#maybe I am just not allowed to love a drawing I made of myself

[mitamicah]

I tried to redraw the picture of me and Bojan from Malmö and while I sort of liked it yesterday I really don't know so I guess my curse of not being able to draw us to a degree that I am satisfied with continues

The drawing for the few curious ones

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Feasting on You

The sequel to part one: Afternoon Appointments

WARNING: SMUT. THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF THE SMUT FEST I AM PUTTING MYSELF THROUGH. HAPPY VALENTINES DAY YOU LOVELY PEOPLE. MINORS DNI.

Fluff, declarations of love, Beron Vanserra being the absolute worst person alive, unprotected sex with the hope of pregnancy (male and female receiving). Breeding? Again, they're trying to have an heir so I guess? Jealousy, infidelity/sex-work. Mentions of infertility and the struggle to get pregnant, vaginal penetration with fingers and penis, fingering, it's a menu, pick what you want.

Word Count: 6,022 - Hard to believe I work full time.

Since all y'all wonderful people seemed to enjoy the last smut-post I made I figured I'd continue, especially on the day of love. It's not going to be too much longer, maybe one or two more parts but again, it's my palette cleanser from my agonizing slow burn of myself.

Summary: Eris, your mate joins you for dinner after a rather disheartening conversation with his council over your combined failure to produce an heir to the court. After denial of his father's suggestion, Eris hopes to remind you just how devoted he is to you, and only you.

SMUT BELOW THIS LINE. BE AWARE.

Long after the sun had dipped below the horizon, you finally made your way into the grand dining room for dinner. The table stretched before you, a lavish display nearly overflowing with an abundance of meats, vegetables, and freshly baked breads. It seemed as if the kitchen perpetually prepared as though they were feeding a family of ten, never quite adjusting to cater solely to you and Eris. Dinner was a sacred time reserved just for the two of you, a cherished ritual unless you were hosting guests. As long as no visitors graced your halls, or neither of you was summoned away on a diplomatic venture, you always reunited for dinner—a time to recap the day's events, reconnect with each other, and recenter your spirits.

As you entered the room, the fae-light chandelier cast a gentle glow above, its flickering light dancing across the walls. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting long shadows. Yet, you found yourself alone. Evidently, your mate had not yet managed to extricate himself from his own pressing duties. You eased into a seat at the magnificently carved table, pouring yourself a glass of rich, ruby-red wine. Settling back into the large, high-backed chair, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe in the enveloping silence.

Life before the mating bond had certainly never been dull. As the daughter of a prominent merchant residing near the border of the Autumn Court, your days were a whirlwind of activity—entertaining guests, immersing yourself in study, assisting with the intricacies of business dealings, and attending court. Yet now, it seemed you rarely found a moment to draw a breath, as the demands of your new life swept you along in their relentless current.

The sharp, rhythmic clatter of boots echoed down the hallway, each step growing louder until Eris' familiar scent—a mix of pine and something musky—filled the air before he even appeared. You turned your head eagerly to welcome him, but as he stepped through the gracefully arched doorway, it was impossible to miss the storm cloud hovering over his expression. His forehead was knitted in a deep frown, and his hair was tousled, evidence of the restless fingers that had clearly raked through it more than once. His shoulders were rigid, like a bow drawn taut, ready to release. Most telling of all was his failure to flash that usual bright smile upon seeing you.

Eris approached the table with a slowing gait, just enough to lean forward. He placed a steadying hand on your shoulder and gave you a kiss, yet it lacked its usual fervor, missing the lingering, breath-stealing passion that typically marked his arrival.

When he broke from the kiss, he settled into the seat across from you and immediately reached for the bottle to pour himself a glass. You watched him closely, studying the lines of his face. "Everything okay?" you asked.

Eris looked up from pouring, set the bottle down, and took a long gulp from his glass before answering. "I'm fine," he replied, though his tone didn't quite convince.

"You don't seem fine, my love," you said.

Eris placed his glass back on the table, adjusting in his seat as he exhaled deeply. "It's nothing," he insisted.

“Well, it sure seems like something,” you pressed further. “What happened between now and earlier today?”

Besides his habit of running his hands through his ginger hair when anxious, his constantly shaking leg was another dead giveaway. Something had definitely happened; you just couldn’t pinpoint out what.

You mentally sorted through a list of potential issues. The Autumn Court was currently thriving, and nothing urgent came to mind that could have dampened his mood, especially when he had been so lively earlier.

Eris had averted his eyes to the table, trying to keep his gaze from meeting yours. Normally, when he was hiding something from you, he would avoid looking at you at all. The second your eyes would meet his the entire facade he had been wearing would erode—something that served you well, but at times tormented him.

“Eris—” you urged softly, your voice low and laced with affection and also a seriousness that couldn’t be ignored. “Tell me what’s happening, my love.”

After a tense, lingering silence, he finally lifted his gaze. His tongue licked over his teeth—a nervous, winding gesture—as he weighed the right words for whatever was on his mind. “I don’t want to upset you,” he murmured.

Tilting your head ever so slightly, you replied with the same calm insistence, “Well, now that I know it’s about me, I think it’s even more important that I know what’s going on.”

With a resigned sigh, Eris leaned forward over the table. “Before I say anything, I need you to understand that I in no way endorse what was said, nor will I act on any of it,” he declared.

A frown creased your brow, the confusion and creeping anxiety twisting deeper like thorns in your stomach.

He hesitated, eyes darting from yours to the table and back in a silent plea of understanding or perhaps more time to cushion the blow. “My father—”

You arched your head back and released a low, sour growl, the sound echoing the bitter disappointment that bubbled within you. “Oh, so it’s your father,” you retorted.

Your loathing for Beron Vanserra was as fierce as Eris’s own—its roots tangled in a history spanning decades. Beron had all but attempted to murder Eris once he’d been almost forced to abdicated the High Lordship, on the strict condition that he remain at Eris’s side as part of the council. Beyond his controlling tyranny and his cruel, abusive past with both his wife and sons, Beron harbored a deep hatred for you. To him, you were the shadow behind Eris’s newfound courage to challenge his rule, the unseen poison that had emboldened his favorite son against him. In your defense, you had spoken little of any ambition concerning Eris’s potential ascension. You had maintained that the choice should be solely his, offering nothing but unwavering support in the swells of his decision making. Yet when Beron was receiving Eris’s propostion, you were standing just outside the council chamber as he hurled ignoble slurs—”whore and “power-hungry bitch”—in your direction. In that moment, Eris had come perilously close to severing his father’s head in retribution. Ever since, the mere whisper of Beron’s name left a bitter, acrid taste in your mouth.

Casting a dagger-like glance toward your mate—a look darkened by resentment. “And what, prey tell, does my remarkably kind father-in-law have to say about me now?” you challenged.

Eris’s gaze dropped back to the table as he deftly twirled one of the silver forks between his fingers, the metal glinting under the soft light. “He made it abundantly clear that he believes we’re taking too long to produce an heir,” he said, his voice laced with frustration.

You rolled your eyes, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh that seemed to echo through the room. “And what does he expect us to do about it? It’s not as if we haven’t been trying,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

Eris nodded, his warm hand reaching across to rest reassuringly over yours. “He knows that,” he reassured, his touch grounding. “Everyone on the council is aware of that.”

In any other realm, the notion of ten elderly council members being privy to your and your mate’s rather passionate and frequent attempts to conceive would send a shiver down your spine. Yet, the matter of an heir was of paramount importance to the court, with significant interest vested in ensuring the High Lord had a successor.

“So what now?” you questioned, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. “What does he suggest I do? Since he’s clearly an expert in fertility healing,” you added, the words dripping with irony.

Eris’s father had once suggested that unless his son exercised “complete and total control” over you, preventing you from “running wild around the court making a spectacle of yourself,” you would never produce an heir. He had deemed you “too loose” and “brazen,” criticizing the way you carried yourself with confidence and poise.

That choice of words had almost driven you to seize one of Eris’s swords, your mind briefly entertaining the thought of storming into his father’s chambers to slit his throat. But Eris had physically restrained you, even while you kicked back at him with the strength of a donkey.

Eris took a deep breath, his eyes focused intently on the spot where his fingers traced gentle, rhythmic circles on the back of your hand. "He had suggested that if we didn't conceive within the next year, I should consider taking on a mistress."

The word "mistress" struck you like a physical blow, and your vision blurred as shock settled over you. The mere thought of your mate entwined with another female sent a surge of fiery indignation through you, making you want to storm out of the dining room and stab your fork right into Beron's eye. "I see," you replied, your voice strained as you clenched your napkin in your lap so tightly that you feared your nails might splinter and snap under the pressure.

Eris squeezed your hand reassuringly, his voice soft and earnest. "You know I would never do that."

Your eyes snapped up to meet his, your words laced with an intensity that surprised even you. "Did you tell him that?"

Eris momentarily looked taken aback by the sharpness in your tone, his brow furrowing slightly. "Of course I did, my love."

Your lower lip trembled with anger, and you blinked rapidly to keep the hot tears from spilling over, even as they threatened to escape. You shook your head, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep your emotions in check. "Just because your mother was the most fertile female to have ever been born doesn't mean that I am too."

"I know that," Eris reassured, his voice steady and calm.

"What?!" you exclaimed, your exasperation giving way to anger. "Does he think I'm just toxic? Does he think I'm willing myself to be sterile?"

Eris exhaled softly, a hint of weariness in his sigh. "I don't know what he thinks, but ultimately it doesn't matter."

“What did the other council members say?” You asked, your voice quivering as though it might shatter.

Eris hesitated, and the silence felt like a lead weight sinking your stomach.

“They’re eager for an heir, sooner rather than later.”

A wave of nausea surged through you, and you stared blankly at the table, gnawing at your cheek.

Eris’s hand enveloped yours, a gentle anchor trying to pull you back to the present. “It’s going to be alright,” he whispered.

You lifted your gaze to meet his, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Would you do it?” You asked quietly, each word laden with fear.

Eris’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you take on a mistress if I couldn’t give you an heir?” You pressed.

His mouth fell open, disbelief etched in his features. He leaned closer, the golden glimmer of his eyes shimmering as he gazed at you, unwavering. “Of course not, my love. I would never do that to you.”

“Yes, but if I couldn’t—“ You stammered, words tumbling out in a rush, “couldn’t give you a child, for the good of the court, would you?”

Eris paused, and for a moment, the room seemed to echo with the sound of your heart, shattering.

“No—no,” he shook his head vehemently, as if dismissing the thought itself. “I would never, ever, do that to you.”

“What if I gave my blessing?” You whispered, a tear tracing down your cheek in a long, wet line.

“Why would you even suggest such a thing?” He asked, his continued bewilderment turning almost into fear.

You shrugged, tears now readily overflowing. “It’s vital that you continue your line. That you pass on your gifts to a successor.” A pause, a deep breath to muster courage. “If it came down tot he continuation of the court and my happiness, it would be selfish—treasonous of me to stand in the way.”

Eris rose from his seat, only to descend to his knees before you, clasping your hands in his own trembling grasp. His eyes, filled with an ocean of sorrow, met yours, as if the sheer weight of your tears was enough to fracture his soul. “My love,” he began, his voice soft, unwavering. “The Mother bestowed upon me the blessing of finding my mate, my missing half. The other fragment of my soul that I once despaired for ever knowing.” His thumbs caressed the backs of your hands. “She wove our paths together, for in every essence—mind, body, and soul—we are destined to intertwine. To share the tapestry of our lives side by side. No world exists where I could desire—crave—anyone but you. You are as entwined within me as I am within myself, and to bear a child with another would desecrate the sacred blessing the Mother bestowed upon me in the form of you.” He looked down, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. “In truth, I don’t think I could ever be with anyone else again. You have unraveled me and rebuilt me in your essence.” He paused, his gaze locking on yours with fiery intensity. “If it came to that, I would rather throw away my title than be with any other. And I mean that with every fiber of my being.”

“Eris—“ you began, trying to cut him off. The notion was outrageous, a fantasy. For him to renounce his title, the very thing he had dedicated his entire life to achieving, just because you might not produce an heir was beyond all comprehension. But before your voice could protest, he interrupted you with a fierce determination.

“My love, there is no universe where I could cherish any child as I would cherish ours. We have all the time in the world to try, and if fate decides otherwise, then we will embrace the truth that our destiny is to spend eternity together. And for me, that is more than enough.”

Your heart swelled and you leaned forwards out of your chair into Eris’s waiting arms. He wrapped himself around you, one arm pulling your waist, the other gently cradling the back of your head, his fingers massaging into your hair, you let out sobs, each one a release of the pent-up feelings of anger and intense sadness, mingling with the loving devotion of your mate. He pressed kiss after gentle kiss into your temple, his lips warm and reassuring, as he rocked you back and forth until you could find your balance once more. You leaned back, feeling the heat of your flushed face, tendrils of hair sticking to your skin, dampened by your tears. A soft laugh escaped you as you wiped your face with trembling hands. “I’m sorry—I look like a mess.”

Eris gently pulled your hands away, cupping your cheeks with a tenderness that you melted into. “You look beautiful,” he whispered. He leaned forwards, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, inhaling his scent deeply, a mixture of smoke and spice that grounded you. Your mate. Your devoted, love-sick mate who would willingly burn his entire life to the ground if it meant securing your happiness.

Looking down at you, he chuckled softly. “Though,” he began, “I‘d by lying if I said that I am not more than a little happy that I can continue to fuck you senseless.” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “For the good of the court, of course.”

You laughed in a response, a small hiccup escaping you. “Of course,” you drawled, wiping at your face. “We couldn’t so easily forget our duties.”

He threw a quick glance at the table, still laden with untouched food before he turned his smoldering eyes back to you. “Are you hungry?” He asked, a rather teasing edge in his voice.

Your response was a gentle shake of your head. “No, unfortunately. Not so much anymore.”

A sinful grin slowly spread across Eris’ face, causing a heated shiver to travel down your spine. “Well then, my love, let’s use this precious time for more…intimate responsibilities,” he suggested.

His body left yours as he stood, gazing up at him. “Perhaps I should remind you just how deep my devotion to you truly runs.”

His devilish grin widened as he waited for your response. “And how would you do that, my lord?” You asked, your voice lilting just slightly.

Eris wasted no time as he swept the table clean with one strong arm; plates and platters crashed to the floor in a a rush of chaos that had you jumping back slightly from where he stood. His attention returned to you instantly, bending down to grip your hips firmly and hoisting you onto the now clear table.

Hunger evident in his eyes, he gently parted your thighs and leaned closer, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he pushed your hair aside. The sensation of his lips and teeth exploring the sensitive skin beneath left you breathless.

“You made a mess,” you managed to moan out rather than complain.

A low growl vibrated against your chest as he nipped at your ear. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Your hands found their way to his broad shoulders, gripping them in a fervor, your nails sinking into the firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt. He yanked you closer, his powerful hands anchored securely on the swell of your hips, grinding into you with carnal intent. “Fuck, you‘re divine,” he groaned against your ear, his voice like whiskey and smoke.

You learned your head back, offering him the full expanse of your neck and chest like a sacrificial alter. “You’re my whole universe,” he murmured, his heat-soaked world painting an intoxicating image of obsession. “You’re the reason I wake in the mornings, why I draw breath.”

His roving hands ventured away from your hips, hiking up the hem of your gown until it rode high on your thighs. His fingers fanned out along the softness of your flesh, kneading and caressing as he pressed his body into yours.

He claimed your mouth in a heated kiss, his lips parting in tandem with yours to allow for a passionate exploration, his tongue danced with yours in a sweet torment that had you gasping for air. Your fingers tangled into his wild hair, pulling and yanking at the strands as you sought something solid to anchor yourself.

The blistering heat simmering between your thighs danced enticingly against the bulge of his throbbing arousal, igniting a wire fire that shot through every nerve ending in your body.

Eris, with a low growl, bit onto your lip, his teeth marking you before he withdrew, leaving a pang of emptiness behind. His gaze fell down on his tan trousers, now stained with the evidence of your own rampant desire. “Eager little minx,” he purred, a lascivious grin on his face as he released himself from the constraints of his clothing, his trousers still sitting low on his chiseled hips.

Your breath hitched at the sight of him, stroking his thick, inviting shaft with an insatiable hunger glistening in his eyes that made you feel like the most desirable female in existence.

Discarding your own demureness, you hiked up your skirts, revealing your drenched panties acting as the final barrier to the ecstasy that Eris was promising.

Pushing them aside, Eris’ eyes darkened even more—if possible—as he watched them snag and stretch against your slick, glistening skin.

Your arousal was so peak high that the mere touch of the fabric skimming over you had you gasping out moans that sounded like sweet melodies in his ears.

As he pleasured himself, your eyes locked onto him. His rhythm hastened at the sight of your unveiled desire. You widened the inviting gap of your thighs, keeping your eyes focused on him as he seemed to lean back into his hips, arching his back, letting out a load, audible groan.

You traced your fingers up your satin-like inner thighs, teasing the edges of your exposed core. Your head feel back in anticipation, caught up in the erotic symphony of Eris’s hand colliding against and again with his hard length mixed with the intoxicating sounds of his small moans.

Your hands ventured further down, your fingers exploring the trail of your desire. As you pulled your fingers apart a shining residue of your arousal was left glistening on each one of them. You tantalizingly brought them to your lips, tasting your own sweetness.

“Fuck—“ Eris growled out as you opened your sultry eyes, casting him a heavy look of need. “What I’d do for you,” he groaned.

You traced your hand down the length of your body. “And what would you do for me, my lord?” You purred back as your hand returned to your core. You used two fingers to spread yourself to reveal the jewel of pleasure that Eris craved so passionately.

At the display, he released a trembling groan and swallowed hard against what you thought might be a trembling climax that he was already at the edge of. “I’d burn whole realms for you,” he growled fiercely. You slid a finger down through the center of your split core. “I’d tear apart anyone who laid claim to you.” As you circled your clit, a shaking moan that escaped from you. “I’d pull the gods from their thrones and place you atop them. I’d surrender my entire life for yours.” You gently slipped a finger into the welcoming heat, then another one followed rhythmically, driving the poor male into a frenzy as he tugged at himself. His cock now a deep crimson, almost throbbing with intense longing.

Your mind raced, suddenly conjuring up the unwanted vivid to a tableau of Eris, entwined passionately with another female. His resonant moans, those heady sounds you had so effortlessly drawn from him, now being elicited by her as he drove into her. His chiseled muscular back flexing as he rutted, sending trails of desire coursing through his veins as her unknown throat moaned out his name as he explored her curves like a playground.

Your brows furrowed, a challenge flashed in your eyes towards him as you amplified the rhythm of your own gratification. Your fingers danced over your clit, the pulsating caresses in synchrony with the fervent plunge and withdrawal of your other fingers into your heated depth. You pleasured yourself to this haunting image, a wildfire of rage and competitive desire fueling your passion forwards.

Eris seemed utterly captivated by the sight, he senses consuming him. He allowed himself to surrender into the intoxicating allure, his body responding to your own pace and matching the rhythm with his hand as his hips worked in tandem to work himself over.

You hadn’t wanted this imagery to clutter your thoughts. But everything spun into an uncontrollable whirl of erotic images and scenes, each successive the previous with more intense encounters between your mate and this unseen female.

Eris released a fragile whimper, his hand faltering ever so slightly, breaking the rhythm as though he was in a struggle to restrain himself. “I need to be deep inside of you,” his voice was raspy, almost a groan. “Let me feel the tight warmth of you clasping around me, my love.”

Barely thinking, your hands continued to move with skilled precision over your own body, each encounter with your skin sending tingles through you. You shot back at him, “Fuck me like it’s your last breath, with the desperation of a male starved for pleasure.“ You moaned lightly. “Like this might be your last taste of ecstasy.”

Eris seemed to flinch for a moment, his piercing eyes slightly unhinged by your phrasing. But when you increased the rhythm of your self-pleasure, your chest heaving in rapid succession of anticipation and tantalizing pleasure, he seemed to figure out that if he didn’t act quickly, you would reach that peak with or without him.

Eris moved closer, positioning his hard length at your inviting entrance as you held yourself open to him. He gripped his arousal at the base and carefully guided the throbbing head through the tightness, pushing all the way to the hilt. His breathing staggering hitched in his throat as the delicious warmth of you encasing him was overwhelmingly intoxicating.

He lingered for a slow, burning moment as he steadied himself. His eyes were shut tightly as he whimpered, like he was holding himself back.

Tenderly, your hands rose up to cup his face as he gazed down upon you. With your legs wrapped snugly around him, you whispered a sweet dare into the air. “Take me as if our existence depends on it.”

With one hand strategically positioned behind you for balance, Eris’s low growl echoed in the room as he forcefully gripped your hip, placing his other flexed hand on the table while driving powerfully into you. His thrusts were so ferocious that you slid back on the table, teetering on the edge of losing your positioning until Eris assertively yanked you back to the precipice. The air seemed charged with the tensed desire, both yours and his, magnifying by the desperation wrought by your circumstances. It was all raw, carnal passion—need.

His relentless pace did nothing to soothe his growing frustration towards how much you shifted with each stroke. Pulling back, his sculpted chest rose and fell rapidly with his labored breaths; he rasped out a simple command: “Bend over.”

You willingly complied, abandoning your perch on the table to present your torso over it’s smooth surface.

Eris traced a firm hand along your arching back, as he hitched your skirt back up revealing your bare essence to him once again. After teasing himself briefly, he repositioned himself and began again.

Your body sank beneath his touch as you leaned on your forearms and pressing into your toes to give him easier access. As he reclaimed his place within you, it felt like uncharted territory, a new depth that sent waves of pleasure through you—a heavy pressure that made your lower abdomen ache deliciously.

Your body responded without your conscious choice as you arched upwards, muscles straining as you supported yourself on shaking arms. Each thrust from Eris elicited short, desperate moans from your lips. His own grunts were beginning to take on a raw, primal edge as he drove into you relentlessly, his breath hissing through gritted teeth. His hand roamed from the small of your back to your shoulders, fingers digging in if trying to pull you even closer with each powerful pump. His muscled torso smashed against your soft curves in perfect rhythm, your bodies creating a symphony of harmonious moans and the slick clapping of skin against skin.

“Harder,” you panted out, your own fingers digging into the linen tablecloth.

His only response was a deeper, more powerful thrust, his hard cock filling every inch of you, deep enough to feel him in your stomach. You began to mirror his rhythm, arching your hips against his thighs. Each time he withdrew only to plunge back into you with heightened force that brought forth gasps of pleasure from both of you.

Eris’s strong hand found its way to your ass, gripping it with such intensity that you were certain to find a constellation of blue-purple reminders tomorrow. Your head fell forward languidly between your outstretched arms as he continued his relentless pounding. His fingers abandoned the tender flesh to circle the inner curve of your thigh, his muscled torso pressing into your trembling back as he leaned down onto you. His fingers danced down the length of your thigh before stopping at the apex of your core, drawing circles over the most tantalizing spot.

The sensation was overwhelming, a wave of pleasure so intense that your screams were muffled only by the table beneath you as he drove into you. His ragged moaning accompanying each thrust echoed in your ears. “That’s it,” he grunted. “Take it. Good girl, take every fucking inch of me.” His thrusts escalated in power, pushing your body against the sturdy table before releasing you over and over while his fingers continued to work your clit that throbbed with anticipation.

“Fuck, Eris—” You wheezed out in a sharp exhale.

“Say it, my love. Say my name.” He replied.

You recited his name like a confession until he started echoing yours with equal fervor.

Your toes tightened in your heels and a divine tingle of your climax started forming at the base of your skull.

In between stifled moans, you managed to utter out a warning, “Fuck, I’m on the edge, don’t stop!” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Eris complied with no hesitation, his motions continuing as he pinched, circled and tugged at your clit which sent a jolt of pleasure through making you squirm beneath him.

As the delightful tingle began snaking down your spin, you felt the intense clenching sensation in your core, occurring in waves. It was the release you had been so intensely waiting for—burning a trail down your body like a wave of heat. It was as though your body pulsed around him, rhythmic waves, grasping and attempting to pull Eris over with you.

He was right on your heels. His thrusts persisted, driving you through the contractions of your orgasm until he could hold off no longer. You felt him give in to his lustful release deep within you, warm and more profound than any time you had been intimate before. He bent over you, his hands clutching at your hips as though they were his lifeline. You could practically feel the heat from his body as he moaned, a sharp intake of breath between gritted teeth accompanying each pulse as he spilled deep into you.

Finally, he descended from the euphoric peak, seeming to float back down to earth. His chest remained taut and panting as he eased off you, your face still resting on its side,

remnants of pleasure still coursing through you. He tenderly brushed strands of hair from your flushed face, his fingers ghostly against your skin as he planted a soft kiss on your cheek. “Are you alright?” His question was sincere, his other hand tracing comforting circles on your dampened back.

“Mm,” you responded, eyes still veiled by heavy lids.

Eris gradually separated himself from you, an audible moan escaping him at the final pull out, as if the sensation had sent shockwaves through his every nerve. His fingers leisurely explored your backside; even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was admiring his handiwork.

A low grunt slipped from him as his fingers traced up your slickened crevasse, painted in a cocktail of your combined arousal. “Fuck—” he muttered so quietly, that you knew it had been unintended. Suddenly and without warning, he plunged two fingers deep into you causing a breathy whimper to leap from your lips.

“There,” he whispered huskily, “None of it goes to waste.”

His fingers continued their dance inside you, lightly twisting and kneading your tender walls painted with his essence. Your response was a soft symphony of moans.

"Do you want more, my love?" He queried, his voice dipped in honeyed seduction. "Do you need more?"

You whimpered out an eager confirmation and as if on cue, Eris pulled away from you leaving a void that consumed you.

The harsh grating sound of a chair scraping against the floor reached your ears before his commanding voice followed with "Come here, my love.”

Turning your head slightly towards the sound, there he was—an arousing silhouette seated by the glow of the flickering firelight; his arousal rigid and glistening in its golden glow.

“Come,” he beckoned again, “I'll satisfy your craving.”

Rising off the table, your dress cascaded down around you and warm trails of your shared climax trickled down your trembling thighs.

As you approached him, wide-legged and inviting, he instructed, “Take off your dress.” His cock twitched in anticipation against his chiseled torso of his opened shirt.

Stopping before him, you slipped your heels off and made quick work of the ties securing your gown—it pooled at your feet.

Eris surveyed you with a savage, primal hunger, his lips moistening in undisguised desire. "Gods-damn gorgeous," he breathed out, voice husky as he stretched one hand towards you. You took it, and he drew you back into his sphere of heat and lust, turning you so your back pressed was to him, mere inches from his body. His hands rested on your ribs, fingertips tracing a tantalizing path along the curve of your sides down to the swell of your hips. His gentle tug guided you downwards onto his lap, onto his semi-hard cock that demanded attention. It entered you slowly, inch by agonizingly delicious inch, setting off a crescendo of moans from deep within you.

Eris allowed you to adjust to the exquisite intrusion, your ass settling on the curve of his thrusting hips that eagerly came forward to cradle you. You reclined languidly against his defined chest, your head nestled in the crook of his neck and shoulder while his fingers danced along your thighs, guiding them open. The flickering fire provided a welcoming warmth against the sensual slickness that was still weeping out from within you, rolling down Eris' arousal and staining both pants and chair alike.

"That's it," he purred, "Spread your legs for me for me, love."

With him buried so deep within you moving seemed near impossible as waves of satisfaction washed over you. Yet he nudged them apart persistently, draping them over the chair's arms so that you were fully exposed and ripe for his enjoyment; completely naked in the heart of the dining room with Eris' rock-hard cock nestled snugly within you.

He kissed at your neck and shoulders, rocking his hips slowly, nothing like the punishing pace of splayed on the table, but just enough to continue to churn the orgasmic fluids that rested deep inside of you. At the same time, his fingers returned to your core, teasing over your clit with the pads of his fingertips in slow circles.

His other hand made it’s way to your breast, toying lightly at the pebbled nipple, twisting it in his fingers and light flicking it. His world revolved around you, and your soft, staggering moans were music to his ears.

Your body was still ablaze from the aftershocks of your previous peak, hypersensitive and yearning amidst the haze of pleasure. As he drove into you with languid yet powerful strokes from below, complementing it with the rhythmic play on your clit; it was all too much. You let out a delicate whimper before your body started convulsing again. “Surrender to me, love,” He urged. “I want to feel you fall apart again.”

Obediently, your body rippled against him as a fresh wave of euphoria crashed over you. Your skin sprouted goosebumps under his touch, and a loud moan escaped you as ecstasy took control once again.

Your body melted against him, utterly exhausted and breathless, as you lay cradled in his embrace, the aftermath of passion leaving you completely spent. With tender care, he swept your hair away from your face, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek. He carefully lifted your body, handling you with the delicate touch one might use with fragile glass, before settling you back down on his chest, where his now relaxed member rested lightly against your back. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he whispered in your ear, pressing a warm kiss to your temple. “Let’s get you to bed, my sweet angel.”

My spay appointment is tomorrow at 8:00 AM. My mom can drop me off if yours can pick us up.

Part Three: Yearning

[starheavenly]

hiii!!! loving your locket comics!!!!!! just wanted to ask a few questions about your process, if you dont mind :D

whats your general process like?

do you do thumbnails, how do they look like?

roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

how detailed are your sketches? do you do multiple?

do you have any specific techniques for lineart?

do you typically use references for your comics?

generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

do you have any advice for drawing comics?

sorry for for the absolute bombardment of questions, lmao. just really enjoy your art and comics and very interested in the behind the scenes!! feel free to skip any questions (or this whole ask) well wishes and salutations!!! :D

Hello! I'm so glad you enjoy my comics, and I totally don't mind breaking down the process!

For a normal comic page, I would likely actually write a script since it's much easier to keep track of dialogue and actions. But since these are short, I just write it into my thumbnails.

Step 1: Thumbnails. Easily one of my favorite parts, since I get to throw all my ideas down. I do these comics on a 2-panel grid, so I don't have to worry about actual paneling, and it allows me to focus more on the setup of each shot. Think of it like storyboarding!

Step 2: Add cleaner thumbs if needed. I actually made 3D models of Deadlock and Ratchet's chest in Blockbench, so I often trace them to save myself some time! (It might look insane, but I promise, for me, it's not.)

Step 3: Lettering! I actually like to get the lettering out of the way right away since it can take a while. Ever since I started treating lettering as its own form of art, my skills have gotten better, but it also takes much longer.

Step 4: Clean sketch! I'm just now finding out that people think I’m doing lineart for these? I am not… these are all just clean sketches. Maybe doing the blackwork gives the illusion of lineart?

Step 5: Color! Most of these comics are in black and white to save time, but it also lets me focus on values and shot framing again. I add my glow overlay to the eyes, and boom, done!

Roughly how long does it take you to complete a comic panel or page?

It really depends on how complicated the panels are. I like to step out of my comfort zone. I know the Grimlock and Misfire one took longer because of how many panels there were and the fact that I was drawing characters I’d never drawn before, but I’d say it usually takes around 5-8 hours for a whole page.

Do you typically use references for your comics?

I'm literally the reference GOD- we all know this. But yes, I love using references and doing character studies. I have yet to do a study on LL Drift, but I have a few references of him that I’ve made.

Generally, how much effort and focus do you put into your comics?

I mean, I wouldn't say I don't put in a lot of effort? I put in enough. I don't know… there's a point in the clean sketch process where you can kind of just turn off your brain. I'm passionate about comics, but we can all agree there's a point in a drawing where you just zone out.

Do you have any advice for drawing comics?

I think being able to balance dialogue and visuals is super important. I don't know if you guys have picked up a graphic novel from Barnes & Noble recently, but if you open a page, you'll see a character sitting with the biggest bubble you've ever seen, filled with paragraphs of text. While I get it—being a novel as much as it's graphic—I personally like to visualize emotions more. If it means adding two more panels to make an interesting dialogue setup, I don't mind doing it. Another thing to remember is that not all panels need to have details or 100% effort. Sometimes you need to simplify and move on, and that's okay! Those two extra panels that are giving you a better stage setup might be the ones that need fewer details and less time. I would consider my comic page work and my 4-panel work very different. One is about paneling, setup, and visuals, while the other is very much like storyboarding. Both are skills you learn with practice and study.

[galacticsuperstitions]

the minds of a lab at three different points (LONG rambling under the cut)

I am constantly in awe of the analyses people put out about Arknights on this website. I feel like my own interpretations are somewhat lacking as a result, but I was confident enough to post this, at least. I've had this idea for a long time now, I think since Lone Trail released, but I've only been able to make the time for it now.

Rhine Lab has so many fucked up elements and people involved in it that it's actually impressive. They were really gunning for "most unethical scientific consortium" reward. Really, though, it's just the result of Kristen gunning for her parents' wishes. All of the directors want something and all of those somethings are different.

Things I want to mention or just feel proud of (allowing myself this because of how long this took):

-I was originally planning on crossing out Saria's surname to reflect that we still don't know what it is in canon, but I don't know why whoever has this poster would do that, so I just kept it in. Hermon refers to Mount Hermon, which Saria's name apparently derives from. Technically, her name here is the same thing twice. Oh well.

-I don't know who this poster belongs to. It's just in some Rhine Lab tech's personal desk, I guess? Doesn't explain the doodles, though. Maybe they were bored and feeling spiteful about the potential job insecurity of your boss being comatose in space.

-I realized only while making this post that I made Saria's, Muelsyse's, and Jara's doodles reference Kristen, yet Kristen's only references herself and her parents. Completely unintentional, but appropriate nonetheless.

-I am so happy with how the poster came out. It makes up for how hard I had to fight Canva for it to come out like that. Here it is in full if you want to look at it closely for whatever reason. (writing an actual description for this thing was fun!)

-Andenate doesn't actually have a face under the sticky note. That's why he's still Mike Wazowski'd in the poster png. I didn't feel like drawing one since it wouldn't be shown in the finished pieces anyway. His jacket is just the same as Magallan's.

-Ifrit's picture board was a literal last-minute addition. It's why the images are sketches rather than being in the lineless style of the poster. It feels fitting, though, so I'm keeping it that way. Seeing Ifrit all grown up and doing so well in Lone Trail was wonderful. There's something in her being happy and healthy and also surrounded by not just her loved ones and friends from Rhine Lab, but also people outside of it. She's cultivated her life to be as fulfilling as she wants it to be, and while there is still room to grow, she has plenty of support and insight from others for it to do so. I may be misrepresenting her a bit (the sleepiness doesn't help), but man. I love Ifrit. She's so cool.

[onionpainter]

just found your blog, I think your paintings are absolutely gorgeous! I've been wondering, what draws you to work with oil paints above other mediums? I've found them very tricky to work with in the past and I'm fascinated by the depth and cleanliness you can bring to them

Hello there, thank you for asking! I’m very glad to hear you enjoy my work :) I have many reasons why I must work in oil, allow me to offer you this numbered list. I am very normal about it.

The art which I have grown up loving and aspiring to make was largely made with oil. It is my strong feeling that if you want to recreate an art style, the easiest way to achieve this is to use the same medium in the same way that the original artist made their work in. All mediums have their own idiosyncrasies and it is far more practical to use the same medium than to try to recreate the effect of one medium through another medium. I learned this the hard way trying to achieve the particular look of paint tool SAI, first through drawings coloured with water based paints, then with clip studio paint. It is better to use the same materials that your chosen art movement used if you want to work accurately in the style. I was asked once why I don’t use watercolour. I don’t use watercolour because I can’t make an oil painting out of it.

They are difficult to gain control over. This seems like a point against them, but let me tell you why this is a point in their favour for me. There was a time in my digital illustration career when I hit a very brutal plateau. I was very bored and I strongly disliked working on my commissions. Digital art had ceased to be particularly hard in terms of program handling, but my drawing skills were weak at the time. I decided I needed something properly difficult, and not having had time or space until that point to work in oil, I took it up again. Being so unpracticed and unskilled, it was very punishing, frustrating, and unrewarding, and by the end of my painting practice I would be begging to return to the relative ease of my digital work. Of course, there is only so long that I can engage with a skill before I fall into a bottomless pit of commitment.

Another point regarding difficulty and maybe more importantly, perceived difficulty. I am a highly competitive person, some might say pathologically. And since oil is often seen as the most difficult medium [although I would say, again, it is the easiest thing to make an oil painting out of] there is then less overall competition within the medium than there is in water based mediums for example. I compare this to another scenario, that of horse training. Why would a horse trainer choose to work with feral, unhandled mustangs, when you can work with a nice horse who has been handled and conditioned from foalhood? One reason is to show very high level horsemanship. If you train a mustang then you really know how to train horses. Technical difficulty can be dealt with, it is only a matter of hundreds of hours of work. Oversaturation of a niche, however, is a much more difficult problem, which is also out of my personal control. I’d rather prove myself against one oil painter than three acrylic painters.

On the topic of perceptions, oil is commonly seen as the most valuable type of painting. I’m not saying that’s a fair perception, just that it exists. Often when people think of “good paintings” the paintings they imagine are typically in oil. I’m sure we’ve all seen particularly dynamic fotografs compared to oil paintings. This has two functions for me, one, that I can make these objects of perceived value, which please and entertain. The second function of them is to legitimize myself as an artist in the eyes of the general public. Digital art is a commonly devalued and little known or cared about art form, even though so much incredible contemporary art is of digital mediums. Unless someone is already involved in digital art communities, it can be difficult for them to relate to it or even imagine what it could be, or how it is made, even though it permeates society. Digital art is seen as low art. On the other hand, the first thing that comes to mind for people when they think of art or “Fine Art” is usually oil paintings. There are significant social advantages to being able to say “I am a painter” versus the awkwardness of having to admit “I am a digital illustrator” with all of the confusion and skepticism that brings. Again, I don’t bring this up in order to champion this line of thinking, I am just saying that this perception exists.

On a technical level, there is something about oil. The textures and handling needs of the different pigments and mediums, and the physical feeling of manipulating all of it is something I cannot do without. My teacher who first introduced me to oil compared it as painting with melted butter against the feeling of painting with glue or toothpaste, which he felt about acrylic paint. This is a matter of opinion, but one I agree with. There are tactile sensations which only exist in oil, and the longer drying time allows for much more mixing on the palette. I would be furious if I spent time mixing a colour only for it to dry and become unusable within the hour.

The dangers involved, both to the art in terms of archival quality, and to myself in terms of poisoning or fire, make this medium into something that demands strict attention. Many of my materials can kill if I do not handle them correctly. To me, this immediate danger brings the specter of death from the shadows and defangs him, transforms an unknown terror into a banal familiar matter. These materials might harm me, but instead they help me and they are my dear familiar companions. My duty is just to honour and steward them well and help them fulfill their purpose, which is to please and entertain.

In terms of my recommendation of this medium to others, I would recommend it if you are the kind of person who can withstand slow progress and who wants to earn something hard. Beginnerhood typically lasts a long time with these materials, unless you are a particularly strong painter in other mediums already and have a good teacher. I wouldn’t know because I am the initially unskilled type. A warning for the initially skilled people reading this: there will come a time in your practice when your initial skills are no longer adequate for the task ahead. I suggest you learn how to work hard before you come to this point so it will be less devastating for you. Enjoy the simple struggles of your beginning, even if it may overall be very boring. Lose yourself within it. The milestones of the intermediate stage are much farther apart than those in the beginner’s fight.

With regards to your comment on cleanliness, first I thank you, that is very kind. I allow myself to work slowly and try to control my impulsivity. Speed will come with time and experience, I am content with a slow and measured process for now.

[icequeenlila]

Context: They're walking back to their shared dorm.

"Don't you worry what people think when they see you with me?"

This time the pull inside his gut wasn't as bad, still Bradley couldn't find it in himself to look at Max.

"You know", Max said. "I'm amazed every time I remember you managed to make an entire campus believe you're this untouchable ego-king." He cocked his head, looking at Bradley with caring eyes. "When in reality, you have pretty much no self-esteem."

Bradley kicked a pebble on the floor.

"If you only ever interact with people on a shallow basis, it's pretty easy to pretend", Bradley said with a shrug. "And before you, the only person I ever actually talked to was Tank."

"Well, then I consider myself honored to be one of the few people allowed to see your real self", Max said and the smile on his lips was so fond that it left no doubt he actually meant it.

Bradley didn’t deserve him.

"And to put your mind to rest," Max said, his thumb running along Bradley's palm again, sending shivers through his traitorous body. "If it was possible I'd let the whole world know that I am dating Bradley Uppercrust the third, and that I'm so, so very happy about the fact."

Bradley felt that fragile thing inside his chest again. His cheeks burned and he didn't try to hide it. There was a lump building in his throat, and Bradley swallowed it down. If it was just Max, maybe he'd let his emotions run free, but there was just no way he'd let a single tear slip when he was outside, in bright daylight.

"I'm very happy too", he said and his voice was barely audible even to his own ears.

Max’ smile was booming. He looked at Bradley like he was the most precious thing he'd ever seen.

The thought alone made his heart swell with unbearable warmth. The thought that Braldey might be precious to Max.

"Wait", Max said, eyes growing big. "I have an idea."

He abruptly stopped on the sidewalk, almost making a guy on a skateboard bump into them.

"Yo, watch your step!"

Max completely ignored him, instead looking at Bradley with wide eyes and a smile that told him he was up to no good.

"Max?", he asked, his voice wary.

"Two flies with one strike", Max blurted.

"What?"

"You're worried people will judge me for being with you, and you're scared people will realize you're a complete softie for me."

Bradley frowned. "Well, I wouldn't say it like that- "

"I'll proof to you that I don't give a fuck about what people think and draw all attention from you." 

Max sounded more than excited now. Bradley was surprised he didn't see a tail wagging behind his back.

"Goof, I have no idea what you’re talking about", Bradley said, crossing his arms.

Max's smile only grew.

"See those people?", he asked.

They were close to the dorms now. There weren't as many people here as there had been by the main building, but it was the middle of the day and most students were on their way to lectures.

"I do", Bradley said, still lost on what Max was trying to tell him. "What about them?"

There was now a full-on grin on Max' face. "People won't even think of painting you the love-sick one when they see that I'm far worse."

"Wha- "

But it clicked.

If possible, Max’ grin grew even wider.

"Goof", Bradley warned. "Don't do something you'll regre- "

"Hey, everyone!", Max yelled, spinning around with his arms spread wide open.

Pretty much everyone within earshot turned at the sound of his booming voice. He was their golden boy after all.

"Max!", Bradley hissed, hiding half of his face behind one hand.

People even stopped on both sides of the sidewalk to listen to what Max had to say, smiles on their lips and curiosity in their eyes.

"I'm dating Bradley Uppercrust!", Max yelled and Bradley's heart did a painful jump inside his chest. "I'm down bad and I'm super happy!"

People's eyes went wide, a universal murmur filling the campus street.

"No", Braldey said, turning on his heel and power walking away from him.

He felt his heart thundering inside his chest, a mix of adrenalin and euphoria setting his insides alight. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

He heard Max laughing behind him, and then warm fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"Wait for me, Brad!", he called, giggling. "People will think I'm a liar."

"What are you doing!?", he hissed, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from rising.

"Telling everyone how down-bad for you I am", Max answered with the sun in his eyes.

"People will talk!" There was a quiver in his voice, he only barely contained the laughter bubbling up his chest.

"I sure hope they will", Max said, a giddy chuckle in his voice.

"You're mad", Bradley scolded, but no matter how hard he tried to contain it, he couldn't keep the giggle from his voice.

"Only because I wanna kiss you so bad right now", Max said with a dopey grin, his fingers pressing down around Bradley's hand.

Bradley blushed, almost stumbling as they walked towards the nearing dorms in hurried steps.

"You can kiss me all you want once we're back home again", Bradley said, almost feeling ashamed at his own boldness.

But no shame could fester inside his chest when Max looked at him like that. His warm brown eyes widened in surprise, his pupils slightly blown at Bradley's promise.

"Hurry up or I'll carry you", Max said, pulling Bradley along.

+

From chapter 10 of 'Good Luck, Babe!' on ao3.

[martialartslover7]

My main reasons, why, even with the facts, I STILL don't like The Last

Like, even with me keeping in mind, all the things I may end up getting wrong about the movie itself (I already had that experience here), outside of all this, I still would not like the movie. And here are my main reasons why:

Look, man, NaruHina scenes or not, the story, is frankly a glorified mess, like, in all seriousness, I cannot even pretend, an alien invasion (alien tropes, in this day and age, are highly unwelcome in general to me, due to how redundant and overused it has become over the years)? Overabundance of flashbacks to fuel the protagonist's strength? Hinata becoming a damsel in distress for a 3rd time (this isn't the first time, by the way)? The Otsutsuki inclusion as a whole, which frankly breaks the lore on downright biblical proportions, becoming Dragon Ball, if you ordered it on Wish? With a villain as lame and one-note as Toneri? No, thanks.

Are you seriously fine with Hinata being nerfed into the ground, just so the romance plot itself can advance? This point still frankly pisses me off, like, do you even like Hinata? I do, and I am not fine with the girl being made weaker, just so the plot, or especially the romance portion can advance, I know why she couldn't properly use her chakra, because Toneri was messing with her chakra, bla bla bla. It's a fact, that it happened. But I still should be allowed to call it, for what it is: BULLSHIT. Hinata trained her whole life, just to be accepted as the heiress of the entire Hyuga clan, and yet, you are telling me, that, even with all this mumbo-jumbo garbage, she officially becomes less useful than a boil on my bum, and can't channel ANY chakra to stick to the wall? Literally, hanging by a thread, and NEEDING to be saved by Naruto? I dunno about you guys, but I am just so salty over this. EVERYTHING has to hinge on Naruto, because, of course, it's not like, Hinata trained her whole life, having managed to master a technique that not any other Hyuga managed to unlock, having the most the potent of Byakugan with the widest radius in existence, and became a master of the Gentle Fist... ...yeah, pffft, great job. All achievements, off-screen, and we barely even get a glimpse of that in the movie, and for a secondary protagonist, she gets reduced to a jobber, who either gets kidnapped 24/7, or gets easily overpowered, way too quickly, that's just pathetic, man. It ALMOST makes you want to say, "Maybe Hiashi was right to never pick her", and I want to hit myself for saying that.

The romance portion itself, even if, I can somewhat accept the explaination of Naruto being "slow on the draw", or maybe, having been too traumatized to talk to Hinata about this entire debacle with her confession during the Pain arc, because he was still processing all of it, it still doesn't explain how this movie got away with deadass LYING. STRAIGHT TO OUR FACES. ABOUT NARUTO'S INFATUATION WITH SAKURA. Trying to write it off as "Naruto was always in love with Hinata, and he only loved Sakura, out of a desire to compete with Sasuke", WHERE THE FUCK DOES THIS COME FROM? That's just straight up false. Naruto never loved Sakura, just to be in a "competition" with Sasuke, he was just irritated at how Sasuke got all the attention from the girls, while Naruto was left with nothing. It's just a fact, Naruto always had feelings for Sakura, that's literally one of the corner stones that defined the series, and the main characters, especially at the very beginning. Whether you like it or not, Sakura was always part of Naruto's journey, in becoming a better person, and I am saying this as someone, who is a conservative NaruHina shipper. Sure, it was shallow, one-sided, and based entirely on lust, on Naruto's end, but it still happened, you cannot ignore that away. The facts don't care about personal feelings. And mind you, I would have also preferred Hinata to be part of the main cast too, but, it is what it is. This "competition" nonsense, was never once implied in the original material, let alone Hinata "always having been there". That never happened. And look, hear me out, before you sharpen your pitchforks, yes, I get the point, rewrites or reimaginings can happen, I am also guilty of this, I will freely admit it. The vision can sometimes shift, when you get the feeling that, you could have written it better. But to have a whole ass movie dedicated to a whole ship, just to make the ship canon, and in the process having to gaslight everyone watching into thinking "Hinata was always there", is just so... it screams desperation to me, like, "Hmmm, oh god, Hinata is very popular, and NaruHina is super popular too, but they just lack on-screen chemistry, it is there, but it just isn't enough, and I suck at writing female characters on top of everything else, what do I do? Hinata was absent for the majority of the manga, and yet I put so much singular focus on Naruto's bond with Sakura, that can leave a path open for interpretation, which shouldn't even be a thing, if Sasuke exists, so... Let's just retcon everything in one whole movie, because, fuck consistency.". On that note, let me bring up another point that bothers me:

WHERE. THE FUCK. ARE KIBA. SHINO. AND KURENAI? For a movie, that is all about Naruto's and Hinata's bonds, the concerning lack of screentime for Hinata's own teammates, really rubs me the wrong way, on so many levels. Instead of investing all your budget in trying to justify the existence of aliens in the Narutoverse, or relying on cheap and contrived flashbacks, just to fuel a drama, that shouldn't even really BE that dramatic to begin with, why not give me some of that good ol' relationship angst with Hinata's teammates? In the series, she spent way more time with either Kiba or Shino, and there, the interpretation window for romance keeps persisting too, yet, they never got truly closed up, because they weren't present for the endgame, except, flashbacks, and Shino was omitted entirely. And where is Kurenai? Wasn't she like, Hinata's foster mother for half the series? And yet, she isn't deserving of the mere courtesy of talking to her own disciple and daughter figure, maybe even giving her advice about Naruto's behavior, maybe even motivating her to never give up, which is exactly what Naruto would have wanted? But nope, let's just instead focus on style over substance, by having yet another world-ending catastrophe on the horizon, where Naruto has to save everyone's bacon, yet again, because screw everyone else that Hinata ever had a connection to. No, she is just there, to have the ship become canon, so we can shut our mouths, and be happy about it. Guess what, I am not. And I never will be. The disrespect here, is on a monolithic scale, and no one should be so accepting of this level of mediocrity.

Also, since Hanabi is the main driving force for this movie, where she is said to be suffering the worst kind of torture imagineable, because of Toneri wanting her eyes, why is Hinata more focused on knitting that damned scarf, being jealous over the one Naruto has, and trying to get Naruto's attention? Shouldn't she be on edge? Shouldn't she be angry and impatient? And instead of saving her own fucking sister, on her own terms, she eats L after L, as if, Hiashi had always been right about her not deserving to be the heir. ...You have no idea, how much I hate myself for even IMPLYING this, Hiashi is a garbage human being, end of story. There is a time and place for everything, but this... this just feels weird, man, in hindsight, the whole thing with the scarf feels so random and out-of-left-field, and once again, it just plays into the argument that, they only wanted to cater to the shippers, not the characters themselves.

TL;DR. I still love NaruHina. I will never stop loving it. I am just mad, that the compromise for this movie being made, had to involve making Hinata as weak and laughable as a mug. This movie sucks the soul out of me, for how much it ruins Hinata as a standalone character. All the progress, all the lessons she learned, all the buffs, amounted to pretty much nothing, because all she is now, is either just a jobber, or a mere EXTENSION to Naruto, no longer much of her own thing. Go on, get all smart on me, telling me that my opinion really doesn't matter, yet you still feel the need to respond to this post, telling me that I am a "NaruSaku apologist", or whatever the fuck. I am done. Case closed. Your reactions will be more telling of you, than me.

PEACE.

[handyowlet]

Ok, so I have no idea how this works and clearly I am late, but let’s see if I can catch up.

Day 1: I honestly can’t remember how I found the book the first time, I only know I had read it before S1 came out. I really liked it, but didn’t allow myself to care as much until S2 came and the hyper fixation took over. Now I’m on Tumblr and AO3 and so, so happy.

Day 2: It’s hard to choose, honestly. I love all the flashbacks, “To the World,” the dance, the whole Bentley scene (“But it’s pretty”, the bitchy eyebrows raise, etc.) Hmm, maybe this one:

Day 3: No idea. I see cosplayers occasionally, mostly on Tumblr, but I don’t know any names.

Day 4: Good God there are too many to name. Is this just drawing (Gleafer, GaHell, Aneh, etc.)? Physical media (IneffablePenguin, etc.)? Fanfics (Caedmon, CaptainBlou, DepravedDame, FunkyEarthChild, etc.)? You’re all so magnificent and I can’t list everyone 😭!

Day 5: “Lovers in a Dangerous Time” by Barenaked Ladies

When you're lovers in a dangerous time

Sometimes you're made to feel as if your love's a crime

Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight

Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight

[jojo-schmo]

hi jojo! im just wondering but ive been wanting to make a comic for a little while but im not too sure where to start 😅. i really love your style of art and your forgotten land roleswap, and i was wondering if you had any tips for beginners?

Hello, hello! Thank you for enjoying my Forgotten Land Roleswap comic, it means a lot! <3

I'm very honored that people have been asking me for tips and advice. All of this is coming from a hobbyist who draws these comics purely for fun outside of my regular day job. Some of my methods would probably deal psychic damage to a professional, LOL. But I'm more than happy to share some things I've personally learned! :)

First of all, the book, "Understanding Comics" by Scott McCloud ROCKS. It literally gave me a new dimension to understand the medium of comics and how it presents ideas and emotions to readers! And I haven't even had the chance to finish it all the way! I'm very happy I own a copy and I recommend having one of your own if you can, but it's archived here if you want to read it :D

I also like analyzing other comics and thinking about how they get information across to me as a reader. It's helped me learn more effective ways to visually tell a story, like what to include in a frame, how zooming in or out affects the feeling from the panel, maybe building a scene by focusing on other stuff if someone is talking a lot... etc.

ANYWAYS-! Some other tips I've learned through my personal experience-

I had to overcome a lot of negative self-talk in order to tackle a huge comic project like this and stay committed. I was a pretty severe self-deprecator for most of my life so far, and getting help has allowed me to catch myself when I'm slipping back into those habits, look in the mirror, and go, "NO, JOJO! You pour your heart into what you make and that is a wonderful thing! You are appreciated and loved and you deserve to have fun making something you are passionate about!!" Some examples of the negative self-talk I catch myself in....

"I'm a noob at writing and making a story interesting... What's the point of even trying?"

When it comes to starting a project, whether it's 2 pages or 2000 pages, is to just jump in and start! It's okay to be a little insecure or nervous about your technical art skills, writing skills, etc... But writing a "bad" scene is better than no scene- because you can always edit a "bad" scene down the line, but what can you do with nothing? Nothing!! I also put "bad" in quotation marks because I am trying to use that term less, and instead call them "early drafts." or "works in progress."

The first Roleswap scene I fleshed-out was the first Bandee boss fight, in May 2022. I made this drawing on an impulse, getting my ideas down on the page without thinking about the technical stuff like comic panel borders. I consider it like a "pilot episode" almost, haha. The final project is going to be very different from how things play out here. But it got me interested in the concept and excited to see where I could take it, and I made the decision to commit to an entire game plot's worth of AU comics!!

Also, what's the point in trying you ask? The point is to have fun! Making a fan comic in my free time means I don't have restrictions like deadlines, nobody's telling me what I can and can't write, and I can make the story as long or as short as I want! I have full control, which means the world I'm writing is all mine to create! Yes, with a fan comic there is a pre-established world with existing characters. But a universe like Kirby has enough open-ended concepts for people to take basic concepts in the world and take them to whole new levels! I think that's why there are so many amazing fan interpretations of Kirby characters and OCs. The rules are so vague, you can just make up your own a lot of the time!! And it's a wonderful exercise to learn skills for someday building an original world with all original characters from scratch! Magical!!!

"I'm not good enough to make a comic. I don't understand perspective or color and other stuff. Anything I make will look bad.

I once read a two panel comic on here. I can't find it anymore but I remember most of it. First panel showed the artist looking at what they're drawing on their tablet, looking defeated and sad. "Man, I don't even know how to draw this....."The next panel was like them smiling and shrugging, I think rainbows and sparkles were coming out of their tablet, ".....I GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO DRAW IT SHITTY!! :D "

IF ANYONE KNOWS THIS COMIC I'M REFERENCING, PLEASE TELL ME AND I'LL LINK IT!!! Because it permanently and positively changed my brain chemistry.

No kidding, making the decision to just do my best even if it's not perfect, helped me a LOT. I was always waiting to "reach a certain level" to tackle a huge project because I felt like I'd never do it justice at my current state. Except I had been telling myself that kind of stuff for years and I still didn't start any projects!!

So the day I said, "Oh well! If I draw backgrounds shitty, then it is what it is! I'll learn from it and draw the next background a little better," Was the day I could commit fully to the project. I'll keep studying how to draw them better for my own benefit, but I won't let my skill issues stop me from even trying!

And for my limited confidence in full-color art, I solved that by making the comic in black and white with no-to-minimal shading lolol. Because I can only address one skill issue at a time before it takes me 25 years to finish this HAHAHA.

It saves a BUNCH of time to work with skill issues rather than against them! Because at least experience is gained in other ways, and who knows, maybe that new knowledge will help address the skill issues someday! So identifying your personal skill issues and deciding which one to try to grow stronger, and which one to work around, could help with big projects!

"Nobody will read this. I'm going to put months or years of my life into a dumb little thing nobody will even care about."

Learning how to draw for my own enjoyment instead of somebody else's was one of the biggest breakthroughs I ever made. Enjoying the feeling of being challenged artistically and just doing my best, even if it's not technically perfect, is the reason why I was even able to start this!

And just because someone doesn't directly like, comment or whatever on a post doesn't mean nobody saw it! I used to get really down on myself for the lack of engagement on my art on other websites.

I was a lurker for pretty much my entire teenage years and never posted my own stuff or commented much. But that didn't take away the fact that I really enjoyed the things I saw online. Those positive feelings were real to me, even when I didn't know how to articulate it in words. Granted, I grew up into a Words of Affirmation main, and I use words to tell people the positive things I think about them as much as I can! But I know not everyone prefers words to express themselves. So I think about the people that I don't know enjoy my work- that just because I don't see it doesn't mean I didn't make a positive impact on someone by sharing my stories.

THIS IS GETTING LONG-- UHHH, STORY TIPS!!

If you work best on technology, start building the story in a Notes app, or a Google Doc! If you work best with pen and paper, start a notebook and rearrange stuff as you need to!

Or if you're chaotic like me, a mix of tech and paper!! I bought a notebook with ring binding so I can remove and rearrange pages of drafts as much as I wanted to! Like here's two very rough concept pages of one Chapter 1 scene made months apart.

I'd say planning out the biggest basic plot points and then filling in between as I went was most helpful! I also have separate notes for character motivations, important story-changing events, etc... So I can have my own reference when I'm writing new scenes!

Okay this was a lot, sorry about the yapping! Hopefully it helps even a tiny bit. If you have any specific questions I'm happy to talk about my experience in the creation process! Or elaborate on anything I said above.

And finally, because I'm not a professional there are probably plenty of other tactics that could work better for some people. My ADHD probably doesn't help with the chaos of my process either, HAHA. But thank you for reading this far and enjoying the peek into the rainbow glitter and soap bubbles that inhabit the right side of my brain, heehee.

[rockybloo]

With it nearing the end of the year, I feel like it's a good time to just have some real talk about why I create art.

At some point during in high school, during those years where you are pressured to figure out what you want to do when you grow up and what you want to major in when you go to college, I had wanted to go to art school after high school. I decided against it ultimately because I just didn't see a true appeal for me. I started to realize that I enjoyed my art so much more when I didn't have the pressure on me to create something for a fancy final product. Yeah, I could go but then I'd have to change aspects of myself I didn't really want to change but had to because that's what the world says I gotta do if I want to be a good artist.

And that's the thing I sort of hate the most about being able to create anything. You have to be good. Otherwise you are wasting your time. You aren't allowed to just make stuff for fun and for a hobby - you have to constantly be striving for improvement at a pace others have set for you. You can't just have it as a hobby. If you make art then it's expected that you make good art.

You're not allowed to be satisfied with being mediocre.

I've been actively posting my art online since I opened a Deviantart account way back in middle school. I'm 26, on my way to becoming 27. And as someone who has spent a solid decade online, I feel more certain than ever that I am a hobby artist. Having a fulltime job DEFINIATELY has helped me come to that conclusion but even before, I knew I liked to draw for fun. I don't like to stress about what I am sharing to cyberspace, I like just having this digital archive of stuff I've made and stories I've written.

I call myself a self indulgent artist because I'm incredibly selfish draw things I want and write stories I'd enjoy.

That's not to say I don't care that people enjoy my work and feel represented at times. I love it when people share how happy they feel when they see my OCs and read my stories. I'm happy I can fulfill some niches for people. Honestly, it'll always be crazy to me when I make something so damn specific that I wanna see and share it just for some other people to get excited. There are benefits to having a public digital archive your art and reactions people may have are one of them.

But ultimately I don't create to make others happy. If I did focus my art on just doing that, I promise you that my online presence and art would look DRASTICALLY different.

I share my stuff online because it's a whole lot easier to archive all my art as well as being able to share my stuff with the world and occasionally make some friends. Posting my art shows I was alive so MAYBE JUST MAYBE I will not be watered down when recalled in memories and people will always know I was insane about my OCs.

I'm pretty satisfied with be a mid artist. My finished work makes me happy, and what I care about is managing to create something of the fellas that reside in my head because seeing my OCs makes me happy...AND I'M THE ONLY SOURCE OF CONTENT FOR THEM SO I GOTTA COOK MY OWN FOOD AND EAT IT TOO--

ANYWAYS I am in no rush to level myself up. I'm 27 and human lifespans are pretty long. Even though it's slow and subtle, I have def been making improvements in my work...but mainly because there are aspects about my OCs that I occasionally realize I am struggling with and pull a "Do it for her" as I work on what I am having a hard time with. SURE they might not be improvements others would like to see but they are improvements that make me happy. And I am excited to see how my art develops over my existence on this planet.

.

.

.

...I am also excited to see if my black ass can finish any of my webcomics before I die. I KNOW I CAN DEF FINISH ONE OF 'EM I JUST DUNNO WHICH ONE IT'S GONNA BE! IT'S A RACE TO SEE WHO MAKES IT TO THE FINISH LINE BEFORE I KEEL OVER

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

Day 15

Oh look! A Sequel! Don’t get used to that.

Yet another pic I colored way after it was sketched.

For context, when I showed No.14 to Val, she commented on how surprisingly normal Mikan’s reaction was in that image. And so I thought about it and was like “yeah wait that’d fry her brain.” So I drew a sequel where Mikan is so shocked and flustered by what Junko just did that she just gives up her sense of reason and logical thinking to just start making out with her. I loved doing the expressions for this one, Junko’s especially. And the kiss? I guarantee that was torturous because I was still not very used to drawing kisses at that point in time. Though for the first kiss of the event I’m pretty happy with it, especially since a later one really bothers me with how I drew it. Foreshadowing~!

Now to cover another aspect of the behind the scenes. One of my very arbitrary, very stupid rules that I imposed upon myself! This one technically was more of a unspoken rule though, so maybe not a good place to start. But fuck it, since this is the only pic that breaks that rule I might as well count it here and start yapping.

Rule 1: I’m not allowed to count sequels as separate days.

There aren’t many examples but there are a few Days of the Event that are made up of several images rather than just a single one. In fact, counting all of them together, including the (at the time of writing) unfinished No.100 and bonus images, there are actually 146 Individual images. This goes even further if you count various comic panels as separate. And there’s even stuff from the more secret surprises of the event that would boost it even more. By all means I hit my goal of 100 pics a while ago. However in my brain, if I just make every separate image it’s own day like with No.14 and No.15 it’d be both a cheap way to get through my count, and also would probably be unsatisfying for anyone who’s actually tuning into this project. Now am I actually correct in thinking that? Probably not. But hey I acknowledged the rules I forced onto myself are arbitrary and stupid, so  that means I’m absolved of my foolish brain! Right? 

Point is while there are images that definitely relate to each other, I didn’t make any direct sequels to posts that wouldn’t be included together as a single day. 

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑 — 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x Marcus Anderson

SUMMARY — Marcus' children are finally in town, and Violet finally gets the chance to meet them.

WORD COUNT — 5.2K

WARNINGS — some descriptions of anxious behaviours throughout

NOTE — Again, as promised, here's another fic of these two lovelies! In two parts (for two reasons), but also mainly just to keep you on your toes ;) not me finally posting this like a month after writing it

Violet could have sworn the lump beginning to form in her throat was her heart, making its way out of her chest to remind her of the sobering reality of what was before her. She paced back and forth in the main entry hall of Danbury house, her hands firmly pressed against her stomach to try and suppress her lunch that was attempting to make a reappearance. 

Her thoughts swirled in her head, like a tornado beginning to form, threatening to destroy everything in its path. It had become so all consuming, that she didn’t notice two pairs of eyes watching carefully over her from a distance, voices hushed and concerned. 

“I have never seen her like this before,” Marcus whispered to Agatha, who had pursed her lips and gripped onto the head of her cane tightly as she watched her friend continue to pace. 

“She is nervous.” 

“I can see that,” Marcus rolled his eyes at his older sister’s obvious comment. 

“Then why are you standing here?” 

She looked up at him with a piercing glare. 

“Trust me, my voice is not the one that will soothe her right now,” she added, this time a little softer. 

Marcus nodded his head and carefully made his way out from the hallway where they were conveniently hidden from Violet’s view. Agatha turned around and made her way to the drawing room, giving them some much needed privacy.

Violet did not notice Marcus making his way towards her. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she yelped and jumped back, her hand moving from her stomach to her chest to now steady her erratic breathing. 

“I-Marcus,” she breathed. “I am sorry, you startled me.” 

She resumed her pacing, her hand retreating back to her stomach, the other patting her hair to ensure everything was neatly in place. She clearly didn’t realize Marcus was there for her. 

“Violet?” 

She spun around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide and owlish, her nervousness seeping from every pore and creating a thick fog of anxiety around the room. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

This had become common practice over the past months. Marcus didn’t ever bother asking what was wrong, but instead dropping all such formalities and heading straight to the root of the problem, allowing her to process if she so wished, and oftentimes, she did wish to. 

“I suppose, maybe we should…before going in there.” 

Her eyes drifted towards the drawing room and she gulped, almost audibly.

“It is just…” her voice drifted off, like she was going into a trance staring down the hallway that seemed to get longer and longer with every passing second. 

“It is just, what, my dear?” 

Violet closed her eyes as the sound of his rich and velvety voice made its way to her ears, dampening the unease that surrounded her. 

“I do not know what I am to do, Marcus. Do I stand? Do I sit? How do I introduce myself? Must I explain our situation?” She rambled and began pacing again, only for Marcus to close some of the distance between them, taking her shoulders in his hands, first, to stop her, before tracing them down her arms and holding her hands in his. 

“Violet, Violet, Violet,” he repeated, pulling her out of her continued ramblings, her voice quieting as she looked up at him. 

“What if they do not like me?” she whispered. 

Marcus looks down at their intertwined hands, his thumb brushing over the betrothal ring, tracing the jewel at its centre, something purple for his Violet. 

“I find it quite hard to believe they would dislike you,” he began. “After all, I like you very much and they are my children. Perhaps we should think that they take after their father in this manner.” 

“Marcus, that does not-” 

“Violet, look at me, please.” 

She silenced herself and looked up at him, her blue eyes big and shimmering with worry. 

“You are a wonderful woman who is kind, and cares for others in a way I did not know was possible until I met you. My children are not unreasonable people, they wish for me to be happy, and I am most happy when I am with you.” 

Violet swallowed thickly and nodded her head. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you too.” 

She pushed herself up on her toes to give him a quick and gentle kiss, hoping the familiar feeling of his lips against hers would quell whatever remaining insecurities she held close to her heart.

“Are you ready to go in there, or do you need another moment?” He asked, his thumbs continuing to brush soothingly over her fingers. 

“One more moment,” she whispered, leaning a little closer to him, and he complied by wrapping his arms around her in a quiet embrace, knowing at this point no one was watching, and nobody cared. 

Violet took one last deep breath and thanked Marcus, informing him she was now ready to head over to the drawing room. 

He offered his hand for her, which she took, and allowed him to lead her down the hallway and into the room she had been avoiding all afternoon. 

When she entered, there was a quiet chatter that hushed immediately, and she became very aware of the many pairs of eyes that seemed to burn into her very soul. Marcus sensed her nervousness returning, and squeezed her hand, bringing her back to the present. 

Everyone in the room seemed unsure of what to do, which is when Agatha decided to helpfully interject.

“Did your father and mother not teach you any manners? You are adults, go on, introduce yourselves,” she pointed to her nephew and two nieces with her cane. 

The younger girl stood up first, one hand moving to rest on her growing stomach while a radiant smile came across her face. Violet couldn’t help but notice how much she looked like her father, the same shining eyes and welcoming disposition. 

“Amelia Kilpatrick, my Lady,” she attempted to curtsy and Violet quickly let go of Marcus’ hand to encourage her back up. 

“Oh no, none of that, my dear,” Violet shook her head. “I have had eight children, I know how heavy they can be, please let us excuse such formalities.” 

“Of course, my Lady,” she smiled. “It is good to finally meet you.” 

“And you as well,” she agreed, feeling her nerves slowly begin to melt away. 

Next was who Violet assumed was the eldest of the bunch. 

“James Anderson. A pleasure to meet you.” 

Violet held out her hand, initially to shake, but James took it and pressed a kiss to its back and she could have sworn she could feel a bashful heat rise to her cheeks. 

“Likewise,” she nodded. 

Lastly, a more timid woman whose curls simultaneously framed her face and seemed to know no bounds, which had Violet mesmerized. She couldn’t see too much of a similarity between her and Marcus which made her assume she looked more like her mother. Softer, large brown eyes, thinner lips, a pointed nose. 

“Evelyn Jacob, my Lady,” she said quietly and quickly curtsied, struggling to meet her gaze. 

Violet looked back at Marcus, but he shook his head assuring you this was normal. Perhaps she just took time to warm up. 

“Wonderful to meet you.” 

Violet gave her a smile which she wasn’t entirely sure Evelyn saw before retreating back to where Marcus stood and Agatha was sitting. 

She and Marcus took seats, near one another, but not quite next to each other and silence fell over the room once more.

“Uh Amelia,” Marcus began. “Will Seamus be joining us?” 

“He had some affairs to take care of, I’m afraid,” she sighed. “I was hoping he might make it back in time, but it seems business takes longer and longer these days.” 

“W-Will you be in London when you have the baby?” Violet asked and Amelia nodded her head. 

“My husband and I thought it may be nice to be around our family. Especially now that Papa and Aunt Agatha have reconciled. It is a special moment to share together.” 

“I could not agree more,” Violet nodded her head, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“And we could not miss the wedding.”

Violet smiled, but shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t sure why. She was getting married and she was most excited, so why did she feel the need to squirm? 

“How did you both meet?” James asked. “We have heard a lot about you in letters from my father, but not quite the details on how everything came to be.”

Violet looked over at Marcus and noticed his eyes were already on her. The warmth behind his irises muffled her worries enough for a moment so that she could speak, but unable to tear her gaze away from her fiancé. 

“I dropped my glove,” she began, “at a ball and he picked it up.” 

“And the rest is history,” Marcus smiled. 

“Well not quite that quickly,” Agatha teased. “I do recall getting in your way once or twice.” 

“I thought we had moved past that,” Marcus looked over at his sister who simply smiled with a bit of cheek. 

“We have, but no story is without its obstacles,” she tapped her cane on the ground. “And I was not the only one keen to get in your way.”

Violet cringed thinking back to the time before she and Anthony were able to have a proper conversation about her relationship with Marcus. She always knew he was protective over their family, but she didn’t realize the extent until she was in the middle of it herself. 

“Your aunt refers to my eldest son,” Violet decided to share. “He had concerns, naturally, but unfortunately had a very… interesting way of expressing them.”

“So we are talking about this now,” Evelyn quietly muttered under her breath and Violet tensed up. 

“Evelyn,” Marcus chided. 

“N-No Marcus, it’s quite alright,” Violet looked over and gave him a polite smile. “Evelyn, may I call you that?”

She finally met Violet’s gaze, some of her shyness now gone and replaced by something colder and harsher. 

“There is clearly something that is not sitting right with you,” she said slowly. “If you are willing to share, I would like to know what it is.”

Evelyn looked over to her siblings, seeing the confusion in their faces and understanding that she would not be getting the support she thought she would get from them. 

“Everyone is so concerned over what my father’s intentions are with you, but has anyone ever asked what your intentions are with him?” she asked cooly.

“Tone, Evelyn. You can still be polite,” Marcus advised and she apologized. 

“I do not think I have been asked that yet,” Violet said truthfully. “M-May I ask what you think my intentions are?” 

Evelyn looked over to Amelia who seemed to send her a warning glance, not to continue down this road, but she did not listen. 

“You are a widow, are you not? Your eldest son is married now. It must feel quiet and…boring.” 

“Evelyn!” her sister attempted to interject and Violet steeled herself for what other sharp words were to come. 

“Before you were able to take on the role of Viscountess, and from what I hear you did your job quite well, but that position is no longer yours,” Evelyn continued. “It makes sense that you would be looking for a husband now and how convenient that my father was there, hopeful and looking for someone to share the rest of his life with.” 

“Evelyn, I think that is enough,” James whispered over to his sister, but her quietness had since completely vanished and was replaced by a fire in her eyes. 

“I do not believe that you love my father.” 

Violet took a deep breath, her hands placed firmly in her lap. The unrelenting swirling in her stomach had since returned and she knew she couldn’t stay in that room any longer. 

“I am sorry you feel that way,” she said quietly. “Marcus, Agatha, thank you so much for having me, but I think I should go now.” 

Violet stood up and rushed out of the room, not noticing the look of shock on Marcus’ face as he looked at his middle daughter before quickly standing up and assuring Agatha he would go take care of Violet if she would do the honour of staring down Evelyn until he returned. 

“Violet,” Marcus called. “Violet, wait.” 

Violet forced herself to stop, knowing an abrupt departure would not be fair for either of them. Marcus caught up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around and noticing how she desperately was trying to fight back the tears welling in her eyes. 

“Marcus, I’m sorry, I-I need to leave.” 

Marcus pressed his lips together, a hand moving to rub the back of his neck. 

“Let me talk to her,” he said. “At least. Then we can speak again.” 

Violet nodded her head. 

“I-” 

She couldn’t say it, not after what Evelyn had just accused. 

“I know, I know,” Marcus assured and pulled her into his arms, squeezing her tightly, his lips pressing a comforting kiss to her hair.

His daughter’s reaction had caught him completely off guard. He knew this was exactly what Violet had feared and he had led her into it without warning. 

After a few moments, Violet let go of Marcus and began to make her way to the door, but not before he gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into his arms for a tender kiss. He hoped, if anything, it might assure her that his feelings towards her would always remain the same, no matter what was said, and that he still had hope that Evelyn could be reasoned with.

Marcus wiped away a few of Violet’s tears that had escaped, his forehead pressed against hers, both of their eyes closed and soaking in the proximity the moment afforded them. 

“Deep breaths. This isn’t the hardest conversation we’ve had to have,” Marcus assured and Violet couldn’t help but chuckle with a little bit of mirth. 

Violet sniffled and wiped away her remaining tears, her hands pressed against Marcus’ chest. 

“Call on me when you are ready to speak again,” she instructed and he nodded his head. 

With one last chaste kiss, they parted ways, and when the door closed behind Violet, Marcus turned back towards the drawing room, wondering if maybe that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was what his fiancée had felt only mere moments before. 

—

“Lady Bridgerton?” 

Violet looked up from her embroidery, so lost in her piece that she pricked herself with her needle when brought out of her trance. She sucked some air through her teeth, putting her finger in her mouth and looked up at Mrs. Wilson. 

“Yes?” 

“Are you alright-” 

“Just a needle prick, nothing to worry about,” she quickly interjected. “Is he here?” 

She nodded her head and Violet gave her permission to bring Marcus into the drawing room. 

Mrs. Wilson didn’t waste any time in leaving the two alone, knowing they would skip the formalities of tea and cake and move straight to conversation, especially when something of great importance needed to be discussed. 

Violet placed her embroidery to the side, paying no mind to the small droplet of blood that was forming on the tip of her finger, her focus drawn back to Marcus. 

“So?” she asked as he sat next to her. 

“You’re bleeding,” he noted, taking her hand in his to examine it. 

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head and removed her hand from his, quickly putting her finger in her mouth again to rid it of the blood before clasping her hands in her lap. “Marcus?” 

He swallowed down the lump in his throat, knowing he needed to be direct with her about his conversation with Evelyn. 

“She seemed to think your kindness was manufactured,” he admitted. “All a ruse to lure me or something of the sort.” 

Violet pressed her lips together, her heart clenching. She had never thought someone might doubt her intentions of marrying again. She had gained many freedoms as a widow, something she had gotten used to over the decade being alone and she had even asked herself if she was willing to give some of those things up to be married again. 

Marcus knew all this, they had had numerous conversations on such a topic, and over time, Violet came to see the reality of the situation for what it was. In what she lost, she would gain a life partner, a second chance, and Marcus would never treat her as someone to be controlled under him, but rather an equal partner, someone to consult with, to enjoy the many things the second half of their lives had to offer. 

“I take it she is not to be reasoned with?” Violet asked quietly, and Marcus nodded his head. “Oh dear.” 

She could feel the tears begin to well in her eyes again. After all their struggles and conversations with Anthony, Violet had thought the worst of it was over, that they had passed the main hurdle in their attempt for a union. 

She wasn’t sure she had prepared herself for what was to come next, but she knew it was the right thing. They had both decided that should any one of their children be so firmly against the match that it would not be wise to proceed with the engagement. 

Violet chewed on her lip and looked down at her left hand, the opposite one coming to adjust the ring on her finger. 

“We cannot do this,” she looked up at him, eyes glassy with tears. 

Marcus pressed his lips together once more and nodded. That was the agreement. 

Hesitantly, Violet removed the ring from her finger, holding it in her hands for a few moments, reminding herself of its weight, the way it felt in her palm, the excitement in her heart when he had asked if she wished to spend the rest of their lives together. 

Without looking at Marcus, she placed the ring in his hand, tears streaming down her face as she did so. He took the ring, but after, Violet felt his thumb and forefinger on her chin, turning her face to his, encouraging her to look at him. 

“My dear Violet,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I am so sorry.” 

“As am I,” she whispered. “I love you so very much. A-And thank you for showing me that was possible once more.” 

Marcus chuckled softly and kissed away her tears, his lips feather-light against her face. 

“And thank you for showing me what love feels like.”

Violet lifted her hands to hold Marcus’ face, feeling the stubble of his beard on her fingers. She brought him down, slowly, almost hesitantly, in a kiss. One last thing to remember him by. 

When they had pulled apart, Violet noticed a few tears that had come down Marcus’ face and she allowed herself to offer him the same comfort he had just given to her. 

“I love you.” 

His voice was a choked whisper that shattered her heart. 

“I love you too, my darling Marcus.” 

They made no attempt to compose themselves, and Marcus pulled away knowing if he stayed any longer he would not be able to leave. 

Violet watched, biting her cheek, as he took his hat and slipped out of the room. She looked back down to her hands, a cold empty spot where her ring once was. She was alone, and what better reason to give into the overwhelming need to cry. 

—

To say Marcus was despondent would be an understatement. He made no attempt to keep up appearances, locking himself in his chambers in his sister’s home, claiming a headache each morning to get him out of any commitments he might be roped into by his children. 

Two weeks had passed when he finally decided it was time to remove himself from the confinement he had resigned himself to, joining the family for breakfast. 

“I must say I am surprised Lady Bridgerton did not pay you a visit when you were unwell, Papa,” Amelia said. “Perhaps she is, herself, unwell.” 

“Perhaps,” Marcus nodded quietly. 

“When will we be seeing her again?” James inquired, sipping his tea and looking to his aunt or father for an answer. 

Marcus looked over to Agatha for guidance and she simply nodded her head, knowing he would not be able to hide the news from them much longer. 

“I don’t believe we will be seeing Lady Bridgerton any time soon,” he said. 

Evelyn’s curiosity seemed to be piqued, she looked up from her breakfast, making eye contact with her husband before turning to her father to see if he might explain further. 

“Why is that?” 

Marcus swallowed thickly and leaned back in his chair. 

“We are no longer engaged,” he said. 

“You broke off the engagement?” Evelyn asked, surprised. 

“No, she did,” he sighed. “Now, might we please speak of something else?” 

“Of course,” Amelia answered on behalf of her siblings, easily changing the topic for her father to something more general such as the plans for the impending baby. 

Marcus was more than happy to speak about the arrival of his first grandchild, grateful that while still in a time of such emotional difficulty, he had something joyful to look forward to. 

When breakfast was finished, he made his way to the study, picking a book off of one of the shelves and settling into an armchair to begin reading. He was no more than halfway through the first chapter when there was a knock on the door followed by a quiet creak. 

“Papa? It’s Evie.” 

Marcus sighed and closed his book, temporarily using his finger as a bookmark. 

“Come in.” 

The door pushed all the way open and Evelyn walked into the room before shutting it behind her. She silently came and took a seat across from her father who tried his best to not let his hurt seep through. 

“What can I do for you, Evie?” 

“You said she called it off.” 

That was straight to the point. Marcus thought to himself. 

“Darling, must we speak of this? It is done.” 

Marcus did not want to dredge up old feelings, not when he was still so early into this separation. 

“If you do not wish to,” she nodded. “I-I just wanted to confirm.” 

“If it is confirmation you seek then you have it.” 

Evelyn swallowed thickly and bowed her head, excusing herself from the study, leaving as quickly as she came.

Marcus sighed again and leaned back in his seat, his book placed in his lap while his gaze was focused on the vase of flowers on the other side of the room, wondering why on earth his daughter was so eager to confirm such a thing.

—

“Mama, are you really going to sit here all day, again?” Hyacinth asked, coming to take a seat next to Violet on the settee. 

“I am afraid there is not much else to do, dearest,” Violet looked over at her daughter. “My schedule is decidedly free.” 

“Perhaps we could go for a promenade?” the youngest Bridgerton suggested. “Or go and visit Colin and Pen?” 

Violet could see that her daughter was attempting to get her up and moving, but she did not feel she had the physical or emotional energy to do such a thing. She much preferred to stay on the couch with her embroidery and leave it at that. 

“I could ask Benedict to accompany you if you wish to do that,” she diverted and Hyacinth’s shoulders slumped. 

“Oh my dearest, I am sorry,” Violet sighed and apologized, bringing Hyacinth into her arms and pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I am just…” 

“Sad?” 

Violet nodded, letting out a shaky exhale which encouraged her daughter to wrap her arms tighter around her. 

“Me too, Mama,” she mumbled. “I really liked Marcus.” 

“You are not the only one, my dear,” Violet whispered into Hyacinth’s hair, continuing to hold her close. 

“Lady Bridgerton, Miss Hyacinth?” 

The pair looked up to see a footman at the entrance to the drawing room. 

“Yes?” 

“There is a Mrs. Jacob here to see you.” 

“Mrs. Jacob,” Violet murmured to herself, trying to place the name. “Let her in.” 

Hyacinth still wasn’t quite ready to let go of her mother, but she noticed her shift in demeanour when their visitor entered the room. 

“Hyacinth, could you give us a moment?” Violet asked quietly, and Hyacinth looked up to her mother before reluctantly nodding and kissing her cheek before leaving the room, slipping past Mrs. Evelyn Jacob.

“Mrs. Jacob,” Violet stood up and smoothed out her dress. “Can I offer you tea? Or perhaps cake?” 

“N-No, I’m quite alright,” she nodded. “May I ask for a moment of your time?” 

Violet pursed her lips. 

“I am not sure it is wise for us to be speaking.” 

“Then let me say this and I shall leave if you do not wish to see me again,” she pleaded and Violet saw the sincerity in her brown eyes, mirroring the glimmer of her father’s compassion. 

“Very well,” Violet agreed. 

“I am sorry.” 

Violet looked at her curiously. 

“You are sorry?” 

She nodded, “Yes, very much so. It was wrong of me to make assumptions of your character before taking the chance to know you.” 

Violet took in a slow breath before looking at the seats around her. 

“Can I offer you a seat?” she asked and Evelyn nodded, sitting on the couch across from her while Violet settled herself once more. “May I ask what brought on this change of heart?” 

Violet wasn’t entirely sure if she could or should call it that yet. 

“My father, he-uh, he told us this morning that you had broken off your engagement,” she said. “You wouldn’t have done that if what I had accused you of was true. You could have easily ignored what I had said and married him anyway.” 

Violet nodded her head in understanding. 

“You must understand, my Lady, I was only trying to protect my father,” she pressed. “Ever since my mother died I always had assumed he would remarry straight away, even though they had grown to care for each other, it was no secret my parents did not have a love match. I knew this was something he wanted, but he did not express so until recently. He grieved my mother more than I expected him to and I-I worried it would leave him hasty and vulnerable in attempting to try and find another wife.” 

Violet continued nodding her head as she listened. 

“Your concern for your father is admirable,” she said. 

“Lady Bridgerton, you need not be kind to me.”

“Mrs. Jacob,” Violet leaned forward slightly. “Evelyn, you were doing what you thought you needed to to protect your family. No one understands that more than I do.”

Evelyn wrung her hands in her lap, her eyes flicking between Violet and the floor. 

“Do you…do you love him?” 

Violet looked down at her lap and scratched her nose. 

“I do,” she said clearly. “Very much.”

Evelyn seemed to be even more ashamed with herself, but before Violet could say anything to reassure her, she stood up. 

“I-I am sorry, I should be leaving now,” she said. “Thank you for your hospitality.” 

Evelyn rushed out of the door as Violet called for her to come back, but the young woman seemed to have fled the home. 

Violet sighed and sat back down in her seat, twiddling her thumbs. 

“Mama?” Hyacinth peeked her head inside the room. “Who was that?” 

Violet motioned for Hyacinth to come and sit with her and she obeyed, smoothing out her dress as soon as she was seated next to her mother. 

“Marcus’ daughter.” 

“Really?” She seemed astounded. “What did she say?” 

“It does not matter,” Violet shook her head. “What’s done is done.” 

“Mama,” Hyacinth pressed. “What did she say?” 

“She said she misjudged me,” Violet let out a breath of air and leaned into the couch. “But it is too late for anything to come of it.” 

“Why?” Hyacinth protested. “Why would it be too late?” 

“Because the engagement is broken, dearest,” Violet said plainly. “You have to understand, one does not simply continue to change their mind when it comes to marriage.” 

Hyacinth pressed her lips together and sighed.

“If you love each other I do not think it should matter.” 

Violet looked over at her youngest curiously. She was still a child in many ways, but had somehow developed a wisdom beyond her years, especially when it came to matters of the heart. She had always been perceptive of her siblings, and Violet supposed maybe she had been perceptive of her too. 

“Lady Bridgerton, Miss Hyacinth. Dinner is ready.” 

Violet looked over at Hyacinth who was quick to stand up and leave the room for dinner. She took her time, ensuring the pillows were placed nicely on the couch and her embroidery was put away before going to join the rest of her family. 

She was quiet through most of dinner, but as soon as the plates were cleared from the table she excused herself, calling for a cloak and a carriage. 

She waited anxiously while the carriage was prepared and as soon as she was seated inside she instructed the driver to head to the Danbury Estate. 

Darkness had fallen over London and the streets were mostly empty, which is why the sound of hooves, mixing with those coming from her own carriage, caught her attention. She peeked outside the window and recognized the familiar transport that belonged to the Danburys. 

“Stop the carriage!” 

She quickly alerted the driver and they came to a sharp halt only to hear the complete absence of hooves against the cobblestone. She frowned at her realization only to hear quick footsteps followed by a knock on her carriage door. 

Violet opened the door with haste, a relieved chuckle escaping her lips as she saw Marcus standing before her. 

“I was coming to see you,” she said. 

“And I you,” he laughed, a brightness returning to his eyes which had been absent in the past weeks. 

She moved out of the way of the door, an invitation for Marcus to slip inside should he wish. He accepted, but before he sat down next to her he knelt by her side, taking her hands in his. 

“Violet,” he began and she could not help the wide smile that overtook her features, small creases making themselves known in the corners of her eyes, only accentuating her joy. 

“Marcus,” she nodded for him to continue. 

“Given recent news I am hoping you will-” 

“Yes.” 

She didn’t let him finish his sentence, sending them both into a small fit of laughter. 

“I did not even ask you!”

“You did once before, that is enough for me,” Violet chuckled. 

Marcus pulled out that same betrothal ring from his pocket, a grin on both his and Violet’s face as he took her hand and placed it on her finger once again. 

“Perfect,” he whispered. “Just as it should be.” 

He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss over her ring, as if to seal it on her hand. Violet was quick to lift Marcus’ head, forcing him to look into her eyes while she simply admired him. The man who had captured her heart. 

[artthemasquerade]

DVMNINKTOBER Day 11 Akira x Miki x Ryo

So I've been slowly, slowly been working my through this year's Devilman Inktober by nozoshii created for the community https://www.tumblr.com/nozoxshii/763169423585673216/i-made-a-devilman-inktober-prompt-list-for-the?source=share

For day eleven is fave pairing or duo and wellllllll, you all know that I have a lot of ships for Devilman so I decided to draw out five different pictures of each of my ships, Ryokira, Akira/Miki/Ryo, Satan/Zennon, Ryo/Miki and Akira/Miki and as I've said before I had gotten sick around the time I was working on the first of the pictures for this prompt and it really delayed things a lot and not to mention I was challenging myself a lot with these pieces, I want to really craft some good backgrounds like the old masters and while I don't think I've quite captured their ability to do those backgrounds I am pleased that I did go the extra mile for these pieces, I learned a lot making these especially since I was so limited in working in only black and white, so making sure the values were good was extremely important here!

And nowww we are at the fifth and final picture of the day prompt, my OT3, Akira/Miki/Ryo! Here the three of them are softly kissing under the stars while sitting on a bed of roses. :3 I referenced this William Blake illustration for Paradise Lost by John Milton https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:William_Blake_-Satan_Watching_the_Caresses_of_Adam_and_Eve-_WGA02226.jpg and I painstakingly hand drawn those roses for over an hour, maybe nearly two hours! XD This was the second picture I drew for the day 11 prompt and honestly its one of my favorite pictures I've ever done for the OT3, I just love how soft and peaceful it is. I gave one of the versions of this piece a blue tint since I did the sketch in blue and liked how it looked then and made another version to go with the black and white version.

As for why I love the OT3 so much, well, I think that since they all work well separately together that they would be extremely good together and no-one would be left out! :3 And well its double the love double the possible pain or redemption. I love the idea of Ryo being loved by both Akira and Miki which would allow him to see more of the good side of humanity and maybeee they don't have to be so doomed by the narrative (at least not all of the time) and Miki deserves to have two special bfs!

And well, I do love the theme of love conquers and fighting off the narrative that they are doomed no matter what. I always have time loops in my fics because I love playing with the struggle they would have in enduring all of that and how despite the changes they undergo in each time loop they'll always come together with love. Their love is what both dooms and saves them in the end.

And I hope to show that off well in Love Before Its Too Late especially in the later chapters and in other works of mine in the future.

[the-fiction-witch]

Mrs Dawkins P45-49

Media - The Artful Dodger (Mrs Dawkins Series) Character - Jack Dawkins Couple - Jack X Reader Reader - Y/n Everset Rating - 15 P1 - P5 P6-P10 P11-13 P14-17 P18-22 P23-27 P28- 31 P32-P36 P37-P39 P40-44 MasterList

After breakfast, I nervously pulled the draw from my bedside table, and poured it onto the bed the mess of papers scattering ontop of the sheets.

He smirked a little at me before he egarly dug through the pile, "Awww you kept all my notes and letters?" He cooed,

"Maybe…" I blushed,

"Awww you are so cute," He cooed, "You didn't have to keep them you know,"

"I want to!" I protested,

He chuckled, "Alright you keep them all, maybe on our anniversaries we can go through them together and remember how in love we were,"

"Aww that sounds nice," I giggled laying my head on his shoulder,

"And I'll make sure you have some extra ones by then," he cooed kissing my forehead, "Oooohh found it!" He smirked as he grabbed my drawing,

I buried my face into his neck trying to hide but also watching his face,

"Humm… very good anatomy, you made me very handsome, a little… low on the drawing, a little naughty darling," He smirked rubbing his nose on my head, "But I can't be mad at you for that,"

"You're not mad at me?"

"No, how could I be mad at my lovely lady drawing me so handsome," he smiled, "There are a few issues but you hadn't seen so I'll allow it,"

"I could do another now I know…" I blushed,

"I would love you to draw me, darling,"

"You would?"

"Of course I would,"

"Well, maybe next sleepover,"

"Next sleepover," he nodded giving my lips a soft kiss, "I promise,"

We looked through things but slowly packed them away into the draw, he gathered up his stuff and made sure to dress and get ready to head back to the hospital,

"I need to get going, as much as I don't want to leave we need to." he sighed taking my hands softly, "I don't want your father to find me and get us in trouble,"

"I know… I just wish you could stay forever," I rubbed my nose on his,

"I know, I want to stay. But I won't be able to visit if we get in trouble," he cooed, "But I'll be back I promise," He smiled,

"Will you come visit again?"

"Of course I will, I will visit as soon as I can,"

"I'll miss you,"

"I'll miss you too," He cooed, "But soon we won't have to miss each other," he stroked my cheek, "When we get married," he connected our lips softly,

"I shall count the hours,"

"As will I," he cooed, "I love you endlessly my darling,"

"I love you too Jack,"

"Don't miss me too hard okay?"

"I'll try," I blushed, "Don't miss me too hard…"

"Impossible," he cooed,

We shared another sweet kiss before he went to my balcony, and climbed down the tree. I leaned over and blew him a kiss waving sweetly, "Love you,"

"Love you too," he happily blew me a kiss back before he headed back to the hospital.

I hurried myself down the creaky wooden stairs, the sound of my giggles echoing through the empty house. Skipping down the dimly lit halls, the morning sunlight streaming through the windows brought out the widest smile on my face. As I scurried inside the dining room, the aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee filled the air. There, at the end of the table, sat my father, his head resting on one hand, nursing his hangover from last night with a hearty breakfast.

"Hello, daddy!" I smiled as I ran over and gave him a hug so tight it almost knocked him off his chair, 

"Hello..." He raised an eyebrow at me a little, "You seem cheerful this morning," 

"I am cheerful," I giggled as I pulled back and went to the other end of the table but before I reached my seat Miss Hardcastle arrived so I took her hands and gave her a spin, "Good morning!" 

"...Morning Miss Everset," she said forcing me away, 

I giggled and took a seat in my chair waiting for breakfast resting my elbows on the table and kicking my feet, 

"Is she alright?" My father whispered,

Miss Hardcastle just shrugged like she didn't know, 

"You alright Y/n?" he asked very seriously, 

"I'm perfectly fine father. I'm just happy!" 

"Right," He nodded suspiciously as he ate breakfast,

Soon my own arrived so I hugged the maid and looked at my breakfast only to pout at the smaller portion than usual, but still I happily ate humming happily to myself, 

"Did she have a temperature or anything this morning?" My father whispered to Miss Hardcastle, 

"No sir." She answered, 

"Hum... she ate anything odd or new last night?"

I giggled trying to hold back my smile, well I certainly was swallowing something new last night, 

"Not that I know of sir," she answered,

"Humm..." He pondered, "Perhaps we need to send word and get the doctor to visit." 

"Yes!" I jumped up from my seat bouncing with excitement, "I need to see the doctor!"

"What do you think?" he asked Miss Hardcastle, 

"...perhaps having the doctor come visit might not be the best idea," Miss Hardcastle answered,

I tried to hide my disappointment slumping back into my chair,

"But. I think she does need a doctor, I'll take her to the hospital myself." 

"Yippie!" I giggled hitching my dress and bolting up to my room to get ready, "Let's go already!" I yelled, 

I sweetly hummed a tune as I slowly ran the brush through my long, flowing hair, carefully untangling any knots. My thoughts were filled with the upcoming visit to the hospital to see Jack. I wanted to look my best, so I chose my favourite soft, blue gown and delicately added a matching bow to my hair, creating a sweet and charming look. As I made my final adjustments, the sound of the door opening caught my attention. Miss Hardcastle entered the room, and I greeted her with a warm and friendly smile, eager to show kindness to the visitor.

"Good morning! Come to take me away?" I asked, "I must go and visit the hospital, for I am on death's door I need a doctor so desperately!" I fainted falling back dramatically onto my sofa,

"You need something," Miss Hardcastle glared, "Not sure it's a doctor,"

"Is it time to go?" I cooed,

"No…"

"No?"

"A carriage has arrived,"

"Perfect then we can go," I smiled bolting up from my sofa,

"No… it's not our carriage."

"…Then who's carriage is it?"

The two shared a look a conversation of a thousand words passing between them both within mere seconds,

"No."

"Yes."

"No…"

"Yes."

"…No…"

"Unfortunately, yes,"

"It can't be."

"It is."

"How-"

"You're father sent word,"

"About?"

"about your courtship… and I has arrived."

"Oh no…" I sighed, "May god have mercy on us all," I said,

"Shall I inform her you'll meet with her?"

"… Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

"Then yes." I sighed,

Miss Hardcastle nodded in acknowledgement and slowly exited the room, her footsteps fading away in the distance.

I couldn't contain my frustration and let out a groan before throwing myself onto my bed. I buried my head into the pillow, the lingering scent of Jack's presence providing a small comfort in the midst of my exasperation. "Curses… Aunt Lisbeth."

I stood between my father and Miss Hardcastle, rage boiling inside my held back only by my bottom lip between my teeth. I looked to the road and pondered just bolting, abandoning it all and running to Jack at the hospital. But I knew it wouldn't be any use.

The carriage pulled into the front of the house stopping with a short jolt.

All held their breath as the door opened, and there she was.

Aunt Lisbeth was a remarkable sight to behold. She stood tall with an imposing figure, broad shoulders, and a long hooked nose that exuded an air of authority. Her lips were tightly pursed, giving the impression that she was in a perpetual state of disapproval. Her elegantly placed black curls, expertly dyed to conceal any signs of greying, were artfully arranged in a large black hat with a striking white ribbon.

Her attire was equally impressive. She wore a tightly laced corset that accentuated her already slender figure, creating the illusion that one could easily encircle her waist with a single hand. Her long black gown was a work of art, adorned with intricate pearls and delicate embroidery.

Aunt Lisbeth's choice of jewellery was equally exquisite. Every piece was crafted from mother of pearl, with large and impressive pearls set in silver. In one hand, she carried a black lace parasol adorned with pearls, which she used not only for shade but also as a stylish and practical walking stick, complete with a handle made of mother of pearl. In her other hand, she held a matching fan, secured around her wrist, with each blade featuring a grip of mother of pearl.

"Lisbeth," my's father smiled trying to pull her into a hug,

But with a flick of her wrist, she drew her fan across her face between them, "Do not touch me, Eric." She said not needing to bark or even raise her tone just her firmness enough, "Save us all from your scent and save my cleaners the work."

"Of course." He nodded,

"Delight me, with why I am the last to know of my niece's engagement." she closed her fan looking down her nose at him,

"She is not engaged, she is courting."

"Which I should hope still means the same thing." she replied, "One does not court not to engage. Courting is a formality. And at the age of your daughter it is a formality you cannot afford." She said, "Nevertheless. Why?" she almost whistled the W as she said it,

"You were sent about her debutant Ball,"

"I was indeed."

"The young man made himself known then, the rest has simply been pleasantries."

"Well then, reveal her. Or is she so frightened by the king's English that spills from my lips she hides below her piano once more?"

"I am here Aunt Lisbeth," I spoke up begrudgingly bringing herself closer,

"Ahh. I forgive me, I feared he'd married a maid." She snapped, "Let me look at you." She demanded,

I moved to the centre of her view and held my hands behind my back,

Lisbeth looked me up and down several times, making sure to be slow and meticulous about how she looked at me, "Hum…" She scoffed, "You are thinner than last I visited."

"Yes, Aunt Lisbeth,"

"…It is progress I suppose." she rolled her eyes, "The face is better. As it is the hair." she said, "Come we must take tea."

Without saying another word, Lisbeth, her eyes narrowed and her brow furrowed in determination, marched into the study. The room was dimly lit by the warm glow of the fire, casting dancing shadows on the walls. As she entered, the servants, dressed in their crisp uniforms, bowed and offered her every seat in the room, from the plush armchairs by the fire to the antique chairs by the window. Lisbeth, her gaze sweeping across the room, declined each one with a curt shake of her head.

Finally, she stopped in front of the first seat offered, a high-backed armchair positioned beside the crackling fire and overlooking the snow-covered garden outside. With a decisive nod, she settled into the chair, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames.

The staff, attentive and poised, approached her with a silver tray, adorned with delicate china teacups and a steaming teapot. "Would you care for some tea, madam?" the butler inquired, his voice as smooth as silk.

Lisbeth, her gaze still fixed on the fire, initially declined the offer with a polite wave of her hand. However, as the maid moved to serve the other guests, a sudden change came over her. With a sharp, commanding tone, she called out across the room, "I'll take tea. Now" The staff, accustomed to her swift changes in demeanour, quickly adjusted, pouring a steaming cup of tea and delivering it to her side. "So, Neice of mine."

"Yes, Aunt Lisbeth?" I asked doing my best not to slouch,

"This… gentlemen?"

"Yes, Aunt Lisbeth?"

"He comes with a name I assume?" she asked, "Most men do, many of them are utterly irrelevant not like they ever do much with them besides stamp it on everything they can like a puppy pissing on all it see's,"

"Yes, he has a name," I slightly blushed trying not to chuckle,

"Well? Am I to be graced with it or is it an ever-going mystery?"

"Doctor Jack Dawkins," I smiled proudly,

"Doctor?" she perked up suddenly more interested in the conversation beyond the mere plenties of it, "My, my."

"Doctor Dawkins is the surgeon at the Hospital."

"A surgeon. Now I do say that's an awful lot better than I expected." she sipped her tea, "I had fears you'd desire to run amok with a penniless panhandler, some brutish blacksmith or a horrid haberdasher boy." she explained,

"Didn't you marry a tailor?" My father spoke up,

"Do not be sharp with me Eric." She snapped back, "So? Tell me of the courtship?"

"Well, he and I first met after I had an accident in town. Bruised my hand fairly badly so my father took me to the hospital, and Doctor Dawkins treated me. We conversed socially a few times after that and we invited him to my ball. Luck we did, I ended up having a terrible bout of breathlessness and by the grace of god, he was there to aid me. He made his intentions very clear to Father and at a dinner sometime later he asked to enter our courtship." I explained, "We have followed of course all social rules and have been spending time in our courtship chaperoned by Miss Hardcastle." I smiled doing my best to hide my lies as I couldn't really admit everything else me and Jack had already done,

"Good, good." Lisbeth nodded, "He seems a proper gentleman."

I tried to hide my blush,

"it does bring me some peace for fiscal security." she said, "Tell me, how much shall you expect for the household once wed?"

"Ohh uh… Ja- Doctor Dawkins, doesn't make very much money." I admitted,

"Hum…" she scoffed, "I see. Well, I suppose it is a boundary of the industry, but once he is head surgeon of his hospital all will be well,"

"He isn't-"

"He will be. You will make him. It is a wife's duty to make her husband see reason and presume what is best for him. Regardless of his own selfish ambition." She explained, "He will make you a wife of a head surgeon or you will not make him a father of children it is a simple pact, he will do as told and see reason as all men do once deprived of the marital bliss between your legs."

I tried not to gasp,

"Y/n. I will not have my niece be penniless." She warned, "I would call off this courtship than allow you to wed some penniless surgeon doomed to fall into his bottle after each day of work."

"Yes Aunt Lisbeth," I nodded,

"Good. Now, Summon this surgeon I wish to inspect him for my niece."

"Well as it happened Y/n wasn't feeling well this morning, she and Miss Hardcastle were to take her to the hospital this afternoon." My father spoke up clearly trying to get Lisbeth away from him and the house for a while,

"Splendid. We shall go at once." Lisbeth demanded with a loud stomp of her parasol on the floor,

As I sat in the carriage, my mind raced with thoughts. I couldn’t shake the urgency of my situation. He needed a warning—no, more than a warning; he needed to be prepared for what lay ahead. The idea of her descending upon him, ready to tear him apart, sent a shiver down my spine.

If I hesitated any longer, it would be as if I were pushing him into turbulent waters, leaving him to flounder and fight his way back to safety on his own. The metaphor felt all too real, as if I might as well be tossing him into the ocean, hoping he could somehow swim to safety.

With my heart pounding in my chest, I found myself absentmindedly picking at my nail. The plush cushioning of the couch beneath me did little to ease my anxiety. It was time to gather my thoughts and muster all the courage I could find, for the weight of my decision felt monumental. I knew I had to speak up; it was now or never.

"Aunt Lisbeth?"

"Yes Y/n?"

"I was just thinking-"

"Do not share your thoughts dear." She said, "It cheapens you and bores me."

"Yes but, Well Ja- Doctor Dawkins, he may be in surgery when we arrive."

"Hum…" She scoffed, "That is true, and I do so hate waiting." she sneered, "Y/n, be a good girl and hop out the carriage we'll take a scenic ride around the town whilst you unsure his availability."

"Yes. of course Aunt Lisbeth."

"Good."

I nodded in acknowledgment, allowing a gentle smile to grace my lips as I bid her goodbye. As the carriage gradually came to a halt, I gracefully stepped out onto the cool, stone steps of the hospital, carefully smoothing out the fabric of my dress to erase any wrinkles.

Once the carriage was completely out of sight, awave of urgency washed over me. I hitched up the hem of my dress, my heart racing with anticipation, and dashed inside the hospital. The grand entrance opened up to a bustling corridor, but I was singularly focused on reaching the theatre. As I hurried down the hallway, I caught sight of a tall, slippery-looking man standing in the shadows of the operating theatre entrance,

"Women are not allowed in here madam." he snapped at me,

"Excuse me." I snapped back, "Where is Doctor Dawkins?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Just tell me. Please."

"Doctor Dawkins is busy."

"I'm well aware. But where is he busy?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Ugh- His fiance?"

His tone immediately shifted and a smirk grew across his face, "So your Y/n?"

"Jack. Is. Where?" I glared,

"Down in the morgue, but that's no place for a lovely lady. You're more than welcome to stay up here far from the stains and smells Dawkin's so like's to linger in,"

"No thank you." I snapped back before hurrying down to the morgue as fast as I could.

Luckily he was indeed in the morgue, looming over a body with his leather apron around him, hands coated in blood, working away on a body.

Even given the situation I couldn't hold back a soft smile,

Jack absentmindedly glanced up and did a double take as he saw me standing in the doorway, "Darling!" he said with a bright smile, "What are you doing here?!" He asked his tone full of excitement as he cleaned off his hands quickly,

"I am sorry, I didn't want to just drop in and-" I began as I went over, but before I could even finish what I said he wrapped his arms around my waist and softly kissed my lips, Of course, I happily kissed back trailing my hands up his arms as we shared tender kisses,

"Humm, why wouldn't I be happy to see you?" he cooed,

"I am… really sorry Jack-" I began but once again he interrupted me,

"No need to be sorry darling, it's a lovely little surprise." he smiled, "the best actually. My lovely lady coming to visit me while I'm working." He peppered my face with little kisses as he spoke, "Should I get used to this? My Darling Y/n coming to visit me at work, for some cuddles and kisses, maybe you can start bringing me a nice homecooked lunch too."

"Hey!" I laughed,

"I would not complain if you did, I am really hungry I would actually be thrilled." He chuckled,

so I slightly glared,

"And cause I'd get to see my darling wife."

"Better." I chuckled,

"So? Why is my darling here to see me then? you're not hurt are you?!"

"No. no, I'm fine Jack."

"Good, you had me worried." He smiled pulling us a little closer together, "Have you just come because you missed me?"

"well of course I missed you-"

"Hummm not half as much as I've missed you," he smirked tugging us even closer and squeezing my body against his peppering kisses down my jaw and neck,

"Jack." I complained pushing him away and keeping him at arm's length, "Focus." I told him, "We have a problem. A big problem."

"Oh?" He asked, "I can think of 'A' big problem you might be coming to urgently visit me for." He nodded, "But I promise you darling, it is not possible for you to be pregnant" He reassured taking my hands softly and giving my knuckles kisses, "Well I mean… technically it's loosely possible but it would be impossible to know yet."

"…Jack that doesn't give the calming effect you think that it does." I told him, "But no something far worse." I said as I took my hands away and helped him out of his apron and cleaned him up as much as I could,

"Whoa! Hello darling!" He smirked getting excited, "You want my clothes off so badly you only have to ask me."

"Will you stop thinking about your dick for five minutes?" I chuckled,

"…we're courting." He scoffed, "We both know I can't."

"We have a very very big problem. and I am… so so so sorry for what's going to happen." I told him,

"Y/n? What's going on?"

I sighed and took his hands tightly giving his lips a tender kiss, "It's time you meet aunt Lisbeth."

"…Who's aunt Lisbeth?"

[deceitful-jester]

{!!Short angel in two of the pictures is a man and uses He/Him, curly haired vamp in third pic uses She/Her!!} I was briefly in a Curse of Strahd. . . Thing, it wasn't really a campaign, my partner just wanted to see if she could handle running a module and doing text based stuff, it was really more of a test run for a potential polycule campaign than anything else, and when I actually liked Strahd instead of hating him, she was not prepared to progress, since the options were either homebrew a lot of stuff or say 'Bad ending, you go in the basement forever', but I drew all of this while we were playing. The second to last one is the first attempt I made at drawing Strahd and I do not like it, but I'm throwing it in the pile anyway. The curly haired vampire on the purple background is "Doru". You see, my secondary character, Michael, has been a fully-fledged vampire for about a thousand years, so when we found her in her father's basement, instead of killing her, Michael fully turned her so she could have autonomy, and then Michael helped her figure out her gender and she stayed with the party. The other character that isn't Strahd is, of course, Eddie, who took an immediate liking to the count, particularly because Strahd has a very similar demeanor to a plush wolf with ruby eyes that Eddie treasures and that already had a backstory before I knew anything about CoS and so Strahd, wolf boy that he is, decided to start trying to lure Eddie away from the party by invading his dreams wearing a wolf mask and encouraging the association. I have devoured every Ravenloft book that features Strahd since this happened, and I am going sort of crazy now that I am out of them, especially since I was really enjoying where this campaign was going and I seriously doubt I will ever have a chance to play the module again with a DM who is even slightly compassionate towards me or my stance that the blurb at the beginning of the module that serves as a vague-post about Stephanie Myer is cringe and that Mormons in general {Strahd's original creator is a Mormon just like Myer} have bad takes on vampires and that actually it is deeply bigoted that her opinion is that sympathetic vampires are entirely antithetical to the original morals behind vampires {I think it's great when a monster portrayed as representing 'the other', usually the queer or racialized other, is allowed to be portrayed as cool, fun, romantic, sexy, or at the very least, complex and worthy of being empathized with}, and so I shall have to content myself with daydreaming and being filled with melancholy until the special interest passes, just as the mists themselves would have wanted. Oh well. Maybe I'll have the energy to run it eventually and I'll make Strahd the most deliciously problematic trans and bisexual representation ever and then let all of the PCs kiss him, because that's what we all deserve. Good God I love problematic bisexual vampires

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Possibility of a Johnson thing with a plushy reader based on the song Crush by Cigarettes After Sex?

Feel Your Love Crush - Johnson/Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N, gender-neutral reader, the reader has self-esteem issues but they're overcome, oral sex, brief fingering as prep, sex.

Wordcount: 3436

Summary: He was always surrounded by the most beautiful people you'd ever seen, so what made him look only at you whenever you were with him? You couldn't figure it out, but thanks to him you were beginning to.

Notes: I can't believe I'm 22 requests in and this is my first Johnson, how is that even possible OTL but aside from that and the Lester sequel, all of my old queue is now finished! When I saw this one I actually gasped, since I myself am plushy 👉👈😖 so while writing I kinda ended up doing it for myself, channeled my own insecurities in there, I hope that's okay! It still ends up cute, I just wouldn't be able to believe it if Johnson asked me out on a date when I'm me heh

Once again, you were thankful for the chill of the night as the southern heat died down for the day, a golden ticket in your hand as you waited in line behind the other eager patrons of the Bang-a-Rang. Johnson had told you to just come around the back, someone would let you in if you'd just mentioned his name, but you didn't feel like you were there yet, the constant worry that someone else would come along and steal him away always on your mind. It returned again as you were allowed inside, the beautiful dancers around you drawing the gaze and keeping it hostage until the money flew, but you had just one man in your sights again tonight, the back of his head just visible over the crowd as he headed for a table.

His friends were there, the ones he worked with and were rarely without, but he'd leave them for you again the moment he saw you, he always did. His back was still to you as you approached his booth, the blonde one, Matty, noticing you first and giving him a nudge and a smirk. He turned in his seat to see what had him smiling so wide, his eyes shining in the neons the moment he saw that it was you. He grabbed his drink and stood, his jacket slung over his shoulder as he left them as always, but you didn't feel like going out this time as you placed a hand on his shoulder, not after that week's ticket had cut into your grocery money.

‘Can we stay? I just got here,’ you murmured, not wanting to make him choose but also not wanting to waste all that money so soon. He was fine with it though, again he always was when it came to you, and the others made room as you sat down with them for a drink. You didn't talk much, just like him, the other two doing all the talking for you as the music blared on and the dancers kept drawing gazes, and when a particularly pretty one with red hair and an untamable smile came over to try and rile up Matty you couldn't help but feel that familiar comparison to everyone around you arise once more without fail. 

She was beautiful, she was lively, she was thin and fit and looked so pretty in her outfit, and the moment Matty finally sent her away with a, ‘Don't you have something better to be doing tonight?’ you felt Johnson lean in to whisper in your ear.

‘She's like a sister to us, you don't gotta worry about her,’ he reassured you with a smile, and while you tried to take comfort in that, you still couldn't help but notice that his friends were also beautiful and lively and thin, your thicker legs pressing together so you wouldn't take up too much space at your end of the bench. As if reading your mind, he motioned for Matty to lean over before whispering something in his ear, the blonde giving him a quick nod as Johnson then nudged you to stand. You did, fearing that maybe he'd caught on that you didn't fit in around here at last, but instead of telling you to go he instead led you to a nearby door.

It led to his bedroom, two king beds, three dressers, two nightstands complete with matching lamps, one small table, and three comfy chairs filling the room, a bathroom to your left cutting into the room and just barely obscuring the mess of clothes that were gathered on the floor in the remaining space on the other side of the wall.

‘Ignore that,’ he chuckled casually when he caught you staring, and you did the moment your eyes caught something else; it was the dresser by the door, one third of it a gather-all for their junk and empty bottles, the other two thirds housing a row of old books, while the wall above was decorated with photos. They were all pinned directly to the wall, only a couple having frames, and when you moved closer you saw that they were all of you.

You during your various drives with him, you when he brought you to his favourite shops, you that day by the river when you'd felt brave enough to not only swim but ditch the clothes you wore overtop of your suit; he'd said you'd looked amazing as he'd snapped the photo, but the camera was so old you'd honestly just thought he used it as a joke the entire time, because who'd ever want any pictures of you when they were surrounded by people like this?

‘I keep every one,’ he told you as he slotted himself against your back, his arms coming around you and making your plush tummy feel warm under his palms. ‘Ethan got the camera for himself, but I keep borrowing it whenever I know you're comin’ around.’

‘Why would you want these?’ You didn't mean to ask it, to question his tastes, but he didn't take offense at your words at all, just chuckled in your ear as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head.

‘Because you're the loveliest one of them all.’

Your breath caught in your throat as he spun you around to kiss you for the first time, your heart beating faster at his confession; you'd been seeing him for a few months now, he'd been the one to spot you in town and ask you out for drinks to your complete and total surprise, but you hadn't actually believed that this was real until now. He'd always seemed genuine in his friendship with you, and Matty and Ethan never once made jokes about how different you were, but it wasn't until he gave a gentle tug to your pants that you knew he actually wanted you as much as you wanted him. You let him lead the way to the nearest bed, it must’ve been his as he nodded for you to sit down, get comfy against the pillows, their softness luring you in and letting you sink in as you looked up at him in a new light.

‘They won't bother us, Matty's gunna bring Ethan up the river for tonight,’ he told you as he started to strip, the sight of him shedding layer after layer making the room feel much warmer than it actually was. 

‘And you really want-?’ you asked nervously, the way your thighs then rubbed together making him stare as he crawled onto the bed in front of you. 

‘Just as much as you want me, I’d like to think,’ he confirmed, a knee coming between yours to part your legs, ‘unless you don't want this?’

‘I do,’ you were quick to say, Johnson chuckling at how honest you were once you stopped trying to convince yourself you weren't good enough for him, a hand cupping your cheek when your face then turned red over your eagerness.

‘You gunna trust me when I say I've fallen for you, then?’ he asked softly, your throat tightening as you gave him a small nod. ‘Good, cause I've been dyin’ to get my hands on you ever since you walked in.’ He kissed you again as he straddled you, his taller form boxing you in against his pillows, and you helped him start to strip you as the music went on outside. You wore a bit less than usual to combat the heat of the wait, and it seemed like he enjoyed what you'd chosen as he hummed to himself, kissing each new part if you that was revealed. 

You had to help him tug your pants down your hips, your cheeks flushing again when it proved to be a bit difficult, but he just smirked and yanked them free in one quick movement, your body jolting down with the movement and making the both of you laugh at how strong he was. It was just what you needed to not only feel more comfortable with baring yourself to him, but to set the mood as well as he ran his hands up your thighs until he settled on your hips. 

‘So soft, I'm gunna love holding you,’ he growled lowly, his desire for you making it harder to keep your own hands at bay as he rocked his hips forward just once. ‘You looked so good that day by the river, I wanted to push you in, tear that suit off…’

‘Johnson,’ you moaned, unable to keep yourself from imagining it, knowing full well that you hadn't been able to help yourself after seeing him sweating in the sun in just an undershirt, his jacket and button up left in the car.

‘So many nights I pictured myself between these thighs, wanted to know how it felt when you held me in place, I'm so glad you said yes to that drink.’ He was confessing everything to you now that he could, more talkative than you'd ever seen him so you knew just how much he felt for you, the sound of his rarely used voice only making you want to hear more. ‘Lay back, I can't wait any longer…’

You shifted down with his help, his mouth finding your thighs as promised as he tugged at the waistband of your underwear, his hands everywhere the moment he freed you of them as well. You made sure to give him space, spreading wide the further he traveled until you were squeezing on instinct, the pleasure of his mouth on you making you gasp and clutch his head. 

He didn't complain, only groaning against you as he wordlessly urged you to do more, want more from him, and you rolled your hips as he pressed light bruises into your skin. He worshiped you until he was satisfied, his eyes dark as he forced himself to stop before you came, because there was more he wanted, and you wanted it as well as you gently took him by the chin and guided him back to your mouth. 

‘I'm not letting you go home tonight,’ he whispered as you undid his belt, his need to be with you now very apparent as he rocked against your waist. ‘I wanna fuck you slow, love.’

‘Please…’ You'd never wanted anything more in your life, your mouth going dry as he took himself out and started to stroke. It looked like it pained him to have to part with you now that he had you on his bed, but it was a necessity as he got up and went to the nightstand next to the other bed instead of to his own. He pulled open the drawer, quickly shifting around until he found what he was looking for, and when he kneeled down next to you, his pants now on the floor, you swallowed hard when you saw that it was a nearly empty bottle of lube.

‘How did-?’

‘Why d’you think there's only two beds?’ was all he had to say, your face going beet red as you then understood why the other two were so okay with you stealing their room for the night. Your thoughts about it were quickly pushed away when he then laid down next to you instead of straddling you again, the lube popped open and his eyes only on you as you turned to him in confusion. ‘Take them off for me,’ he didn't ask, his head nodding towards his boxers as he palmed himself, and you fit perfectly between his legs as you returned the favour. He was stroking himself again the moment the fabric left his hips, the lube already spreading over his length and making him let out the odd groan just at seeing you before him. ‘I want you to ride me, love.’

‘But… won't I be too heavy?’ There was that nervousness again, you didn't want to ruin this for him even though he was a grown man and could certainly handle you, and he made that very apparent as he reached forward, cupped your ass with a bite of his lip, and pulled you forward until you were completely seated in his lap.

‘I've wanted to see you like this for months, you gunna let a little thing like that get in the way of this?’ He didn't say it to be pushy in the face of his own needs, or to get you to continue even if you were uncomfortable, his words instead making you see that when he said he wanted you he truly meant all of you; while you were out there comparing yourself to the people in his life, he was only thinking of and looking at you, and suddenly you didn't feel so self-conscious as you gazed down at the man who wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

‘No,’ you said honestly, and he kissed you again as he started to finger you open for him. You grinded down on him, let him touch you without reserve as you did the same, your hands becoming acquainted with his strong arms, stronger chest, and the bit of softness around his own belly from all the drinking and diner foods. He arched against you until you could feel the muscle underneath, he could probably pick you up easily he was more than likely trying to get across, and you almost wished you had the courage to ask him to fuck you against the wall.

Maybe next time.

You whined at the loss when he was satisfied once again, although you didn't have to wait this time as he lined himself up to you, his silent plea for you to move showing in his eyes as you slowly sank down until you were seated on him again. You shivered as you adjusted to him, Johnson losing composure for just a moment as he brought you to his chest, his mouth sucking marks into your skin as his hands trailed southward over you until he found a comfortable place on your hips. 

He didn't ask you to move, just waited patiently for your strength to return, and you didn't want to keep him waiting any longer as you started to ride him. It was good, damn better than you'd dared to imagine on the nights where you were lonely and fantasized about what this could be like, none of them comparing as he helped you along when your legs already started to get tired.

‘Don't stop,’ you pleaded with him, and he gladly took over for you as you let out a broken moan and braced yourself against his chest. You both panted into each other's shoulders, desperate to be close after so long of being silent about it, the pictures on his section of wall once again catching you off guard as you realized you could see them pretty clearly from his bed. Just as you'd been thinking of him, you bit back a surprisingly lewd moan when you imagined him doing the same, staring up at you from afar as he got off-

‘Every time you'd go I'd come back here,’ he murmured against your skin, his eyes also on the wall as he got you to roll your hips along with him. ‘I'd put up a new picture, and I'd think about all the things I wanted to say and do to you when you were looking at everyone else.’

‘I was afraid, you're too good for me,’ you finally admitted, the stimulations from the slowness of your movements starting to make you keen.

‘Now I'm gunna be good to you.’ He got you to sit back so you were on full display for him, a bit of energy coming back to you as you ran your hand down your chest to your stomach before touching yourself. He loved the sight of you feeling so good, the way you clenched around him making him thrust up a little harder each time you sank down on him again, and when he went from mouthing the words to finally saying them you couldn't hold it in; you rode him in earnest, Johnson fucking you through that final stretch until you came, and even as he followed after you and you collapsed against his chest he didn't stop, his arms tight around you as he kissed you despite the need for air.

‘I love you,’ he repeated even though he’d said it so many times, but you could gladly hear it a hundred times more as you said them back to him. ‘Just a little more, don't want this to end,’ he breathed, and you let him go until he was satisfied for the third time, although this time you undeniably were too, if you did say so yourself.

‘I don't either.’ You laid your cheek against his chest, your thighs shaking from the effort as you let them rest, his hand rubbing up and down your back as your heart rate went back to normal. ‘...Why didn't you ever say anything? I mean, I did think you were joking at first when you asked me for that drink, but even when we kept hanging out you never told me.’

‘I thought me bringing you on all those dates was tell enough,’ he figured, and you had to admit that they were pretty date-y locations most of the time, since they were all personal to him and the others never tagged along, but you hadn't wanted to hope this tall, very handsome stranger was choosing you. ‘Matty did say I should suck it up and spit it out, his words,’ he chuckled, and you laughed as you tried to get off of him. ‘Where d’you think you're going? Already told you I'm not letting you go tonight.’

Your face flushed deep, you had thought that had been only his way of talking dirty to you in the moment, but you were starting to catch on that Johnson was just very open about what he wanted, there was no second guessing here. ‘I don't really like the idea of sleeping next to where your friends constantly have sex, especially not if I’m seeing them tomorrow morning,’ you confessed quietly, your eyes avoiding the bed like they were already there, and he chuckled deep from his chest as he kissed you quickly and helped you sit up. 

‘Then we'll go out, don't gotta hit the river til next month.’ You felt empty again as you parted, but his hands leading you to the bathroom to clean you up after your sudden but very much enjoyed activities helped you feel a little better. The shower was quick, Johnson washing you carefully and whispering everything he loved about you as he worked, washing away every insecurity that’d plagued you all your life. When you were done you almost ended up pressed into the tiled wall, like he really couldn’t keep his hands off of you now that he had you, you were his.

While getting redressed, you didn’t have much of a choice but to wear the same clothes from the floor, so you sat down and pulled your shirt back over your head as he pulled out a fresh shirt from his drawer. It was mesmerizing watching him dress just as much as it was to undress, every curve of his body drawing you in more than any Pinup ever could; you couldn’t believe that he was all yours, since when were you ever that lucky? You couldn’t be sure, but you were very certain that the sight of him looking down at you while he did up his pants and tucked in his undershirt was pretty equal to winning the lottery.

‘Where do you want to go? If they’ve got the car for their own reasons, you can’t really take me for a ride tonight,’ you wondered as you stood, Johnson leaving his shirt unbuttoned as he sauntered over to you and pulled you close.

‘We could always take your car,’ he suggested with a small grin, the idea sounding wonderful as he grabbed his pack of smokes from his dresser and lit one up, ‘could grab a drink or two, go to your house this time.’

He tasted like nicotine as you went in for another kiss, the hand on your waist giving you a gentle squeeze as you pulled away and blew his stolen smoke out of the corner of your mouth. ‘That sounds like a perfect date.’