!harry x baker!reader.

p.s.a. want it to be known that h and bee have been dating for about 3 years in this one shot🫶🏽

𝐘/𝐍'𝐒

𝐏𝐎𝐕

i let out a string of hums as i walk over towards harry's tattoo parlour, a pip in my step. i decided to bring him lunch knowing he likes to over work himself. (especially on fridays and saturdays knowing those are his busiest day's.) letting out a sigh of relief when i see the parlour the dark colours contrast with the lighter coloured buildings. i walk into the building and see all black walls with plants hanging and placed on counters. niall is the the first person i see and i greet him with a wide smile.

"hey ni!" i muse to him and he smiles at me.

"hey bee, how's it goin'?"

"good, brought har some lunch."

"oh he's with a client but you can go ahead," he pointed to harry's private room, "did you bring me anything ?" he sassed crossing his arms over his chest.

"ya didn't ask for anything." i huff rolling my eyes and walking towards harry's office.

as i get closer to the room an obnoxiously loud laugh echos through the halls. oh great another flirty girl trying to get her way with my man. i decide to knock on the door and harry lets out a curse.

"who the fuck is it?" he snaps before the doors thrown open and his glare is set on me before it melts into a smile.

"brought you lunch asshole." i chuckle holding up the bag of takeout.

"thank you m' heart. come in." he move to the side and i slipped through the door.

my eyes land on the obnoxious loud girl, blonde hair, petite shape, lululemon jacket and shorts. she raises an eyebrow at me before asking, "who are you? this is a private appointment."

"she's my girlfriend." harry answers pulling out a rollie chair he has in the closet that he got for me.

the chair looks odd in the dark room, black walls and blue accents make it look like a elephant in a room with puppy's. it's pink and in the shape of a daisy with a crocheted white blanket sitting nice and folded on the cushion.

"oh well, i would like for my tattoo session to be private." she said voice filled with venom.

"oh well, you're just a walk-in and i'm pretty sure nialls done so you can either let her stay or get the fuck out." harry snapped at the girl and she huffs before sitting on the tattoo chair.

i quickly sit in my chair and roll over closer to harry, he hands me a scrunchie and mumbles, "can ya put it in a bun bee." i let out a 'mhm' and quickly tie it up in a bun making sure it's nice and tight.

"can you lay down." he says to the girl and motions her to the chair.

i quirk an eyebrow at the blonde headed girl who laughs like she's heard the funniest thing in the world, harry raises an eyebrow as well at her before his face scrunches in confusion, obviously confused at what's funny.

"what's so funny?" he asked bluntly before shifting to sit fully on his chair.

the girl giggles again before putting a hand on his bicep, "you, silly!"

"all i said was to lay back." he scoffed motioning to the chair.

she obliges and lays down, i look at her sketch and a small smile makes its way to my face. it's two cherries stuck together by the stem, and little twinkles shine on them.

"it's cute." i mumble to her and she scoffs.

"i know, that's why i'm getting it."

"don't be bloody rude." harry barks at the poor girl, "she just complemented you."

it goes silent after that Kings Of Leon's Sex On Fire playing is the only thing heard. harry lays the stencil on her upper thigh he asks if that is where she wants it and she nods.

"how was your day?" harry breaks the silence as he starts his tattoo gun up.

"it-" i start but the girl cuts me off.

"it's was good, i went out with my friends and had brunch and then i went to the mall-" she also starts but she's cut off by harry.

"i didnt ask you." he deadpanned before looking over at me, "how was your day bee?"

"it was good, was kinda busy at the bakery, you know it's saturday and all the mums go out to walk around the strip buying all their nick-nacks. martha said she could handle the bakery but she hasn't text me so i don't know, maybe i should message her. anyways then i went to the library bought two books, i started one of them and it's alright, it's just a bit slow you know the whole introduction part is always boring to me." i trail off and he chuckles nodding his head, "then i went to kung fu chop to pick up our food."

"ya left my favourite person alone on one of ya busiest days?" harry fake scoffs and i chuckle.

"y'know what she told me, 'i can handle it, ya being an uptight pussy!' " i let out a laugh as i recall martha scolding me with her hands on her hips.

harry lets out a snicker, "that's ma girl."

the girl is looking at me with a scowl on her face, i can see the botox failing to do it job, wrinkles showing as her forehead is scrunched. i raise an eyebrow at her and she lets out a huff before her face turns into one of fake discomfort.

"ow! that one hurt!" she whines and harry looks at her.

"buck up." i murmur and harry snickers.

"so harry, was it?" the girl starts before laying a hand on his forearm.

"yes. can you not hold me ya gonna end up fuckin it up." he shakes her off before finishing off the little twinkles.

"what do you do for fun around here? 'm not from holmes chapel." she continues to talk.

"nothin'." harry response turning off the tattoo gun and placing it down, he takes out healing ointment as spreading it with a tongue depressor. "but if there's one thing i love to do its probably ma girlfriend."

i hold back a snort as her face drops, harry wraps the tattoo before taking off his gloves and pointing towards the door, "niall will get you it's gonna be a hundred."

"you're the worst tattoo artist i know!" she huffs jumping off the chair.

"ya too kind!" harry sneers sarcastically as she basically runs out of the private room and he slams the door.

i strut over to harry and wrap my arms around his shoulders, he turns in my arms and looks down at me. he looks drained and he's definitely in need of a nap, his under eyes drag down and a frown is settled on his face.

"oh h, have you not been taking care of yourself?" i tsk in a whisper and he shrugs his shoulders, "babe this isn't healthy look at you, you need to allow yourself to have breaks, you look overworked h." i kiss his forehead and he sighs.

"you know saturday's are one of my busiest days bee, we need the money for our expense."

"we have more than enough harry. we're in a good place in our life." i say caressing his cheek.

"but what if i wanted to propose to you? wanna get you ya dream ring bee." he grabs ahold of my hands and brings them to his lips pressing kisses on my knuckles.

i pull my hands away and grab ahold of his face and pull him in for a kiss, " i'd marry you with a ring for the coin machine at the pizza place down the street."

he lets out a snort before capturing my lips with his, he captures my bottom lips and gives it a bite, his hips roughly move against mine looking for friction.

"wait," i push him off and point to the door, "tell niall you're on break and lock the damn door."

he looks at me with twinkling eyes and a smile, " 'f course ma heart, ya bloody amazing." he rushes over to the door fixing himself and shouts at niall, " 'm on break don't let anyone in."

"you guys are fuckin pigs." niall gags and harry flips him off.

he quickly closes the door and locks it before walking over to be and pushing me towards the tattooing chair. his hands find themselves under my shirt and he unclasps my bra, the straps fall down my arms and he quickly takes my shirt off.

"ya tits are bloody amazing'." he gives me a toothy grin and i snort.

"ya like a teenage boy, swear it."

"cant help it, it's like they get bigger each time pet." he muses as his hands find their way back to my boobs, he rolls my nipples between his pointer finger and thumb, his eyes turning a darker shade of green as he looks at me. i let a moan slip as he bring his mouth to one and tugs on the other.

"yea, just like that h." i mewl as i grab ahold of the hair tie in his hair and watch as it  loosely falls into place.

he lets his hands explore my body and they make there way to the button(s) of my jeans, harry lets out a groan, "i fuckin hate these jeans."

"they make me look good! and my ass looks fat in them!" i try reasoning with him as he undone all six buttons.

"swear to you, 'm gonna throw them away when we get home." he promises as one of his hands dips into my panties.

"no! they're ma favourites- oh!" i let out a moan as his fingers make there way down my slit and he slowly starts rubbing circles on my clit.

he keeps his torturous slowly speed before pulling away full and i let a whine of displeasure out. harry doesn't waste anytime pulling down my pants and panties, he sits in his rollie chair and spreads my legs before licking his lips, "got the prettiest pussy bee."

"harry!" i whine at the praise and he chuckles before placing hot wet open mouth kisses on my calve and trails up my thigh.

a gasp leaves my mouth as he press a hot kiss on my clit, my hands automatically grab ahold off his long hair and giving it a tug. he lets out a grunt before licking a strip up my cunt, my eyes start to roll back as his skilful tongue works it's way through me. he drags a finger up to spread my folds before he stuffs two in me and places his mouth back on my clit. stars start appearing in my vision.

" 's so good h!"

"yea? ya gonna cum for me bee? want you to cum all over my face." he murmured.

the knot in my stomach ties tighter and my air feels like it's being sucked away from me. harry works his tongue and fingers faster as i clench around him.

"gonna cum baby!" i let a pornographic moan out and clutch his hair tighter.

"fuck, pull tighter bee." i automatically oblige and yank harder causing him to moan loudly, "cum for me bee, i fuckin need you to cum."

the knot starts to fall apart as my orgasm hits me, my legs shake and i choke on my breath. harry let's me ride out my high before he stands up and places a kiss on my lips.

"taste better than any of that damn frostin' you make, swear it bee."

i catch my breath and a lazy smile makes its way to my face, "don't know if that's a complement or an insult to my baking.

he snorts and grabs the bag of take out, "whatcha bring me."

"sushi, rice and noodles, orange chicken, and honey walnut shrimp." i hum and go to sit up.

"hold on bee lemme get you a wipe and your clothes." he hums moving over to the drawer and grabbing a wet wipe, he gathers my clothes before sitting in front of me again. i let out a hiss at the contact of the cool wet wipe and my hot cunt.

"sorry, know you're sensitive didn't mean to pet." he quickly apologised and i smile shaking my head.

"it's okay, just a bit cold 's all."

after he finishes cleaning me up, he kisses my thigh before redressing me, "so you wanna marry me?" i teasingly ask and he smirks.

"wouldn't want it any other way."

a/n: sorry it took me so long but i've been super busy and i'm currently working on a request someone sent in! so that one should be next :)

fratboy!harry x professor!reader 😳🤭

-all the love,

em

xo🐝

[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 😭😭😭

[bosskie]

Deal

Man, how to start explaining this oddness... Welp, this was that one drawing idea I have kept to myself to this day, the one I mentioned revealing if I don't redraw it this year since the original is an unfinished drawing I haven't really shown but just Molluck. So, yeah, here it is, after about 3 years!

This is a reference to another video game's ad where the enemies much work together against a common enemy. If you could figure out the game already, I give ya ten points! And if you didn't, well, it's alright. The game is 'Crash Twinsanity'; just one game I love and especially its soundtrack (it's a capella)! So yeah, there was just speculations of how the story would continue after SoulStorm and one of them was that Molluck and Abe would work together againts the Magog Cartel. So, that's where this idea came from. I kinda wish that this was the case since it might be the only way how Molluck would achieve a good ending.

I was originally going to make this as a Mother's Day thing, as a bad joke, but welp, I did let it be... Molluck just kinda has to destroy his mother in order to save himself, so he could use Abe's help to do it and a part of that deal, he could help Abe to, well, at least see his mother. But well, cannot really make any promises from Molluck's part since he is known to be a back-stabber... (It's how he achieved his position.) So, he could just use Abe but maybe something would evoke inside him that would him genuinely let Abe be, so he wouldn't revenge the disaster Abe did to him... Or he thinks that 'revenge is a dish best served cold', like that one saying goes... So yeah, cannot know about Molluck. But I hope that he is able to work with Abe, even after getting himself saved.

Oh, and yeah, in that ad, that deal is pictured as a marriage, so that's why they got such outfits. I must say that Molluck looks very handsome in that suit! Abe's suit is just a white loincloth and a necklace-robe-something thing with OWI's logo. And yes, he is holding a bouquet. I originally did Lady Margaret to look like the original Mudokon Pop but I changed it to, well, make this less violent. I wonder if it should be called Queen Pop or Pop Queen... I'm not sure of how to draw Abe's mother, Sam, since her head is kinda varied, just like Lady Margaret's, since there ain't 'official version' out there, just these concepts... But I tried my best. I also feel like Abe might be a bit too big here but well, this is what you get when you draw on a paper; it's difficult to edit stuff, if not impossible, and you might realize things when it's too late...

I'm not sure if I should show the original WIP since it's quite unfinished and looks kinda bad but well, some improvement I guess:

I still like the way Molluck looks here, though I did fix the flaws I saw to this new sketch I did. Abe instead has much more flaws, like too human-like anatomy, so yeah, more stuff to fix... But you can probably see better the outfit design I did for Abe here. And yeah, Sam looks different here, mainly because I feel like I understood better how her head 'works'... Lady Margaret looking fine on a stick there but yeah, felt like doing the later version of the Pops to the new sketch...

Man, I'm not really sure about how to explain the things I have been thinking about Molluck recently... I just feel like it only fascinates me, all the possible dark stuff he has done. It just makes me feel interested, somehow amused too since my humour can be quite dark and twisted... It's really like one of the main reasons why I love Oddworld, all that dark stuff! Like, I have probably said this earlier, but for example, that one Lady Margaret's lung transplant concept art just makes me laugh like every time, the one where Munch is basically merged into her body. I also recently learned more about the possible dark arts Glukkons still practice, like forecasting stocks using Mudokon organs... I already got some 'bad ideas' to make it further since 'a liver' is in Finnish 'maksa' and it can also be a conjugated from a verb 'maksaa'. So, 'maksa' can mean 'Pay!' or 'maksaa' is like something costs something or someone pays something. So yeah, such a great organ for this stuff! I feel like my humour is probably one big reason why I'm kinda siding with the Gluks... It's not the same that I supported this stuff, I just enjoy stuff like this.

I also did read the newspapers from the worst ending of SoulStorm again and noticed more stuff. It's not always easy to say what is actually true there but mainly it is. There was just said that Molluck blamed declining resources in wildlife supply on his ongoing diminishing returns but the newspaper said that it wasn't true. I believe that it's true what Molluck said, that those hunted animal populations were getting thin and that's why he did that Mudokon Pops solution; just gotta get that meat from somewhere! It's interesting though how in games, we have only seen how the animals at RuptureFarms are brought from the wilds but in that movie concept, there do are (also) farm animals, like those cow-like creatures. I must say that if Molluck only uses hunted animals, his business model has indeed been quite unsustainable and I don't wonder why he got that downfall and it would actually have been inevitable, so Abe only made it quicker. Though, Molluck was rewarded with that golden medal he wears, that tie thing, so it makes me think that he must have had some other practices too or are Glukkons just into unsustainable things... If so, man, they are slowly killing themselves too. I just believe that Glukkons could practice sustainable capitalism, it would be much more wiser, and if I was with Molluck, I would do my best to get him into this kind of business model, also to save his ass... Well, he did still try to create other products too but welp, they failed... I would still try to help him to save his business.

I have also wondered more about Molluck's actual behaviour, like how bad anger issues he has in reality... It still makes me laugh when I read that 'murderous Molluck' stuff and how awful he was from those newspapers, being said to be 'a psycho'. I just don't personally see him being this awful and I bet that this stuff in exaggerated but has some truth in it. Like, I bet that when Molluck is truly angry, well, he kills. We can see that in SoulStorm, no matter which ending it is, Molluck kills, by himself or via the Sligs. So yeah, do not get on the bad side of him... I'm not really justifying his actions but the world Molluck lives in is brutal and if he fails, he is wiped out, so he must do everything to really survive and retire one day. I just feel like he has needed to harden his heart for this reason. It's just that I feel like I understand Molluck, like why he even ended up killing his Chauffeur. I also just truly love him, so it feels like no matter what is revealed related to him, I'll still love him. I just believe that there somewhere, quite deep inside of him, he still has a heart and is able to love (not just himself, luxuries, his mother, and so on...).

Yeah, dunno what else to say... Just sharing my ideas, thoughts and love for Molluck once more. Frankly, while drawing that new sketch, I still just felt like I cannot really draw well and felt depressed... But I try to just focus on what I draw, not how I drew something since I just feel like I got so much to learn to even make my stuff look good... I just feel like my stuff hasn't good quality... Well, all I can do for that is just keep drawing or just quit. I mainly just post sketches anyway, so they ain't even fully rendered and polished. It's been long since I actually finished a proper drawing... Sketching is just better since I got too many ideas to fart out...

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms - Chapter 14

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—-----

Chapter Fourteen:

Inner Reflection

—----

“But man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated.” – Ernest Hemingway (The Old Man and the Sea)

—-

Stepping through the portal was an odd feeling of weightlessness that one could only describe as weightless, since no other term was readily available, but seeing that he’s inside a library that looked near endless with floating constellations made of light constructs and glittering books and strange alien-looking plants was a whole other thing. Morabito closed the portal once he saw that Carrot was out and looked around at the vastness of this strange archive.

“Welcome to Outerswap’s Royal Library.” Morabito said.

Carrot closed his eyesockets and took a last draw from his cigarette, then put it out. 

“Damn...” A bewildered Carrot followed Morabito out of the portal. He took a draw from his almost finished cigarette, but didn’t bother to keep the smoke in his mouth. When he was still in the scientific field, he had thought that the most magnificent display of knowledge was the Royal Library (not the Librarby). Some records said the knowledge at monsterkind’s fingertips rivaled that of humankind’s Library of Alexandria before it was allegedly burned to the ground. Carrot would have gone out of his way to confirm if that was true or not, but seeing as Chara is GONE gone, it’s not like breaking the barrier was immediately within the question anymore.

He didn’t know he would miss the kid this intensely, considering the handful of times they had killed his loved ones in the past, in timelines that no longer existed except in memory. 

The only way they’d ever access the Surface again back home is if another child fell into the Underground, then… he didn’t want to think about the aftermath. He hoped they’d be another case like Chara was, one that could RESET time at the slightest inconvenience, but he didn’t think monsterkind would be graced with that kind of luck yet again. Call it a hunch.

Morabito nodded, “I guess you can put it that way. Sketch sometimes brings the Royal Archiver some books, but we have someone else that does, but he’s not exactly…. Uh….”

But this library, whatever its title was, outweighed whatever expectations he developed from the one back home.

“Well… if I had to guess, this place might be why you guys know so much about everyone else, but no one knows anything about you.”

Speak of the devil.

A version of Sans was walking about with the most massive stack of books anyone could ever even fathom. He seemed to be scrutinizing every single book he passed by. Only to snap his fingers look over at Carrot and Morabito, he went over, climbed up Carrot's back and stood on his shoulders to grab a book and toss it over his shoulder, having it land perfectly on the stack of books behind them before suddenly caught in what looked to be an orbit of celestial constructs, levitated off of Carrot but still in the air. The Sans didn’t seem bothered by this predicament.

“Katagma…” hissed a voice that sounded a bit like Carrot’s but more tired, annoyed, and like he was one push away from using magic to re-sort the books in the massive pile. “That was rude.”

The voice snickered before its owner finally arrived, walking out from behind one of the many bookshelves. “Yes, but it’s not like this one has any excuses considering his own magic doesn’t really follow basic rules.”

Ah. Based on the sound of that voice, Carrot could only guess that was another him. He had experienced the same thing at the Omega Timeline for the duration of his short stay there, though it still tended to come out of left-field even with a forewarning.

He nonchalantly shrugged, taking a quick glance to the shorter skeleton that had just used him like a ladder, and that was all the confirmation he needed for the time being.

“It’s quite alright, other me. My own brother needs an extra step-up sometimes too.”

“Occultatum… you never mentioned Katagma was here.” Morabito said nervously, he looked up at Katagma who merely stretched and ignored the situation.

“You never asked.” Occult shrugged. “You know he’s always welcome here. He’s perfectly harmless right now, so don’t worry.”

“Are you sure…?” Morabito asked, “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes. Now don’t make me throw you out.” Occult said, crossing his arms and glaring at the mobster.

“Alright, alright.” Morabito teleported some golden apples onto one of the many grand tables next to them and used his magic to make several stacks of arrows. “There’s the supply for the guardian.”

“Thank you.” Occult smiled.

Carrot eyed the stacks, especially the apples. Of course, Dream had never mentioned his relation to those things, but Carrot could safely assume he had something to do with them considering the guardian’s soul was the shape of one. Given, his observation skills were put to the test in that regard, but he and Indigo had known Dream for several years, and Ink slipping up on some of that information here and there put some of Dream’s experiences into perspective, even though Carrot doubted anyone else noticed.

“Occultatum, was it? I assume my friend is in your care here.”

Of course he figured Morabito was something like his friend, based on his frequent complaints with doing Dream’s job in his absence, but the fact the things he made from pure positivity left a little void in Carrot’s mind. They were both functionally similar, not so much in personality whatsoever, but something just didn’t add up.

So theoretically as well, they were keeping Dream in an endless-looking library filled with books of multiversal information, not just subjects related to, what was this universe’s name…? Outerswap. He didn’t understand what that stood for entirely, but the ‘swap’ suffix implied some degree of similarity with his universe.

“Dream?” Occultatum smiled, “Yeah, he’s here. He’s in the fiction section.” he released Katagma, who teleported away with the books before he even fell a centimeter from where he was previously levitating. “And there he goes… I’ll take you to him.”

“I’ll head out. I don’t want that Nightmare creature to get anywhere near here…” Morabito said, “Have fun.” before teleporting away before they could even say goodbye.

“The fiction section is here on the ground floor, so he’s not far.” Occult stated, gesturing to Carrot to follow him. “He’s been very troublesome lately, though. Insisting that he has to leave.”

“Yeah, also don’t light your cigarettes in the library, we have a toddler running around and he’ll be more than a little upset by it.” Occultatum sighed, stopping for a moment before nodding towards the toddler in question.

“Ah, yes, that does sound just like him…” Carrot mused. He reached into his hoodie pocket for his cigarette pack, but really, thinking back on everything else that led to this moment kept him from lighting any of them just yet. He followed per Occultatum’s instruction.

“Dream is always on the run, always working, always concerned for everyone outside himself. But I bet you already knew that.”

If Carrot was feeling a bit nostalgic already, it practically doubled looking at the toddler sitting on a floating robotic rabbit head. It puffed up a little at the mere mention of the word ‘cigarettes’. The toddler was holding a children’s book, looking to be the Very Hungry Caterpillar.

“It’s a long story.” Occultatum sighed, “But to put it simply, neither. The little one’s AU was destroyed while he was asleep and I was… well… I had to take on caring for him. And the other one… He works with Klezmer, but he’s allowed here because he reminds me of my own brother and because I’m the only one who can keep him under control…. You’re very lucky.” he continued walking.

“That’s… not something you see every day.” Carrot re-pocketed the cigarettes. It had been ages since he thought back on his and his brothers’ childhoods,... not that there was much worth looking back on. Sans was older than him by a couple years, and since their only parent was not mentally available, or even pre by the time he was born, it was Sans who raised him.

He was just another child, but took up the responsibility like it was no burden on his own development at all.

Carrot forced those memories away to focus on the present.

“So. Is this one another sibling, or are you their parent?”

“Muffet sent me pictures, and videos of the one at your AU,” Occultatum said, “he acts a bit like my own, before he… passed. The temper and enthusiasm specifically–” he froze when they reached the place Dream was at.

“Heh. Thanks, but I don’t have a great history with luck.” Carrot eyed the shelves in the corners of his vision, picking up onto some extent of just how vast the knowledge stored here really was, some with titles written in languages, alphabets, and carefully configured codes he didn’t know existed.

“Technically, I have two brothers as well. That is also a long story.”

Katagma was placing two books into a triangle shape as he stood on a chair that was leaning dangerously lopsided on two other chairs that were also leaning dangerously, but somehow miraculously, he was keeping balance. The mad skeleton had made an entire castle out of books around Dream. Occultatum stared at it and only had one question.

“Katagma…”

“Yes?” Katagma replied, looking over, still keeping his balance.

“What do you have there?” Occult asked.

“A book.” the illusionist raised up Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carrol.

Occultatum stayed silent. He couldn’t even tell how many books Katagma used to make the three-tiered castle of a fort. He even seemed to have brought all of his dolls to decorate the entire thing. They were all Pastel Goth dolls, with stitchings, tears showing the stuffing popping out, eyepatches, and mismatched fabric and large buttons for eyes. Majority of them were rabbits and bears.

“Yeah.” Katagma said, jumping down, causing the bottom chair to go back to its legs while the other two fell off to either side, landing perfectly. Katagma walked around to the front of the fort, using his magic to carefully move several books to create an opening for Dream, who was still reading Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol.

Carrot, predictably, was even more surprised at this discovery. In fact, he was tempted to light a new cigarette anyway to cope with it.

Truth be told, he didn’t quite like being surprised anymore.

“Is… is Dream under all that?”

Carrot clicked his teeth together as a sound of neutral acceptance and walked around the side of the fort to reach the new entrance. Inside, it was practically soundproof, and the only indication Dream was there, from what Carrot could sense at all, was the dim light of his previously bright golden eyelights.

The taller skeleton leaned down so his head could fit underneath the entrance, and he settled for hanging a little bit outside the doorway.

“Knock knock, could you say you are booked for all time here or what?”

He saw Dream jolt up, the little guardian’s eyelights glancing around the room before landing on him, and even in the slight degradation in lighting, Carrot could tell he was beaming from metaphorical ear-to-ear.

“Carrot!”

“Uppies.” Katagma said.

Dream jumped to his feet, the book an afterthought, and forgetting about his IV as well, hurried into Carrot’s arms, who lifted him off the floor in a perfect, Papyrus-edition embrace. Dream gave a slight wince, and Carrot quickly noticed the overstretched IV cord and levitated it closer to right that slight wrong.

“Hey, buddy.”

“I missed you…I was so worried…”

Occultatum couldn’t help but smile at the display, but a part of him wanted to frown because he knew the meeting may be cut short due to their only hope of curing the venom. He felt someone patting his chest only to see Katagma reaching up for him.

Occult held back a laugh before picking up Katagma. He knew he’d finally get through to him, but it was still taking time. The mad skeleton was still unstable after all. Katagma hugged Occultatum while the taller one held him closer.

“I tried to tell him Klezmer and the others wouldn’t get to you guys with Muffet around, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“He’s infected with the negativity venom that our Nightmare has. Unfortunately we don’t really have a typical cure for him.” Occultatum stated, “We’ve been using Morabito’s arrows and apples to keep his health up with his venom and positivity, but… we did find a probable cure, but it’s not something I’m sure either of you would agree to.”

“Figures as much. He deals with persistently difficult people.” Carrot was pleasantly impressed with how tight Dream was clinging to him, but considering the guardian’s occupational hazard, he couldn’t blame him. It must have been hell, in his position.

The fact Dream didn’t even protest to what he and Occultatum had mentioned in his presence was a bit worrying.

But something just wasn’t right here, and on a couple levels too.

Carrot guided the IV with him, rolling it as he exited the book fort. He gave Occultatum a skeptical look, just to signal he had some comments and concerns already, but considering they were supposed to be much of the same guy, he doubted his host would take that as a red flag.

“What happened to your aura, bud?” Carrot whispered to Dream, who tapped his shoulder as a nonverbal sign to put him down.

Dream’s glee evaporated to a disheartened neutral. “It’s… not here.”

“Huh. You must be really sick then.” Carrot thought Dream had been a little off in the days before he disappeared. If he were to be frank here, he could care less about the state of Dream’s magic, so long as he was happy, safe, and healthy. He’d say the same for his other friends and family too.

But Dream wasn’t too fond of his friend’s conclusion. “I wouldn’t say I’m… sick. Maybe… injured?”

“Mmm…” Carrot grunted in acknowledgement. “Compromised, then?”

“I don’t know what that word means.”

“Ehh… impaired in function or troubled in some way.”

“Oh. Then yes, that’s the word I’d use.”

He teleported the scroll and showed the translation he had created on a magic screen.

“Essentially it’s a tea that will force the drinker to face the darkest parts of themselves and their past. If they are able to make it past these things, they’ll be cured of any ailments, but there is apparently a history of those who never make it back, being sealed away in a coma for the rest of their lives.”

“You’re right, I don’t know how to feel about that.” Carrot forced his face to remain the neutral it was 98% of his waking hours, suppressing the emotional crisis that wanted so badly to build and dominate his every thought.

Dream, however, was a different story. As terrified as he was at the concept alone, he didn’t know of any other option that would put him back on his feet, figuratively speaking. 

But again, the multiverse depended on Dream’s health and activity to survive on an emotional basis. Whether Carrot liked it or not, Dream had to take the risk.

“I’ll do it.”

Carrot immediately sent a horrified look his way, as if Dream couldn’t feel his emotional reaction from being right next to him. The guardian flinched, but remained steady.

“Dream, you’re risking a lot here.”

“I know.”

“You heard what Occultatum said– you might not wake up again.”

“What other choice do I have, Papyrus? It’s either this or I stay this way for… maybe a longer time or forever. That won’t help anyone.”

Carrot glanced at Occultatum, then back to his friend, then had to lean back against the barren shelves that were previously afflicted by Katagma’s creativity and enthusiasm. This was a lot to consider, and it wasn’t even HIS choice to make.

He facepalmed, running his fingers down his temporal lobes and mandible. What a headache. In the nicest degree possible, this was grating on every nerve he physically did not have.

“Is there anything I can do to make this easier, aside from being here?” Carrot asked openly, but there was only one person who could answer that in full confidence, but he didn’t know if they were present or not.

Katagma wriggled free of Occult’s arms, dropping to the floor giddy to get the tea party ready. Occultatum shook his head, “I… have no clue. Izanagi was the one to suggest this idea – he’s um… a friend of the guy that shot Dream with a bullet that was coated with the venom. I guess they were only there for Nightmare but… Edelweiss had other ideas.”

He looked over at the table nearby and saw Katagma setting up a platter with what looked to be small tea cakes, and other snacks.

“I tried to find something that could help, but normally Izanagi’s religion and practices are… more on the… dangerous side, and they offered nothing. From what I could tell, this was from an extinct religion, and he found it to be the only option. I believe it’s our best bet for a cure.”

Katagma started setting up his dolls as though they were joining the tea party… only to slice off one of their heads with his large kitchen knife he kept on him at all times. Occultatum glared at Kata, who noticed and hid the knife behind his own back and gave a grin.

“Kata can help with that!” Katagma held up the knife the way an ecstatic kid would hold up their hand to answer a question their teacher asked, he realized what he was doing and teleported the knife away, “Edelweiss is off in our Dreamtale variant with Nightmare DeVille. He’s in big trouble! Buuuuut Occultatum has banned him from this AU.”

Carrot wasn’t going to dwell on what the heck this guy’s problem could be. He crossed his arms, drumming his fingers on his upper arm in thought.

“If I may, I would like to have a word with this Edelweiss guy at some point.”

“For good reason.” Occult hissed, “Bastard dog-eared several books. I had no choice… plus, his human soul is still active and I’d rather not have Cyber hearing anything Chara says… also he did some major damage to this AU anyways – the Queen would kill me if I let him set foot on a single meteorite, let alone any planet.”

Carrot nodded, taking each word of information and sorting it away for later use.

“The Queen in Underswap is much the same, to the point that if I don’t return in one piece, she will find a way to put our entire timeline on permanent lockdown. No one will be allowed in or have entry out.”

He held up a hand to look over the joints connecting all the bones making it together.

“I doubt that’ll happen, but she is efficient in addressing every worst-case scenario she can think of.”

Dream turned his attention away from the conversing Papyri, and led his IV with him to the very border of Katagma’s lonesome tea party. 

“Eh, I could help her with that if she needs to.” Occultatum smirked, “I actually set up a barrier to keep anyone I deem to be a threat out of here. Hence why Edelweiss, Klezmer, and DeVille can’t get in.”

He didn’t know what to guess in regards to what would happen with this special tea Izanagi suggested, but if it really was as risky as told, he had to prepare himself. If he went down, he’d technically still be alive, just physically and mentally… gone. Worst case scenario, someone would have to drag his body all around the multiverse and hope that wasn’t only a hassle, but also not a massive warning sign to the people they might interact with.

Okay, he shouldn’t think about that.

He was very proud of it, and Carrot gave a smirk of agreement. 

Katagma set up a tray of scones and cookies that he got from out of his sleeves before reaching back in and putting a small tray of butter and a small jar of jam. He then got a small bowl of sugar cubes out of the jar of jam somehow. He was really excited about the tea party.

He then finally teleported the tea pot and the cup that he got from Izanagi. They were marbled with jade, sapphire and rose quartz, and had what looked to be lotus flowers engraved onto them. It was odd to think that someone as darkly dressed as Izanagi would have such… bright tableware. But Katagma knew it was made by the spell and ritual Izanagi used. It was best that only he knew that.

“Time for a tea party!” Katagma smiled, he used his magic to drag Dream over and sit him down at the table. Dream didn’t mind, but the building anxiety started to hit once his eyes fixated on the lotus flower teacup. 

Just like that, he was certain that was the one. It was radiating magic, magic so foreign and heavy and deliberately arranged in place. One sip from that, and Dream was certain he’d fall.

And it was calling him.

Katagma carefully picked up the teapot and poured the tea into the cup. It took a moment for Occultatum and Carrot to catch on to what the hooded skeleton was doing.

“One cube or two?” he asked as he put the teapot down, he got the sugar cube tongs and looked over to Dream, “It should be a quick catnap for you, I’m sure. A trip to a wonderland of your own making, surely.”

“Katagma…” Occult hissed.

“...Bollux.” Katagma cursed.

Dream could feel the dread of his present friends building up, the apprehension and fear melted into each other. No matter how much control Carrot practiced and enforced for times like these, he was still slipping, Occultatum just as nervous, if not somehow more, and Katagma, even with such a shattered state of mind and sense, had some semblance of emotional strain.

The last thing he sensed for real was dropping the teacup.

But he had to do this, regardless of how they may feel.

Dream put two sugarcubes into the tea, watching their shape fall away to the warm liquid that consumed them molecule by molecule. He gently blew away the steam, then looked Occult in the eye.

“Hey,.. It’ll be okay. I’ll be back before you know it!”

Carrot stepped forward, maybe to stop him, but Dream wasn’t sure and couldn’t afford to dwell on it. It was way too late to stop now anyhow. He had to trust Izanagi had his best interests at heart.

Dream drank the tea down, and reality spiraled away from him.

—-----

Falling.

A sense of falling but standing still.

Dream saw familiar darkness and a sense of stable ground and the falling stopped. He looked around only to see darkness and more darkness before suddenly seeing statues. Familiar shapes of mindless villagers. He was back at Dreamtale?

He spun around only to see his likeness, solid stone just as it was several years ago.

“What the–?” He slowly backed away from the statue.

“Do you blame yourself?”

Dream looked around himself, then peeked behind the statue and the stump marking his mother’s grave. No one was there, at least not physically.

“...pardon?”

“Was this your doing, or is that what you tell yourself?”

It was painful to hear about again. Dream stared into the eyes of the statue of what was his prison for 494 years, where all he could do is sense the devastation to everything he once knew and loved. So many years of just feeling all of it. He felt like he was going insane. It was torture.

“I don’t– I’m sorry, I don’t understand–” he took a step back from the statue. He couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from and couldn’t tell what it wanted. He wanted to summon his bow to at the very least ground himself but couldn’t. It was like his powers were being blocked off somehow.

“Of course you do! It’s obvious you have a case of survivor’s guilt! This is where your brother and mother died, after all! This is where your home collapsed. Everyone who knows you, know you blame yourself for it somewhat.”

“There is no way you could have known. Nightmare didn’t want to tell you.”

“It’s not your fault, you know? You were only six.”

“I know, but– I should’ve known what was causing him so much pain...” He really wished he knew something. Been more aware. Should’ve seen the pain in Nightmare’s eyelights. Listened more carefully to how Nightmare spoke, how the villagers talked to him. Something—

“I want him to know how sorry I am.” Dream mumbled as he looked away from the statue. If only he could talk to his brother. He wanted his brother back, to hug him and hold him and just be there.

“He already knows.”

The lookalike gave Dream a quick hug. Even here, Izanagi radiated warmth and kindness. He really did feel like a big brother, though they’ve only known each other briefly. Izanagi rubbed Dream’s cheek as he continued speaking.

Dream felt tears collecting, and brought the rim of his shirt up to wipe them away before they could drop. But as he was doing that, he heard footsteps, and looked up to see Izanagi reveal himself from behind the statue. The guardian’s breath hitched, but gave a little wave to the apparition.

Izanagi’s lookalike gave a gentle smile. The same one he saw each time they saw each other briefly. It was always so polite and welcoming.

“Hello, Dream-sama.” Izanagi gave a small bow.

“H-hi…” Dream stammered, wiping away a stray tear falling from his eyesocket. Stars, he felt like a child.

“It’s okay. You know that he was only trying to protect you. It’s what us older brothers do.” Izanagi said simply.

“But you were hurt, too. They used you.”

“I- I don’t think they did?” Dream denied, “They didn’t–”

“If they had to rely on a child for everything, yes they did. You were not allowed personal freedom like the other children were. Did you play games with other children? Did you go to school? Did you have the freedom to even interact with other children, Dream-sama? Could you even call what you had a childhood?”  Izanagi stared at Dream solemnly. Dream couldn’t look him in the eyes when he answered.

“N-no… I suppose not…” Now that he thought about it, how many times did they really ask him? How many times was it a ‘Dream, I need an apple.’ Not really asking but… telling.

He must’ve been so deep in thought that Izanagi grabbed Dream’s wrist and pulled Dream in for a deeper hug as if knowing he needed it. The guardian leaned his head into Izanagi’s coat, the thick fur and detailed beads and embroidery grounding him from falling too far, but it was in no way a safety net.

“But they needed me. I was the only one who could heal them.” Dream said.

“But that is not the only thing you did, is it? You built their homes as well. You managed all the heavy work and were demanded around all day. You barely had time of your own.”

Izanagi gently rubbed circles into Dream’s back, hugging him as gently as possible like Dream was so frail that he’d break at the slightest sign of pressure.

“I could stay at the tree if I didn’t want to go.” Dream shook his head.

“Dream-sama… you were nothing more than a tool to them. A slave for them to drag around. A prisoner to their demands. Only one didn’t do that and he was the exception, not the rule.” Izanagi stated, almost coldly.

Neil… Dream never found out what happened to him, whether he survived Nightmare’s rampage or not. Not wanting to look at the ruin that surrounded them, Dream hid his face in Izanagi’s coat completely to silence a sob, his fingers gripping the fabric and fur like a lifeline.

He felt a heavy hand caress the back of his skull, and it shifted from stiff bone to warm flesh and fluff. Dream heard a heartbeat beneath his head, and the coat he had clung to was gone, replaced with simple clothing. No… No it couldn’t be…

“‘S okay, kid. No one could’ve predicted what would happen.”

That voice….

The voice was gruffer, grumpier, but stable. Dream looked up, and another sob was ripped from him.

“Neil…?”

“Hey. Long time no see, kiddo. Still have a good head on your shoulders.” Neil gave a small chuckle and a shrug. His tired eyes were still warm as ever.

Dream hurried to wipe away his tears again, but Neil grabbed his hand and held it away from his face. The one-armed cat monster sighed, let Dream’s hand go, and his only hand returned to pat his head like he used to.

“You should keep cryin’, It’s good for you.”

“I’m sorry, I never– I n-never wanted it to end l-like this.” Dream shook his head, he had so much to say but couldn’t get it all out.

“I don’t think anybody did, except for that parasite using your brother’s body. But it’ll be alright. You got more power than ya know in that little body of yours.” Niel sighed and his ears folded back, tail flicking, showing his contempt for the unnamed man.

Dream nodded, letting golden tears fall as Neil lowered them both to the ground and rubbed his back. 

“...it’s not enough.” Dream mumbled, looking away.

“I was talkin’ about effort, Dream. It’ll pay off someday. You just gotta keep goin’.” Niel forced Dream to look back at him. “You know the meanin’ of effort. None of the villagers did, but you do. And you’ve got the effort to push through all of this.”

“Don’t worry about what you can’t do. You’ve done so much already, all you could do, really.” Neil stated, “You need to keep goin’ forward.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so s-sorry–” Dream couldn’t even finish speaking, holding onto Niel’s paw, it was still soft and rough at the same time. The way he remembered it was back when the cat was alive.

“Shhh… I did my part too. I distracted Nightmare so you could run free again. That’s all that matters to me. And there was nothing you could have done to convince me not to, because you living was worth it all.” The cat smiled. He really was the closest thing to a father he had. Niel pulled Dream a bit closer and hugged him, resting his chin on Dream’s temple, letting the guardian lean into him.

He, too, wished he could have done more, more for Dream, and Nightmare.

His vision began to blur over, and Dream felt his body beginning to shake with every breath he dragged in in an attempt to stabilize himself. He felt Neil’s hand lift from his back, then hold his chin, tilting his head up to look him in the eye.

“There is nothing you could have done to change all… this. You did all you could.” Niel said softly, “You did your best, and that’s all anyone could’ve asked for.”

The cat gestured to their surroundings with a jerk of his head. His face, which was usually stone and cold, loosened up. There was nothing but affection in Neil’s eyes, even though they were clouded over with sadness.

“Just keep going. You have friends that support you now, and they will do a damn better job than I ever could. You have a good heart, Dream. Don’t ever lose it.”

Dream sat up on his knees, using his hood to clean his face free of blur and tears again. But when he brought it down, Blueberror was sitting where Neil was not a second ago. The glitch gave a nervous laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Hi, friend! It’s been too long!”

Just like that, Dream felt himself falling apart all over again, his mask flew far out of the bounds of his control, and he felt Blue pick him back up, trapping him in a tight hug. Dream hugged him back tighter, his sobs falling onto his black armor.

He could even feel his glitches brush against his cheek.

For so long, he was wondering where Blue had gone, why he left without notice or reason. The day he disappeared was a breaking point, and not just for himself. Papyrus was a wreck, and only Indigo could pick up some of the pieces. But himself and Ink? There was no other way they could cope but avoid the subject, at least verbally.

Dream remembered searching the multiverse for his friend alongside managing his duties. Not even Core!Frisk could tell him where Blue had gone. It was like something had blocked them all, and all they could do was wait at the firewall, praying it would come down one day.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I- I couldn’t really think–” Before Blue could even finish what he was saying, Dream cut him off.

“I-it’s okay, B-Blue…”

“No. No, it’s not. I worry I broke your trust kinda like Ink did. And unlike him, I don’t think I’ll get it back.” Blue looked away for a second only for Dream to grab his face and make him look back at him, ignoring the golden tears still sliding down his cheeks.

“Th-that’s not true.” Dream insisted.

“I can’t believe that, Dream. I’m sorry. Your trust is difficult to truly earn, but that’s okay, because of everything you’ve had to live through… that is something none of us can understand all the way.” Blue grabbed one of Dream’s hands as he shook his head before deepening the hug, burying his face in Dream’s shoulder.

Dream tried to look away, but Blue didn’t let him. Blueberror let go of one of Dream’s shoulders, gently holding one of Dream’s cheeks and forcing him to look at him. “You n-need to stop denying yourself having s-support. You know this. It doesn’t just hurt you, it hurts us too. Let yourself love, Dream, and let us love you.”

Dream felt Blueberror squeeze him, then nuzzle his cheek against his own. Then his grip loosened, and Blue held him at arm’s length with both hands on his shoulders.

“But I really do worry about you. Every day, I think about you guys, and I go to sleep hoping you’ll be alright. I hope you learned that it’s okay to ask for help, maybe just a little more than you think you should. Not everyone can do everything alone, not even you.”

The glitch brushed away golden tears with his thumb, and it took a second for Dream to notice he was crying too.

“Cause you got p-people out there who r-really care about y-you, an-and l-losing you w-woul-ld b-be d-devastating. We love you s-so, so much, Dream, a-a-an-and your aura has nothing to do with that! I swear to you!” Blue wiped away his own purple tears. Trying to stabilize himself.

But the guardian shook his head. “But what if you get hurt? What if Nightmare hunts you down? I’ll never forgive myself for that!”

“You know, you couldn’t always be there, but even then, you always were the best little brother anyone could ask for.”

Dream himself didn’t want to see them suffer, he felt too much suffering over those long years in that statue, that prison. And he couldn’t imagine the torture Blue had gone through when Error abandoned him in the Anti-Void, with no communication access to anyone or anything until he came back.

Both him and Blueberror had been trapped in circumstances against their will.

“We are tougher than we look, Dream. I know you’re well aware, but our support doesn’t have to always be on the battlefield. And— really, Ink is your best bet for most of that. Your emotional burdens, I mean, since you’re conflicted on talking to anyone else. Speaking of, I might need to go get him soon–-”

Before Dream could think it through, he grabbed Blue by the hem of his chestplate before Blue himself could even think of leaving.

“Please don’t go… I don’t know when I’ll actually see you again, since this is… all in my head, r-right?”

Blueberror nodded slowly, then reached for Dream again and pulled him back into the tightest hug he could possibly give. Dream practically melted into it, holding Blue there for as long as he could before something changed again. The smell of apples came to fruition.

Dream froze, “N-Night?”

Hesitatingly, Dream pulled away, and looked to his right, only to see his older brother looking at him with a soft smile, his purple eyelights filled with hope and admiration. He looked exactly the way he did before Dream left that morning, before the incident, a picture forever preserved in time.

“Whatever chance you got, you were always there for me. You were the one thing keeping me going for as long as I did– and I never got to thank you for it. So… Thank you, Dream. You will never know how much you meant to me.”

Nightmare breathed in shakily, and it became evident he was crying too.

Nightmare gave Blueberror a knowing look, and Blueberror obliged to the silent request, letting go of Dream and scooting back so Nightmare could loop his arms around his neck and hold him close. Something about his apparition differed greatly from the others, but Dream could care less as he hugged him back.

He wished so badly he was here, that he never lost him in the first place.

“I’m so sorry I left you, and so early too. No one deserved what happened. An-and even if you never see me again, please… please know I’m watching, and I’m cheering you on.” He laughed awkwardly, and Dream tightened the hug, savoring their moment together.

“Are we… still brothers?”

But Dream didn’t feel agony this time. A strange form of relief replaced it, and with it, a stronger resolve. Still, he hung onto his missing friend, breathing through to coexisting grief that remained, nothing else filled the silence but Blue’s occasional dropping tear and his beating soul.

“We always will be. Nothing would ever change that fact.” Nightmare breathed in and patted Dream’s back. “Listen. I know I’m dead and all, but know you carry a piece of me with you wherever I go. The other guy can never take that away from you.”

He had to struggle against Dream’s grip for Dream to get the message to loosen it, and when he did, Nightmare leaned back to face him properly, his face turned serious. “I have to go now, but… I want you to understand my death is not on you. You understand me, brother?”

Dream sniffled, but nodded. Nightmare got up to leave, wiping off the remnants of his own tears. He nodded to Blueberror, who reestablished his comforting grip on Dream.

“I want you to live for the both of us, and happily too. And who knows? Maybe we’ll get a miracle! After all, you made it here, anything could happen!”

He watched as Nightmare’s form dissipated, leaving behind the dark abyss of dying fauna the creature in his wake had left behind. 

Blue stared at Dream, before nodding, “Okay.”

The guardian just let Blueberror hold him, recollecting his thoughts. He didn’t want to leave. He leaned against Blue, grabbing onto one of his hands and fiddling with the seam of his gloves. “I miss you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Blue nodded.

“It’s okay.” Dream smiled sadly.

“Dream–”

“I mean it, Blue! It’s okay.” He held Blue’s hand tightly. Reassuringly.

Dream didn’t mind the awkward silence that followed, content with sitting there. He felt Blue straighten out his hood, made from the sun cape he used to wear in his younger years.

“Do you… remember the days where we and Ink would cuddle? We’d just be there for each other, no catch.” Blue smiled. His voice sounded so nostalgic.

“Yeah…” Dream smiled as he thought back to how often they’d find themselves doing it.

“I wish we could do that again.” Blue leaned back a little resting on his free arm.

“Mmhm….” Dream nodded. He nodded and closed his eyes. Nothing else mattered. Just for right here, right now.

“Yeeeeaahhhhh, those were the good old days!”

Both Dream and Blue jumped, both scrambling to their feet to find the source of that high-pitched voice burned into their memories.

All they had to do was turn around. Not in the direction of the stone statue, which had disappeared completely, but where the stump of the long-passed Tree of Feelings once stood. It had bloomed once again, stretching to heights beyond what Dream remembered, and Ink hung himself upside-down from the lowest branch that could safely carry his weight. 

The artist smiled and waved to them with enthusiasm.

“Damn, I haven’t seen either of you in forever! How’s that reunion going? I know this ain’t real, but it’s the thought that counts! Ya get me?”

Ink jumped down, landing perfectly on his feet. Blue and Dream tackled him before he could get another word in, bursting out into laughter when it clicked for him there was no escape for him immediately, even if he wanted such a route. He was stuck between two friends with super-strength, and they weren’t letting him go anytime soon.

Between Blue’s apologies and Dream achieving the tightest hold on him by far, Ink looped both his arms around them. “Heheh… the gang’s back together! … kinda.”

Blue flicked him on the forehead, giving Ink the message to quiet down, and he stuck to that for about forty-five seconds before Dream felt Ink tap on his shoulder. The guardian looked up at him, his soul pounding in his chest.

“Good!” Ink smiled.

“I’m sorry for everything, by the way. The uh… not talking, then leading you and the others to Klezmer and getting Chara killed and all… that.” Ink was struggling with finding his words on how to properly apologize.

“It’s okay, I should’ve—” “ADEDEDEBEPBEPBAP! None of that! Technically none of us knew what was coming, but I led us on without taking any precautions. Therefore, Chara’s death is on me. JUST ME. Got it?” Ink covered Dream’s mouth for a second to reinforce how serious he was about taking the blame for the incident. “Got it?”

Dream sighed, but had to accept that admission. “Got it.”

He lowered his head to rest on top of Ink’s chest again, Blueberror having made himself snug at the artist’s side. The glitch was listening just like he was, but Dream could recognize that slight grimace of disappointment and the pain of loss any day. 

That second chance was earned, which meant the events leading up to Chara’s murder were heartbreaking, and Dream didn’t doubt Ink was aware of that.

Ink avoided Blue’s gaze for that same reason, his eyelights blinking between red and purple, then blue and cyan. He regretted so much, but could barely ever express that want to right those wrongs, to change.

Dream remembered the process of them growing back together, mending their friendship inch by inch as Ink began to visit him regularly, even providing support where he would otherwise have none.

Then, they started talking. Ink had adopted new beliefs, a new frame of genuinely caring for the inhabitants of the universes he helped create, and in turn, he had developed new habits, new behaviors, new affections Dream never saw Ink bother to go through with when they had previously been acquainted. 

“I should have communicated with you, Dream. I’m sorry that I avoided you, then didn’t tell you anything. But what I really hope for is the REAL Ink making it up to you and everyone else he screwed over. So… don’t let that go when he shows up, yeah? He’s been busy, but he’s looking for you too.”

Of course he was. Dream nodded. Blueberror yawned, and Dream held back his own. Ink yawned next. 

“You gotta give yourself more credit for all you do, Dream. None of us deserve you, especially not the real me.” Ink frowned, as he stared up at the dark sky.

Dream sent him a look that clearly expressed how much he disagreed with that sentiment. “I don’t think this should be measured in who deserves what, Ink. I’ll definitely talk to you when I see you again, but it is not my job to point fingers.”

“Alright… sorry, man.”

“It’s okay.” Dream sighed.

Blue’s quiet snores reached them, and Ink patted his head.

“Whaddaya know, I guess we did get to cuddle like the good old days today…”

The blackness of sleep finally welcomed him with open arms.

Dream giggled, but the effect was muffled by his fatigue. One of Ink’s hands caressed his cheek, and he relaxed into it, his eyes slowly closing.

“I know it’s hard for you to do this, Dream. Just hang on until I get there, okay?”

Here and there, he just heard running accompanied by the shrieks and giggles of children. For just a moment, he saw a loose apparition of himself in front of him.

The child turned around to face him, looking him up and down, then without hesitation, ran up to hug him around the waist. Dream reached down, loosening the grip of his younger self as he did to get to his level, and hugged him tight.

Hang in there. Just hang in there, he wanted to say, but no voice of his found itself.

“Dream!” he heard Nightmare’s voice call out. The younger him looked up and smiled without weight, no mask needed.

“Coming!”

Younger Dream detached himself from the hug and backed up, looking at his older self with nothing short of blissful acceptance.

“Thank you!”

Then he left, running off to reunite with his brother.

[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.

[imaginingaustin]

nyc

summary: surprising austin in new york the night he’s hosting saturday night live.

“i know, i wish i was there too. but you're gonna do amazing, and i’ll be here watching at home and cheering you on.” you said with a smile.

you were on facetime with austin, as he was in new york prepping for saturday night live. you unfortunately couldn’t take the time off work to be with him, and you felt bad, considering how nervous he told you he’d been.

“i don’t doubt that. i just wish i could look out for your during the show.” he said, a small pout pulling on his lips. you talked for a little bit longer as he told you about some of the sketches they had planned for the show.

at the end of day thursday, you were gathering your things to leave the office. just as you were walking out, you ran into a coworker.

“headed to new york?” they asked you.

“no?” you questioned.

“id figure you’d be rushing out of here to get to see austin on snl.”

“its still thursday. we have work tomorrow.”

“please. you have this place functioning like a well oiled machine. you can take a day off to support your man.” they said. you separated in the parking garage going off to your cars. you grabbed your phone and text austin’s sister, ashley, since you knew she was there already.

“what are the odds you think i could pull this off?” you asked her, after explaining your thought of coming to surprise austin in new york.

“please try! austin’s been talking about you all week and how badly he wished you could be here.” she replied. you text back and forth for a bit, putting your plans in motion. she even offered you her frequent flyer miles to help you get a plane ticket.

you spent the night getting your accommodations in order. ashley offered to pick you up from the airport since you ended up finding a room at the same hotel she was staying at.

“okay, flight is good. hotel is booked. now its time to get packed.” you said to ashley over facetime.

“oh im so excited to see you! and i know austin will be too!” she said with a smile. you and ashley had grown quite close over the years youd been with austin. it meant a lot that she was helping you with this.

“im excited too! its been too long since we’ve all been together.” you said, and she nodded in agreement. you shared your goodbyes and you packed your bags for the weekend.

the next morning, you headed to the airport to catch your flight. everything went smoothly, and before you knew it, your flight was taking off.

you managed to take a decent nap during your flight, waking up just as the pilot came on to announce your descent. once inside, you hurried to baggage claim, grabbed all your bags and stepped outside to find ashley.

you spotted her immediately, frantically waving her arms. you ran over to her and embraced her in a tight hug.

“oh, its so good to see you.” you said softly as you swayed each other back and forth. you loaded your bags into her rental and made your way to the hotel. she helped you get checked in and into your room.

since it was friday evening, and you didn’t want austin to know you were here until the next night, you spent the night in your room. you ended up ordering a ton of room service and watching movies all night.

ashley was out with austin, both of them texting you throughout the night. austin about how bad he missed you, and how much he wanted to see you, and ashley about how much austin was talking about you at dinner.

“baby, i know you know how badly i wish you were here. i think i may have to leave early saturday night so i can be home to you by sunday.”

“no, you need to get the full experience. do the show and go to the afterparty. come back to me on monday like we planned. it’s okay.”

“fine. if i must.” he replied. you couldn’t see his face but you knew he was pouting. just then, as if she could read your mind, ashley sent you a photo she snuck of austin frowning down at his phone.

“with the way he always talks about always being in the moment, he sure does have himself glued to his phone.” she wrote along with the picture.

“i’m sorry to be taking his attention away from you.”

“haha, it’s nothing. he loves you, i know it. he just misses you, that’s all. i know he’ll be so excited to see you tomorrow.”

you let them get back to their dinner and felt yourself start to fall asleep.

the next day, you were hanging out with ashley while austin had final rehearsals for snl. as the night and show time rolled around, you and ashley got ready together, and made your way to the studio. you got austin’s publicist to get you a ticket for the show and you and ashley found your way to the seats. you checked your phone and sent some words of encouragement to austin, wishing him good luck and reminding him that he was bound to do well. he sent you back a quick “i love you,” and mentioned that he couldn't wait to hear how you liked the episode.

as the show started, you sat through the opening skit, and waited excitedly as austin was getting closer to come out on stage.

once he stepped through the door, your heart skipped a beat, having seen him in person for the first time in a week. he looked so handsome.

he made his way through his monologue, making jokes about his voice, and his shyness. he talked about his mom, and dedicate the show to her memory, which brought a tear to your eye. he also mentioned something about growing up in california with his sister when he looked up at her, blowing her a kiss. he caught glance of you and you watched as his smile grew wider. he shot you a wink and blew you a kiss as well.

they then began running through the sketches. austin performed flawlessly, and you laughed so hard the entire night. throughout the show, you noticed austin’s gaze keep flicking up to you and ashley in the audience.

as the show concluded, austin came out during the final sketch, and started singing blue christmas to cecily strong, during which would be her final appearance on the show. your felt your heart swell at the sight, as the audience began singing along, as well as the other cast members who had joined them on stage.

after the final goodbyes, and once everyone began to leave, making their way to the afterparty, you and ashley made your way out of the building. you both got a text at the same time, austin letting you know where the afterparty was being held. you and her made your way to the venue and were immediately engulfed in high energy as soon as you walked in. you glanced around the room until your found a familiar mop of hair making it’s way towards you.

“there he is!” you smiled as austin pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight. he peppered kisses all over your cheeks.

“i cannot believe you’re here.” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“surprise.” you smiled, kissing him again.

“i’ll give you two a moment.” ashley said before walking off to the bar.

“ashley and i actually conspired together to get me here to surprise you.” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“my girls.” he said with a smile, glancing over at ashley at the bar. “so, what did you think of the show?” he asked you.

“you did so well! i knew you were gonna be great, and i was laughing so hard all night. also, i got to see lizzo perform, which was amazing. she’s so good.” you said. “and getting to hear you sing at the end? perfection.”

“i’m glad you enjoyed, and i’m glad you got to watch it live live. seeing you and ashley up in the audience really helped calm my nerves.” he said, a redness rushing to his cheeks.

“im glad. we’re both so proud of you.” you said as he hugged you again.

throughout the party, you and austin were inseparable. he’d introduced you to lizzo, who he’d made quite good friends with over the week, as well as some of the other cast members. the party ended up being so much fun, and you were glad to be able to celebrate with austin in this capacity.

austin ended up coming back to your hotel to spend the rest of the night with you.

“i still am so surprised that you came all this way just to see me..” austin said as he slid into the bed with you.

“just to see you, please. you are more than worth it. and im so glad i was able to pull this off.” you said rolling over to face him. he wrapped his arms tight around your waist and kissed you softly.

“i love you so much.” he said quietly, his lips barely parting from yours.

“i love you so much.” you repeated. you snuggled tightly into austin’s embrace, his warmth slowly lulling you to sleep.

[redrandomposts]

hi, I think the little mermaid au idea is so cool and I really like the concept! How does Mizi feel when she sees what left of Ivan and figures it out? I feel like since they are very close she would be very sad and mad at herself :(

Maybe Ivan can come back and everyone can be happy! :D

-🍎

hi 🍎!!!

mizi wouldn't notice, actually, because sua didn't tell her (or let ivan tell her) what would happen to ivan if he failed. sua's just like that. and... idk, man, she's pretty sheltered. too much to even make conclusions based on death, because she barely knows of it. she only feels something is wrong when she has to go back to the ocean without catching a glimpse of her best friend.

(she doesn't notice the letters, either. perhaps a passing servant had dropped them on accident, or it was specifically left for till)

but i can one up you!!! hahaha!

...it's kinda implied that till actually falls in(sane) love with ivan. why else would ivan would have his own entire wing near till's personal office, with jewelry and all kinds of clothes at his disposal?

ivan doesn't notice this because he was a prince and thought that ah yes, fancy lobster dishes and clothing made of the finest silks... this must be how everyone is treated. (guys ive grown fond of ivan and long black hair??? i knew what i was doing)

i have ideas for a HE, but for now...um, ok, here u are, something u did not ask for (till's pov (might be ooc))

===

it started at the beach. till ran away from his duties yet again (he was six! who entrusted him (of all people, nonetheless) with duties?!), this time heading to the beach. he's never been to the ocean so closely before, and couldn't help to just... get closer.

he never learned to swim before, as he was swamped by all other tasks that he despised. oversight on everyone's part. he was swept away by the waves, hopelessly fighting against the salty water. the salt burned his eyes, making him close them, but when arms (...smaller than him, what the hell!) wrapped around him he tried to open them.

pale skin, a pearl breaking through the water's surface. red and black scales that reflected the light so beautifully, as if sunset had just reached its end. jewels and silver chains that slowly fell back to place when displaced.

...skin? scales? what was going on?! is he like those... those addicts his mentor talked about?!

he closed his eyes. this was not happening. this was not happening.

when he opened his eyes, he caught sight of an angel from the sea. her face was beautiful, her pink hair, wet, fell like waterfalls. she had... blue scales, slightly tan skin, with gold decorating her. (what about the black and red sunset scales? the pale as pearl skin? the silver that reflected the sunlight like the moon did?) she was the most beautiful person he's ever seen in life.

a week later, he couldn't help but sketch the angel that had the wrong colors again and again by the beach. perhaps, if he got her attention again, they could become friends and eventually the king and queen of his kingdom! in his fervent imagination, he didn't notice the pearl until it slipped into the waters again, far from his grasp.

annoyingly, this repeated for weeks on end. over a year (or way more) of weeks, actually! the only reason till didn't think this was a weird doesn't-actually-exist image were the odd things he'd find when he was done sketching. fish, crabs, actual pearls, clams, a shattered but ornately-made hand mirror, a locket without anything inside, dadada...

and when he went into the library to find out (the first time he's stepped into there! everyone weeps in joy!), all he found were books about creatures in the sea that love music and make others love music.

music? he could do that! he brought a guitar out to the beach, and somehow got so lost in the music he forgot to check for the pearl! when he looked again, all he saw was black slipping underneath the waves again. what the fuck?!

each time he'd try this, it'd have the same result. he'd be so engrossed in his music and making songs that he'd barely, if at all, catch black hair and silver jewelry slipping into the ocean before he could clearly see it.

and he had a solution! if he came at night, then he'd surely catch the pearl before it could see him!

...listening to the singing, till once again missed his chance. pearl-pale skin reflected the moonlight, the ocean grew quiet to listen to the music, birds and fish crowded the rock the pearl sits on. black hair blended into the night, and the silver took and stored the moonlight, reflecting it to mimic the moon the best anything ever could.

and when it stopped, till was too dazed to react! he had to watch helplessly as it slipped into the ocean once again.

this continued for years. till was driven insane. a face he's never once seen, yet one he kept on chasing and chasing. he bought silver jewelry, imagining that one day, he could lay it out and trap the pearl once and for all. he bought various clothes, both men and women's, so one day he could cover the pearl and keep it for his eyes only.

it turns out he didnt need it, though! on his sixteenth birthday, the pearl was in the sand, a coat on his body, covering his thighs from the sun. long black hair splayed out, framing the face he's gone insane over trying to catch a glimpse of.

till decided to put him in the unused wing, the one right next to his. he carefully washed him, combing his hair and dressing him up to the neck. this could be a foretelling of his future, maybe. it's a much brighter future than he could have ever imagined.

ice-cold water, the kind that only appeared when the snow fell and the nights grew longer than day, poured on him when letters slipped through his door, sea foam decorating the parchment.