#maybe because drawing with a pen is little easier

[tubes-the-ann]

that feeling when you seemingly can't art

[puptrefied]

cw : somno ⋆ no dialogue | 1k words .ᐟ

ellie has your face everywhere—most of her journal pages, random papers and literal paintings—so it's no surprise she uses any moment of quietness to draw you again.

you're on the couch reading? she's already sitting on the other end of the room, journal in hand, focused on getting the proportions right.

you took a cute polaroid? well, she has it handmade on paper, right on the cork board above her bed. she tried to be fancier and draw it with a pen instead of her usual pencil.

you're outside, paying attention to some plants ? ellie's on the window, sketchbook resting against her knee, trying to capture the way the sunlight hits your face.

and now, while you're asleep—soft breaths, limbs relaxed, the thin straps of your nightgown slipping just slightly off your shoulder. ellie’s at the edge of her bed, journal balanced in her lap, pencil gliding over paper in slow, careful strokes.

she wants to get it perfect. the shape of your lashes against your cheek, the slightly parted lips, the tousled hair, the way your fingers curl slightly around the blanket. her eyes drifted lower as she observed every feature she was about to practice with.

hm, the blanket’s in the way.

ellie bit her lip, shifting in place. you wouldn’t mind if she just…moved it a little, right? just to capture the shape of your hips, the smoothness of your thighs—purely for artistic purposes, obviously.

god. you’re barely wearing anything.

the nightgown’s ridden up, exposing soft skin and the faintest trace of lace beneath. ellie swallows hard, heat prickling at the back of her neck. this is fine—fine—she’s just drawing, after all. she can be normal about this.

but the moonlight catches on the curve of your chest, the delicate rise and fall with each breath, and suddenly her hands feel clumsy, shaky even, like she’s trying too hard to keep it together.

okay ellie, just focus on the drawing. yeah, you can do that. just…anatomy lesson!

working on sketching the full view of your ass shouldn't make her stomach feel this way. she's seen it a hundred times already. but the way you're there, completely unaware of the fact you're the muse of her rather intimate drawing gives her a tingly feeling.

man, drawing soft nipples is kinda complicated. it would be easier if they were hard.

thankfully ellie knows how to solve a problem, especially this one.

as carefully as she could she got up, trying to avoid moving the bed and waking you up. slowly going to stand next to your side of the mattress—hand sliding the straps of your nightwear down to get even easier access. now it's better, she can fully see your boobs and draw then correctly… but yeah, maybe hard nipples would be more convenient. just saying!

she kneeled beside the bed, heart thudding a little too fast, and reaches out—just barely grazing the curve of your breast with the back of her knuckle. the touch is feather-light, almost not there, but even that makes heat curl low in her stomach.

nothing.

no reaction.

you’re still lost in sleep, lashes fluttering faintly against your cheeks.

okay, just a little more.

her thumb brushed over your nipple—gentle, desperately hoping you're deeply asleep—until she felt it harden beneath her touch. a quiet exhale escaped her lips, half in triumph, half because the sight of you like this makes her head spin and her belly tingle even more.

that's better.

she told herself it’s all for the sake of the sketch as she retraces the lines in her mind, committing every detail to memory before she pulls her hand away. but she hesitates—because how could she not? the skin under her fingertips is so warm, so soft, and there’s a sweetness in the air that makes her crave more.

god, she shouldn’t. she should sit back down, finish the drawing like a normal person would, and stop being a complete perv about it.

but instead, her thumb drags across the sensitive peak again—slower this time. watching the way your body shifts under her touch sends a sharp pulse of heat through her. she bit her lip hard enough to hurt, like it’ll ground her, stop her from taking things further.

that's obviously not working because her thumb keeps moving and her lips are slightly parted now, so focused on your body and the subtle reactions it has.

she's just making sure she’s getting every detail right in the sketch. that’s all. no big deal.

but her pulse is hammering so hard, heat coiling low in her belly as she watched the way your body reacts, the way your chest rises just a little sharper when her thumb flicks over your nipple again. she swallowed hard. It’s barely anything, just a subconscious response, but it makes something tighten inside her. maybe you like it, maybe you're dreaming about it, maybe—

her breathing got heavier but barely audible over the quiet rustle of sheets as you shift in your sleep. Her eyes flick to your face, searching for any sign of wakefulness.

just one more touch wouldn’t hurt, right?

her fingers ghosted down your ribs, following the shape of you like she’s still sketching—just without the pencil this time. when she reached your hip, her grip firmed slightly, just to feel the give of soft skin beneath her palm.

her thighs automatically pressed together, making her feel the wetness in between them soaking the fabric of her underwear.

this is bad. so, so bad.

but you’re right there, pliant and warm under her hands, and the temptation is overwhelming.

ellie’s breath hitched as she lets her hand dip lower, tracing the delicate lace of your underwear. the fabric so thin, and she wonders—shit, ellie, stop.

but then you shift again, a sleepy, barely-there hum escaping your lips as your thighs part just slightly, and she’s gone.

she needs to go to the bathroom and take care of it… sigh.

masterlist

[woso-dreamzzz]

Secret

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Baby!Reader

Summary: Ingrid's got a secret

"Skatten min," Ingrid coos to you softly," It's okay. It's okay. Let's try and calm down."

You whine helplessly against her, knocking your head against her collarbone as you suckle randomly.

"Skatt," Ingrid laughs," You're not getting milk out of there."

You don't know any different and suckle a bit harder. It's not exactly ideal but Ingrid's happy that you're no longer crying.

You've been tearful ever since she came home from training, wanting nothing more than to be close to her. Usually, Ingrid would give in to your demands but she'd had a meeting with a media outlet back home so had to put you down.

You whined and cried the entire time and have only now quietened.

You were not the most clingy of babies but now that you had both made the move to Spain, something must have flipped in you.

It was hard going. It wasn't that Ingrid was trying to keep you a secret (it's not like you were really a secret if Frido knew who you were) but it was easier to keep football separate from her private life.

Here, at home, it was just you and her and no language barrier to navigate. It was nice and sweet but sometimes Ingrid missed the companionship of people in the apartment.

Frido came over sometimes, always to see you and try to convince you that she was the cooler Scandinavian but no one else on the team knew about you so getting people to come around without blowing the big secret was kind of difficult.

"You calm now, skatt?" Ingrid teases as she sits down on your playmat and draws some toys closer. You reach out easily for your plastic ladybug, hitting the button that makes it sing happily.

You giggle when it starts to sing, babbling along surprisingly in tune for someone so little while Ingrid sings along to the actual words. It's your favourite toy of all time even though Ingrid hates it because it's always so loud.

It's so loud in fact that Ingrid almost doesn't hear the doorbell ring. It goes twice in a little tune and she gets to her feet.

You screech when she moves away but she soothes you with a fond swipe over your hair and an offer for your dummy. You suck it into your mouth quickly, bobbing it rhythmically before smacking your ladybug again.

Ingrid rolls her eyes at you with a little smile before pulling open the door. She expects it to be a delivery man. Her mother has been quite vocal in her annoyance about Ingrid still playing football abroad when she had such a little baby to look after so she had been sending regular gift boxes to the apartment.

She's already reaching for the pen to sign for the package when she realises that it's Mapi.

She freezes.

Ingrid likes Mapi (maybe more than likes her) and her day always brightens after seeing her but there was no reason for Mapi to be waiting outside of her door.

"Has something happened?"

Mapi looks a bit embarrassed to be waiting outside and she clears her throat, holding up a tin. "I made too many cookies," She says," I was wondering if you wanted any."

The tin looks suspiciously like one you buy at a supermarket and the cookies look completely uniform as well, like they've been bought rather than made at home.

"Oh..." Ingrid's face goes a little red like Mapi's too. "Thank you." She takes the tin, brushing her hands against Mapi's with a small smile.

They stand awkwardly on the doorstep, just staring at each other before Mapi jumps out of her skin as the annoying jingle of your ladybug filters through the door.

You screech your own babble to it before there's a loud crash.

Ingrid turns immediately to investigate and Mapi slips through the door before she notices.

"Skatten min," She sighs," You're not meant to throw your toys."

Your ladybug is sitting upside down quite a way away which is fairly impressive for a five-month-old to do. You're still singing along to it though, clapping your hands to the tune and then getting distracted by the fact that you have feet.

"That's a baby. Whose baby is that?"

Ingrid doesn't realise that Mapi is even there until she speaks. She knows the jig is up now and the number of teammates who know about your existence climbs from one to two as Mapi stares down at you.

"My baby," Ingrid admits as she puts the tin of cookies on the counter. "Mapi, this is y/n."

You recognise your name, turning your head to look at her before going back to inspecting your feet.

"A baby," Mapi says again," You have a baby?"

"Yes." Ingrid knows she's being a little bit rude but Mapi's yet to say anything of substance on the matter and she'd rather go in defensive and be surprised rather than calm and end up in an argument.

"But..." Mapi stares at you. "She's so little." She squats down in front of you and waves. "Hola."

You look at her strangely before bum shuffling over to your ladybug, hitting it repeatedly even though it's upside down and you can no longer reach the button.

"Does she not like me?"

Ingrid has to admit, the pout on Mapi's face is adorable. "She likes no one more than that stupid ladybug."

You've worked out how to flip it over again and finally slam your hand on the button, sending it into a new wave of the song.

"She's adorable," Mapi says, standing," Why haven't we seen her before?"

Ingrid shrugs. She doesn't really have a good excuse so she settles on the one that she used on Frido. "It's a hassle, isn't it? There would be no one to watch her if I took her to practice."

"We can all watch her!" Mapi insist, suddenly looking very excited," Someone's always injured so they can take her! Oh, please, Ingrid! She's so cute! She can be the team mascot."

"I don't know..." But Ingrid does know. She's been wanting to take you to practice for a while now but she'd always chickened out, deciding that it was too late to come clean about her little secret.

"Please!" Mapi begs, already moving away to sit next to you. "I promise that there'll be someone to watch her. We can use her as a weight at the gym!"

You look at Mapi oddly again, confused by this strange girl with pictures on her body. You don't do anything though, just hit your ladybug when the song stops and poking at your own feet.

She starts clapping along to the tune though. Mapi doesn't sing like Ingrid does (mainly because the words are in Norwegian and she doesn't know that) but she still tries to engage with you.

You let her and then clamber a bit closer. You're still occupied by your ladybug but you do sit yourself in Mapi's lap and she takes that as a win.

"I guess..." Ingrid says as she watches the way you take Mapi's hand, forcing her touch the button now. "Maybe next week. And only for a few hours."

"Yes!" Mapi pumps her fist into the air before looking down at you. "Did you hear? You're coming to training soon!"

You ignore her, focussed entirely on your ladybug.

[bomber-grl]

Kusuo Saiki Dating Headcanons

Pairing(s): Kusuo Saiki x Gn!Reader

It takes a really long time to get to the point where the two of you are dating. Like 100,000,000 words, slow burn, they finally kiss at the end– sort of fanfic. Honestly, I think Saiki’s a bit hesitant about relationships in general because they seem like a hassle. Everyone else is on thin ice already, the thought of putting effort into a relationship is exhausting enough.

Like with everyone else, he’s pretty indifferent toward you at first, and you only move up to "mild annoyance" status if you stick around long enough. Especially since he’s probably hearing all your thoughts, so there’s that.

Now, onto the actual headcanons. Saiki isn’t exactly the affectionate type. You two probably started as friends, mostly with you bothering him. Even after he realizes he likes you (though he really tries to hide it), nothing changes much. The difference is, you’re the only person he seems to tolerate. Everyone else wonders why you even bother with him.

Sometimes, Saiki gets... freaked out? There’s really no other way to put it. He’s used to being around people who are idiots, so when someone like you comes along—someone who’s rather perceptive—that’s a bit much for him. It messes with his head. Despite being able to hear your every thought, he starts wondering if you’re psychic too.

You can tell what he’s feeling, what he wants, and even do things for him. Sure, he could do all those things tenfold in just under a minute, but for some reason, he finds himself smiling. He even starts thinking fondly of you.

If you were another Nendou, though? He’d probably avoid you, and your relationship would be a slow burn that takes another 100,000,000 words and even worse edging (Not like that). But I digress. Saiki shows affection in subtle ways. Like remembering offhand comments you’ve made about your favorite snack or color.

He’s the type of guy who’ll subtly push your chair out of the way when you’re about to trip or pick up a dropped pen without you asking. He might not say much, but he’ll do whatever he can to make your life a little easier, even if he doesn’t directly tell you that.

I know it might sound like I’m painting him as a deadbeat bf, but honestly? He’d probably be a great boyfriend. He can literally hear your thoughts. He knows what you want, even before you say it. He’s seen (and heard) men ruin their relationships because they thought they knew their partner. So, when you want to grab a treat or have been wanting something that relates to an interest, he’ll know.

He’ll also know (and hear) if you slightly even think he’s good looking on a particular day. He’ll never admit it, of course, but if you get embarrassed thinking about it (since you know he can hear your thoughts), he secretly enjoys that. Seeing you flustered is one of his guilty pleasures—even though he’d never show it.

And yeah, Saiki’s protective. He won’t say it, and he won’t make a big show of it like other people would, but he does care. If something’s bothering you, he’ll subtly step in. Like if someone’s making you uncomfortable, he’ll use his telekinesis to, throw something at them or trip them up—whatever works, as long as no one knows it was him.

He doesn’t like people messing with you, and he won’t hesitate to shut them down, even if he keeps it minimal to avoid drawing attention to himself.

In this following scenario you're another Nendou. He hardly ever gets surprised. I mean, hearing everyone’s thoughts kind of ruins surprises, spoilers for a new tv show, honestly anything for him. But maybe—just maybe—the only way to startle or fluster him is by turning the tables on that. Maybe it’s the first time you show affection in your relationship.

Saiki’s not big on physical touch– we all know that much. If you want to hug him, go ahead, but he’ll probably just stand there like a statue. So, let’s say you somehow convince him to come over to your place, and then you, attempted subtly, suggest that you kiss him out of nowhere.

He’d choke on his drink and immediately try to cover it up. Forget not hearing your thoughts, he literally didn’t think you’d want to kiss him anytime soon. He won’t show it (obviously) but deep down, he’s definitely a little shaken.

Now, in the chance that you two do kiss, (which is chapters later– in fanfiction terms) he’s very hesitant? Like sure, he can destroy the entire Earth if he even wanted to but the idea is still startling. He thinks it over and once he agrees (which is the only kiss you’ll get until the next blue moon) he is admittedly worried.

He’s never kissed anyone, he never planned to so he tries to be collected like he always is. If a satellite suddenly went offline somewhere in space, well that’s nothing to do with him.

Also, an extra that isn’t a dating hc is that Saikis mom and dad love you so much, his dad literally asked if you were actually real which earned a side eye from Saiki. It does get annoying for Saiki, but he’s pretty glad you all get along.

[snail-day]

Nanami is that one coworker who’s criminally easy to irritate and even easier to fall for. One offhand comment, one pointed look during a meeting, and you earn that familiar, soft sigh. Tired. Resigned. But somehow… fond. Like he’s used to you. Like he expects you. Like he’s carved out a space for you in his day without meaning to.

You start to chase that sigh. Make a game of it. Sliding your chair just a little too close during briefings. Whispering dry commentary under your breath that earns the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. You pass him scribbled tic-tac-toe grids like kids in school, and he always pretends to ignore them until he doesn’t. Until he gives in with a reluctant little huff and draws a perfect red X like he’s humoring you despite his better judgment.

You learn his rhythms without trying. Black coffee, no sugar. Pushes his sleeves up twice, always twice, before settling into work. Keeps his reading glasses in his top drawer, even though he pretends not to need them. You memorize the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching, calm, curious, something unnameable softening his gaze for just a second too long.

It feels harmless. A crush. A flutter. A little indulgence to carry you through the week.

Until, one morning, just like any other, your pen rolls off the desk. You both reach for it. Fingers brush. You see it.

A simple silver band. Worn, familiar. Not new. Not decorative. Not the kind of thing someone forgets to mention. It had always been there, hadn’t it? You just hadn’t seen it. Or maybe you hadn’t wanted to.

Your hand draws back first.

Something settles in your chest, slow and cold. Not a cinematic heartbreak. No violin swell or sharp intake of breath. Just a steady ache. A quiet knowing. You stop sliding your chair so close. You stop whispering under your breath. The tic-tac-toe games disappear.

But you still smile when he passes by. Still offer answers when he asks questions he knows you know. You play the part. Say all the right things. Pretend you’re not breaking a little every day beneath it all.

And Nanami notices. Of course he does. He watches you now like he’s trying to read between lines you’re no longer writing. Lingers at your desk a little longer than necessary. Opens his mouth like he might say something, then closes it again. Leaves without a word.

He never asks what changed. Never mentions the silence. Never explains the ring. You don’t ask either.

Because this is what you do now. You show up. You work. You smile like nothing cracked, like nothing ever hoped too hard or looked too closely.

Because sometimes, surviving heartbreak doesn’t look like crying in the rain. Sometimes, it’s just learning how to carry it like it weighs nothing at all.

[dunmeshistash]

Interview to celebrate the opening of the Ryoko Kui Exhibition

About Delicious in Dungeon: Story making

Q1. Your first long-running series has lasted for about 9 and a half years. Has it been different from your previous experience drawing short stories?

A1. Compared to short stories, the series has been easier because the same characters appear each time. But I was surprised to find that I got tired of drawing the same characters too many times.

Q2. You have said before that the overall structure of the story was decided before serialization began, but how much of that had you communicated to your editor? Also, what kind of communication did you have during the series production?

A2. The goal was something we discussed and had decided on from the beginning. The goal itself was simple, but the path to get there was more difficult and took longer than imagined.

Q3. Regarding the overall story concept and development, did you write out or put anything down in writing (such as the plot)?

A3. I did, but it was simple.

Q4. Did you come up with the dishes based on the monsters you wanted in the story? Or did you come up with the monsters based on the dishes?

A4. It depended on the story, but usually the story came first followed by the monsters or food. I feel like that was most often the order.

Q5. As you progressed in drawing the series, what elements of the characters, story, or world expanded or grew in the most unexpected way?

A5. Nothing particularly unexpected perhaps. When I used to draw web manga, I tended to think up inconsequential settings. So, from the beginning I tried to restrain myself as much as possible and not expand too much. I was surprised when my editor said "Let's expand it more," in the second half of the series.

Q6. "Delicious in Dungeon" starts with a relatively simple setting, but as the series and the labyrinth exploration continues, the map slowly expands little by little in the readers' minds. It becomes more three-dimensional, revealing the secrets of the world, and taking on a multilayered structure. Are there any sources that you used as a reference, or which influenced you in creating this multilayered structure?

A6. A long time ago, when I was working on my personal web manga (fantasy), I drew it however I wanted, thinking that "Only people who can read this will read it," but I regularly received feedback that it was "unreadable", so I tried to make it as easily. accessible as possible.

Q7. The series combines many elements, including "fantasy", "gourmet", "battles", and "puzzle solving", but I think it's also important that it is a "comedy" which makes people laugh. Could you let us know if you have a creative commitment towards depicting humor?

A7. My hopes are that I can make it fun for people to read.

[page 5]

About Delicious in Dungeon: Drawing manga

Q1. Please tell us about the drawing tools you currently use, both digital and analogue.

A1. In terms of analogue tools, I use a light box, a G pen, a round pen, and a brush pen. And for digital, I use CLIP STUDIO PAINT and a Wacom LCD tablet. Screentone pasting is always done on the computer, so ultimately it all ends up as a digital manuscript.

Q2. Do you have any rules or reasons for using digital and analog separately?

A2. I'm always looking for ways to draw better and save time, so the exact approach is probably different for almost every chapter. Personally, I feel that analogue methods create more appealing lines, but I feel like digital saves time, so maybe I'll do a digital rough sketch and do the inking by hand… I might have been using a G pen, and maybe I'll try out a turnip pen, or this time I'm short on time so I'll draw it entirely digitally, but with digital I can redo it over and over, so maybe analogue is still faster, and so on and so forth. I'm indecisive in this way and so haven't developed a consistent process.

Q3. I understand that you prepare 3D data for your assistants to draw the backgrounds. What kind of data did you make for "Delicious in Dungeon" ?

A3. You could call it 3D, but it's not a proper model, just something to help with the rough sketching. I line up cubes to share the perspective and sense of scale, and they use it as a reference.

Q4. At the beginning of the series, the characters and backgrounds were somewhat simply drawn, and it seems like they became richly detailed over the progression of the story. What was your intention behind using these different styles?

A4. It's simply that my technique isn't stable. I thought I'd put a lot of effort in at the start. I remember being confused when my editor asked me to add more in to the drawing, and I wondered "Where…?"

Q5. Thinking about the food, were there any menu illustrations that you were particularly satisfied with, or which you struggled with?

A5. I've never liked my own food illustrations. But the times when I read other people's manga and thought "That looks delicious," I think it's been more an influence of the movement, the staging, and the situation than the drawings.

Q6. For the world maps and the terrain of each continent, did you refer to any maps of the real world? I feel like the shape of the 'island' is similar to the shape of Fukuoka Prefecture or Kyushu.

A6. I didn't reference any specific geography, but I did try to put thought into things like whether a developed city would be near a river or the sea, and what the coastline would look like. I'm pleased if it feels similar to a real place, because it means my interpretation was pretty accurate.

About Delicious in Dungeon: Other

Q1. Which is your favorite monster?

A1. Nightmare.

Q2. I'm sure you have received a lot of feedback from readers in countries and regions outside of Japan. Please tell us if there was anything from them that made you happy, was unexpected, or which made a lasting impression on you.

A2. When you play foreign games, there are times when you think "Why did they translate it into Japanese like that?" But having been on the side of having something translated, I've realized some things are unavoidable, or endless, and there are many things that don't matter either way from the author's perspective, so it was interesting.

About Ryoko Kui's short story collections and herself

Q1. Dragons are a consistent and important motif in your work. Was there any particular work or experience which inspired this? Also, are there points about drawing dragons which you find interesting or have had to work hard on?

A1. It's less about liking dragons, and more that I'm interested in the worlds in which dragons exist. When I draw dragons, the depiction in itself has a sweet feeling to it. I have never had a pet reptile, so I don't have a very good understanding of them.

Q2. Unomiya University in your story "The dragon's school is on top of the mountain" has a Faculty of Dragons, Department of Environmental Studies, and Department of Technology Studies, and a Faculty of Veterinary Medicine. If you were to enroll in the university, which department or faculty would you like to enter?

A2. I probably wouldn't be accepted….

Q3. The collection includes a short story staged as an essay manga. Are you a fan of essay manga? Please tell us about any genres of essay manga that you like.

A3. I love all kinds of essay manga. I read them often.

Q4. If you were to make your own game, what kind of game would you like to make?

A4. I prefer being a player when it comes to games.

Q5. When did you first start drawing illustrations (doodles)?

A5. I don't exactly remember when I first drew a picture, but I think I started drawing manga around the fourth or fifth grade of elementary school. in my notebooks and had my friends read them.

Q6. What is the most fun part about drawing manga?

A6. Every part is fun and hard in its own way.

Q7. Please tell us if there is anything you "just can't stop no matter what".

A7. My procrastination habit.

Q8. Could you please tell us if there's something you want to draw now?

A8. I've been working continuously since the serialization, so I'd like to take about 2 to 3 months to just draw whatever I want.

[milswrites]

Stubborn Little Fox

~ Eris Vanserra X Reader

Summary: Eris struggles to look after his stubborn mate when you are sick.

Warnings: Poorly reader but it’s pretty much fluff. Maybe some suggestiveness.

Notes: Just a silly little fic to tide you over until I finish the angst I’m writing. Dedicated to @sarawritestories who wrote me this exact scenario in an attempt to get me to stop writing and go to bed 😌

Your bed was empty.

Again. 

The wrinkled covers pulled back to reveal the bare sheets of where you had once laid, where Eris was supposed find you soundly sleeping upon entering the room.

The Autumn Prince cursed lowly under his breath, knuckles turning white with frustration as he tightly gripped onto the tray of food he had prepared for you.

It was easier to control his hounds - Eris thought as he carefully placed the tray down on the edge of the bed, lest he toss its contents onto the floor in his anger.

Eris was used to completing impossible jobs, and yet nothing has been more difficult than trying to wrangle his sick mate and convince you to sleep away your illness. Your inability to sit still making caring for you harder than Eris had initially anticipated.

He needn’t try too hard to find you, a swift wander down the hall and to his office was all Eris needed to walk before he opened the door to find your sickly form hunched over his desk with a pen in hand. Scribbling away at whatever documents had been left for you once you had recovered.

It was impossible to stop the exasperated sigh which fell from his lips as he took in the paleness of your face and the worrying sheen of sweat which had coated it.

“And why, pray tell me, aren’t you in bed where you’re supposed to be Little Fox?” Eris snarled, all comfort forgotten as he once more found himself trying to coax you back towards your bed.

With shaking hands you reluctantly place your pen down, guilty eyes meeting the burning stare of your mates unforgiving glare. “I’ve got work to finish!” You defend, gesturing to the stack of paperwork which had only grown during your absence from your job.

At your excuse, the red-haired male inhaled deeply, a disbelieving hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. And it wasn’t until Eris exhaled his frustrations that he allowed himself to reply as softly as he could, “work can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“It can’t,” you reason, a disappointed sigh drawing from your sickly lips, “I’m far enough behind as it is. Another day without work and I’ll never be able to catch up. Besides, I’m fine. I feel much better now.”

Whilst Eris prided himself on holding back the roll of his eyes which threatened to occur, he failed to stop the raise of his brow as you proceeded to burst into a fit of coughs after your weak-willed reassurances.

“All better?” He mused, a small smirk finding its home on his lips as he watched you pitifully try to compose yourself. Innocent eyes meeting his own as your incessant coughing eventually came to a halt.

“I have to say Little Fox, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you like going against my orders” Eris chided, slowly walking towards you as he spoke. Each step forward drawing you deeper into his hypnotic trance. “Would I be correct in assuming you keep leaving your bed because you want me to scold you?” He asks teasingly, bringing his face down to meet yours, until his playful eyes were level with your own.

“I can’t say I’d hate it if you had to take care of me” you replied honestly, unable to help the way your gaze drifted towards your mates slightly parted lips.

“Is that not what I’ve been doing all this time?” Eris feigns hurt which fails to read through his wicked smile, “Taking care of my mate?”

“I can think of a few more ways I’d like to be taken care of” you answer, hoping to be seductive but ultimately failing as another round of coughs wrack your chest.

“Later” Eris chuckled, his strong arms coming to lift you from where you were sat, “for now you need sleep.”

You furrow your brows in protest, opening your mouth to argue with your mate before he beat you to it. Eris’s soothing voice acting to calm you, “Don’t worry, I’m going to have to cuddle you just to make sure you don’t run off anywhere else.”

Eris’s warm lips came to meet your aching forehead, his kiss already working to dissipate the uncomfortable pulsating of your sore temples. Your mates healing touch enough to already have you drifting off in his comforting embrace.

“My stubborn Little Fox,” he uttered as he began to move back towards the bedroom which you shared, cradling you close to his body in hope that the heat which he emitted would soothe your aching joints, “you better feel well again soon, I’ll be waiting to deliver your punishment for disobeying me.”

You hum happily in response, nuzzling your face into his warm chest to hide your smirk of anticipation, “I’m looking forward to it, My Prince.”

It was only once you woke, when your fever had broken and the ache in your muscles had quelled, that you noticed that Eris was no longer holding you. That it was his turn to escape the comfortable confines of your sheets which had now grown cold in his absence.

Stepping out from the warmth of your covers, you walked barefoot across the cold wooden floors. Seeking the ever-lasting warmth of your mate. You followed the call, moving through the hall until you found yourself outside his office, the strong scent of crackling wood and chestnuts enough to tell you the male was waiting inside.

Cracking open the door you peered inside, noting the way Eris was slumped over the freshly inked papers you had saved to work on when your health had improved.

Your mate - your selfless, loving mate - had completed them all. No doubt seeking to ease your worries and provide you with the extra hours of rest you would no doubt need once you had woken.

Quietly pulling the door to, you move to the kitchen to prepare your love a warming tea. Because as much as Eris longed to take care of those he loved so dearly, sometimes what he needed was for someone to take care of him in return.

[robiinurheart33]

Soap likes it when they’re alone.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s fun when 141 are all together, the four of them kicking ass on a mission. But when it’s just two of them on a mission, it just feels.. different. Like he has Ghost all to himself. They work wonderfully together as a duo, which is probably why Price never separates them. Also probably because Gaz is his favourite, that prick. (He misses them.)

They’re currently on a stakeout, and Soap was supposed to be asleep 2 hours ago.

He’s sitting across from Ghost, dressed in his sleepwear which was a sweater and old sleeping shorts he used to wear back in secondary school. Ghost was wearing a large hoodie, some sweatpants and the mandatory balaclava. They were both sitting in front of two windows next to each other, the wooden blinds pushed open and moonlight illuminating them both. The cooling air seeps into the room, and soap breathes in deeply. He glances down towards his journal, a finger stuck between the pages, the other hand twirling the pen around. It’s quiet.

His journal is far from neat, pages sticking out waywardly and the leather ripping off from one side of the cover. Soap resists the urge to pick at it. It’s filled with notes from missions, sketches of his loved ones. Mostly sceneries of places he’s stationed at.

He looks up at Ghost staring out of the window. Soap turns his head back out the window, wondering what Ghost was specifically looking at, what he was thinking at the moment, whether he would scold soap if he said he wanted to slip out to buy some supper because he’s hungry. Soap flips back open his journal, and can feel ghost attuned to his actions, even if he wasn’t currently looking at him. Soap likes him for that. He pays attention. Soap wants to return the favour. He wants to know his ins and outs, wants to pay attention. He’s always been an attention-seeking child, which meant that most adults and classmates would ignore him. Endless nights of young dumb teenage John Mactavish sobbing into his pillow about insecurities, his future and the people around him. The things he used to do for attention, each one more drastic than the last. He can’t count the amount of times his Ma had to bail him out, the amount of stress he caused her, his dear Ma.

He likes the natural attention the army brings him, big brute having the green light to legally kill people for a living. It was liberating for a while, but eventually that too died out. At the not-so ripe age of 30-whatever, Soap learns to savour the portions of attention and praise he’s delivered, especially when he joined 141. Maybe in another universe he would be just a little easier to love, little easier to endure. It’s not something he really dwells on nowadays (lie), but he would have preferred somebody be actually interested, not just for the sake of taming him.

Soap looks back on the half-filled page of his journal, clicking open his ballpoint pen, and starts to sketch Ghost. He’s a pretty good subject, not really needing to focus a lot on anatomy since most of his face is covered anyways. He’s familiar with the strokes. He eventually gets lost in it, thoughts fading away and autopilot coming to take over the wheel, the skktch of pen on paper is repetitive and soothing to his ears. It’s the only sound between them now, the crickets and wind opting to stay out of their safe little bubble.

So when Soap looks back up again and sees Ghost looking back, he physically bristles. They lock into a strange sort of stare-off, Ghost’s eyes upturned slightly in a way Johnny knows that he found it amusing. They look at each other for about a solid ten seconds, enough time for him to memorise his blond eyelashes and his eye shape, clocking in internally on how to draw him even better, tempted to just look down and sketch them as fast as possible, so he wouldn’t forget. Ever.

“…Wha’?” Johnny’s fine with breaking first.

“You’re looking at me.”

“Astute observation, LT. Is it still night time?”

“Wha ‘ave you got for us?”

Soap covers his journal in a sort of bashful kind of way, feeling like a schoolgirl covering her diary.

“Didn’t know you got yourself a little diary.”

Soap tsks. “It’s a journal.”

“Right.” An indignant huff.

“Am’ no lying!” Soap feels heat rush to his cheeks, strangely defensive of his pride in front of his lieutenant.

“Never said you were. Drawin’ me now?” His manc accent was suddenly getting very annoying. Ghost’s eyes skirt down to his hands covering the pages, and suddenly Johnny is very aware of the skin wrapped around the muscles of his hands, down to the bone. He feels the dirt under his fingernails, the ink smudged against his fingertips and palm. He wants to turn his hands in and out, inspecting them himself to see if they’re worthy of being looked at by Ghost. Acutely aware of the sheer pressure, the weight of ghost’s attention on him, his skin gets all prickly and he wants to hide.

Is he doing that on purpose?

“Yer a good subject, never movin like a statue. It’s good for practicing my still life.” Soap’s ring finger twitches, and he knows he’s been given away.

Ghost’s eyes glint in the moonlight. His eyes are almond shaped, bigger than most. His pupils are dilated, dirt brown, like the whisky he likes to choke down. His eyelashes are long, so blonde they’re almost white. they shine so brightly soap wants to reach over and close them, just to calm his poor heart a bit. Soap wants to jab his pen into his eye. Soap knows how many strokes it takes to draw Simon’s eyes.

“…. At least get my good side, Sargent.”

“Full o’ shite, you.” he chuckles, the spell breaking as soap rests his knee up on the table and placing his journal against it. It would be a little harder to sketch ghost now, but it’ll be a cold day in hell if Ghost ever sees what he does with his journal. (Would probably be more inclined to call it a diary, old fuck.) Although, he can’t help but admit that it’s a beautiful night in this particular day. It doesn’t count that Ghost and Soap’s legs are in between each other’s under the table, just short of touching each other. It doesn’t count that Johnny pointedly ignores the way that Ghost is still looking at him from the corner of his eye. It doesn’t count that Simon allows Johnny to draw him out when he would break the neck of anyone even trying to look into his eyes too deeply.

It doesn’t count that here, in their little fake apartment with one bed, sniper gun concealed under the window, two toothbrushes side by side in a cup in the bathroom, that they allow themselves to be Simon and Johnny.

They fall back into comfortable silence, Johnny 2 hours and 30 minutes over his allotted time to sleep.

Ghost’s pov

[mushimatsu]

choromatsu handwriting post

compiled all of choromatsus handwriting that i could find bc i love him

i realize these were all made by different teams and have different sources (anime/games/webkuji/etc) but there are some similarities between them all and i think its cute. i'll try to make it easier for ppl that cannot read japanese too

(note: some of these may or may not be valid criticisms, im not a native japanese speaker but i got my bachelors in japanese. idk if this means anything to anyone im just pointing out things that im noticing and maybe it will be interesting to you. if you notice anything else interesting feel free to add)

commonalities i noticed:

sometimes will combine multiple character strokes into one (normal thing to do, i've seen some native speakers do this)

with a few exceptions (mt takao for some reason), generally neat handwriting. proper and easy to read. not too big, not too small, not over stylized, but not messy either. very choromatsu

letter in s1e24

very nice handwriting, legible and neat. this is closest to how i think i would picture his handwriting. i know that the staff across different ososan things probably don't care too deeply about keeping minute handwriting details consistent and that's why they're all gonna look different but i like this one best for him.

new years cards in s2e13

very cute, love the stupid drawing of himself. everything very nice and tidy. to me these characters look a much curlier and rounder than the ones in the letter.

for both the letter and the new years cards it looks like he was careful to properly write out all the strokes of the kanji, even for more complicated ones like 緊張 and 就職. we see in mt takao that his handwriting gets a LOT messier. i know the real reason is because it was probably different animators that did his handwriting, but i'm choosing to believe that in canon it's because both of these are more fancy/formal letters addressed to people, whereas the trip guide is just for him and his brothers and doesn't necessarily need to look nice.

also i adore his tendency to add little drawings to things, like this and the mt takao guide he's everything

trip guide from mt. takao s3e8. his handwriting here, for some reason, is exceptionally bad especially compared to everything else. he writes like a little kid and i love his shitty little drawings. he's so cute.

my teachers would always correct my kanji down to the tiniest strokes, if i wrote like this is class i would get scolded so bad. you can see him combining his strokes together for 記念撮影, this will continue for the other pictures too. cute detail imo

the 昼 in 昼食 is definitely written wrong, but the second kanji 食 might be a little nitpicky. technically that bottom part is three different strokes, not two crossed over each other

more of him combining the strokes together. i wouldn't necessarily say that's wrong, since i've seen people do that before; it's probably just a habit that happens over time. i do it in english too

HOWEVER, he did write the 日 radical in 撮影 wrong here. previously, i thought he was just combining strokes again so that it looked like three lines instead of two (note 3 and 4 are two parallel lines, he just didn't lift his pen up)

but when you look at this it's clear that he very much did write three lines this time. that's the wrong radical

anyway

another example of him writing a two stroke character with just one. again, this is fine, ive seen people write their characters like this. however it looks bad when he does it here

i love how he wrote "campfire" i love how for some reason he didn't keep the letter sizing consistent or straight. also his little campfire drawing

１９時

キャンプ

ファイヤー

also there's two ways to write そ, its just a matter of choice its not important but he writes it the second way. and he messed up a kanji again

these next ones are maybe less canon cause they're not from the show itself

Airport Matsu

very tidy, combines a couple strokes together. both 松 (matsu) characters look like he combines the last two strokes together instead of writing them as two separate ones

and he does a similar thing with the right half of 野 in Matsuno

nostalgic moments webkuji

this one he writes every stroke and doesn't combine them and that's probably because different people worked on these and the tiny details like this don't matter to anyone but me. or you could say that he wrote a little neater in high school and started simplifying things as he got older.

Rock School

he drew himself again lol

i think his handwriting looks very good here actually. idk how to describe it but i like when handwriting looks like this specific way in japanese. i've seen other people that have handwriting like this and it just looks so nice. like the characters seem to vary in size, but somehow it makes it a little easier to read imo?

like in the first bullet point (underlined in yellow), the す in 多すぎる is a little big, but like it looks nice. in the second bullet point (blue), the の in 世の中 is slightly smaller but it emphasizes the kanji on either side of it. the stroke on the side of the か characters are written a little longer than usual (red). like it just looks nice, everything is shaped really nice and whenever i see people that have this handwriting i always try to emulate it lol

Neetpro

this one is a bit messier than the others. the way he wrote チョロ just doesn't look as nice as the way he wrote it in airport matsu and nostalgic moments. the way the て is written is more curved compared to the others. also the 界 kanji (blue) is written in a way that looks weird to me, and kara from this same set also writes the kanji that way so i think the same person might have written all of them lol

also interesting is that he writes き differently in this one

i was told by one of my professors that you're supposed to write さ and き with the upper and lower parts disconnected when writing by hand. it's only in text that they're connected. but i've still seen some people write them in the connected way

in all the other examples, choromatsu doesn't write them connected like that, just this one.

sukiya app

my lovely boy and his nonsense words and lies. the handwriting here comes off as very cutesy to me, at least compared to the others. some of the ways he writes, especially any box-like shape, seems round in a way. he also connects the right half of 野 again.

overall writes very neatly, altho a lot of the kanji here seems like its very big on the top and smaller on the bottom, and a lot of the letters seem more rounded. all the other examples just feel like the writing is a bit more angular, with the exception of the new years cards.

extra: coloring book

the way he wrote his name here is messier than the other examples. i like that he added little commentary on his own coloring though ("looks good!" "the tail was black too i believe") maybe he colored this with a paintbrush????? the strokes look as if he was trying to write quickly with a brush as if it was a pen. so maybe that's why its a little messier

anyway thanks for reading. i love choromatsu

[ranting-writer]

"Don't you find it hard to look at me? Like, at all?"

Dave looked up from drawing his little comics to look at Dirk across the table from him.

They were in the meteor's library, just getting in some alone time together and drinking shitty coffee while engaging in their respective artistic pursuits. They'd been sitting in silence for a long time, maybe half an hour, before Dirk spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

"Is my strikingly familiar visage not difficult to cast your gaze upon?"

Dave stared harder then inhaled, "Dude, using big boy words doesn't make it easier for my spacey ass to comprehend," he said, setting his pen down. "Though, saying spacey is funny because I am, in fact, not the Space player. You'd think she'd be a lot more all over than I am, but no. I'm the dipshit squirreling out. Can't cross the roads of fucking thought when I need to. God damn abhorrent ass attention span, can't even focus on the topic at hand, which is you asking me if 'your visage is difficult to cast my gaze upon'. Stellar wording."

Dirk didn't reply, just staring while awaiting an answer. Although, he fidgeted quite a bit. His face and voice were under perfect control, truly the model of composure. His body language? Less so. He hadn't had people around to really gauge body language growing up, so his every emotion was on display, mostly through his hands and shoulders.

He was Dave's opposite in that way. Dave's expressions and tone were whatever with Bro. He could pull whatever tone he really wanted, or grin like a giddy bitch all day, but his body language was scrutinized thoroughly. Any flinch or sign of fear was grounds for an immediate visit to the Striders Rooftop Arena.

Dave hummed, resting his chin on his hand. "I mean, no," he said. "Why would I have a hard time looking at you?"

Dirk sighed and shrugged. "I suppose I assumed I look like your Bro. And I assumed such a fact would bring up a lot of negative emotions."

If Dave had learned anything about Dirk so far, it was that the guy was very, very concerned with matters of his own image and identity. Self centered if you will. Not necessarily in a bad way, it was just that his identity and sense of self were incredibly important to him. Typically, he also seemed to assume everyone was as focused on the idea of who they were as he was. It was a noticeable struggle for him to not internalize everything Bro had done as his own actions or responsibility. And it seemed like his literal image was a potential issue as well.

"Well," Dave began. "You do and you don't."

"Elaborate."

Dave shrugged and turned the page to draw something less shitty and cartoony. "You have the same hair, same eye color, same freckles, same shades..." he murmured. "But your eyes, when I can see them, are relaxed and soft. Also, your eyes are more orangey than his. His lean a bit more brown, like honey. Your voice is almost as deep as his, but your tone overall is lighter and more fun. He sounded like someone died almost all the time."

Dirk watched Dave draw, pondering Dave's words as the other Strider spoke. It was simultaneously comforting and distressing to be compared and contrasted with this other him. Everything he knew about Bro was through Dave's jovial explanations and staunch defenses, and Rose's reinterpretations of Dave's information.

Dave continued. "Also, big difference, your nose is straight. Well as straight as our Roman noses can be."

Dirk blinked, absently touching his nose. "Straight?" he asked curiously.

Dave nodded, sketching out a badly crooked nose as he spoke. "Bro broke his nose a lot," he said. "He played baseball growing up and a lot of balls hit him in the face. Two breaks were from that. Last break I remember was from slamming his face into the shower wall when he fell once. Bloody as shit and he raged about it for an hour."

Dirk peered at what Dave was drawing. He guessed Dave was drawing Bro by the nose. It was so broken it sat kind of... Boringly on the face instead of proudly and regally. It was warped to the side, and it honestly looked hard to breathe through. And the eyes Dave started to draw...

Dirk knew his eyes weren't very expressive, so he expected Bro's eyes to be cold and unsympathetic looking. Dead, even. It was something Jake had once complained about (though Dave had once suggested that complaint was bullshit and founded on idealized romance standards). Instead, the eyes Dave drew were widened and intense, almost angry or perhaps manic. The man Dave was drawing looked as ready to throw a punch as he was to skydive without a parachute. He painfully unhinged...

"Your mouth is also pretty different," Dave continued, snapping Dirk out of his staring contest with the paper.

"How so?"

"Honestly, sometimes I forgot he actually had one."

Dirk stared in confusion. How the hell do you forget a person has a mouth?

"As I got older, he kind of... stopped talking," Dave said, sketching a mouth on his drawing. "Also, he his lip piercings were spiked, yours aren't. But if I'm honest, a lot of the difference is your teeth." He drew the mouth as a wide, manic grin. "Yours are pretty straight and clean, I'm guessing your hygiene is top fucking notch given your craving for infinite showering."

Dirk smile a bit and nodded. He did love a good, long, boiling hot shower. He'd actually turned red once from how long he'd been in the shower. It had taken the still young AR blaring an alarm in the apartment to get Dirk out of the shower.

Dave hummed a bit as he drew Bro's teeth. They were crooked and a couple seemed chipped in painful ways. Shading on some suggested cavities. Or discoloration maybe? Dave elaborated without being asked, "Bro was a heavy smoker," he said. "Especially when he felt like shit, which was a fuck load. His teeth got kind of yellowy and he had a few cavities where brushing wasn't doing anything much."

Dirk nodded. He personally didn't understand how anyone could smoke cigarettes. In the bubbles, he'd once gotten a whiff of them and it nearly made him gag. Another time, he watched Dave trying to alchemize some. Apparently it was successful in making at least one because he heard Dave coughing for about ten minutes, and Dave had smelled of nicotine the rest of the day.

Then again... Addiction wasn't something he necessarily could relate to to being with. Roxy was an alcoholic and apparently Rose had, even briefly, ventured down the same path. It wouldn't surprise him if once this was all over if Dave actually picked up his own addiction. After all, genetics played a part, and it seemed he'd also grown up around someone with addictions.

Dave paused his sketching efforts then looked up, almost as if to examine Dirk.

Dirk shifted uncomfortably under the gaze.

Dave eventually looked back down, drawing a scar under Bro's eye. "You also don't have the same scars on you," he said. "I gave him this one when I was six apparently. I throw a knife at him and it cut his cheek and ear pretty bad. He wasn't even mad. He was actually pretty proud."

Dirk rubbed the scar on his throat, watching Dave again. "Damn. Honestly, I might have been too."

"Oh I'd hope so. Like, dude... A first grader accurately slices open your face and ear throwing a knife? Dude, that's hella cool."

"Oh, truly. No doubt about that."

The two smiled at each other and let out little giggles of shared delight over their silly agreement.

Dave started next on Bro's hair. "He always styled his hair too, like yours, but more often than not, it was loose around his face, kinda messy and like he chopped it with kitchen scissors."

The hair he drew was fluffy if, as he stated, choppy. Not bad, "Oh god who let you leave the salon like that" choppy. More intentionally choppy for the most part. Definitely a kitchen scissor job though. The hair framed Bro's face and head like a fluffy halo. "It was strawberry blonde too, like yours."

Dirk blinked and pulled a piece of hair down to examine it. Strawberry blonde? Did that mean more red? He supposed it did, given that Dave and Roxy had more of a gold blonde, and Rose... Well Rose was sort of a non-factor if he didn't know her actual hair color. The girl kept bleaching it platinum. "...Does Rose have...?"

"Rose's natural hair is so strawberry, she's borderline a redhead."

Dirk stared a bit, processing. Huh. Rose really was closer to being like him than Roxy.

"Bro bleached his hair a lot too," Dave said. "Not like... constantly like Rose, but sometimes he'd come back from Dennis's place with white ass hair and weird things done to his side burns or eyebrows."

Dirk screeched himself up in confusion. "Wait, who?"

Dave paused then gasped softly. "Ooooohhhh.... You don't have a Dennis." He looked stunned to realize that Dirk hadn't had his own version of whoever the hell Dennis was. He bounced a bit in his seat. "Okay, so Dennis was kind of like... The only friend Bro had," he elaborated. "He helped Bro on Game Bro, babysat me, and helped Bro with his online businesses. He was kind of a douche, but like... Not really. More like just some knucklehead who didn't like kids that. His girlfriend liked me though. Dennis and his girl were basically our only family."

Dirk nodded a bit, looking at the basically drawing Dave still worked on. "So... No family family?"

Dave paused then sighed heavily. After a moment, he started drawing, presumably, Bro's hands, going oddly quiet. The hands he drew were calloused and sturdy hands, though still the same in shape as Dirk's more dainty looking ones. They had painted nails that looked chewed on and painfully short, and they were covered in thick, ugly scars. Dave spoke after he finished. "Bro's adoptive parents were I think he said Calvinist," he looked up. "I researched that once and basically it says that God picked who has gonna save and bring to Heaven already and Jesus died for them and no one else. Aaaand that even a newborn baby is just fucking riddled with sin."

Dirk felt a knot form in his stomach. Obviously, he hadn't been raised to believe in Christianity or a God or anything like that, but he'd seen some awful things done in planet's history in the name of Christianity and its denominations and their God.

"And keep in mind, Bro was raised in the 1980's by these people," Dave continued. "From what I gather, he wasn't allowed to read anything but the Bible as a kid." Dave took in a slow breath, looking sickened and sad. "...They started to hit him with willow branches as early as four months old."

Dirk felt the knot in his throat tighten as dread washed over him. Bro, this other version of him, was hit with branches as a baby. A literal baby...

He knew what had suffered already in his short 16 years alive was hell. Isolation, ecological devastation, a struggle for food, a struggle to survive... He and Roxy both had pretty massive trump cards if people tried to compare trauma to them. But Dirk had at least seen pictures and some old videos of babies. They were soft and sweet, innocent and unaware of anything nasty in the world. He probably would necessarily like babies himself if he was around any, but he couldn't imagine being so depraved and vile that you believe a baby was sinful and needed to be hit, let alone actually hitting the baby.

Dirk looked at the drawn hands. "So... The scars on his hands... From the branches?"

Dave nodded. "Yeah. His "dad" would lure him to touch something then hit him. Apparently to teach obedience." He sipped his coffee. "Oh, apparently, I met his adoptive parents once when I was like, freshly ecto-birthed. His "dad" pulled that with me and Bro lost it."

Dirk growled a bit. "I should fucking hope so," he said, furious that someone would actively assault what was essentially a newborn. "I don't think I even like kids, but they shouldn't be hit."

Dave nodded, in agreement, seemingly unaware of the sort of doublethink he was engaging in that moment. Not that Dirk was going to call it out. Now wasn't the appropriate moment.

"That's not to mention whatever the fuck Lil Cal was doing to him."

Dirk tilted his head slightly in confusion. Cal? Cal was the shit. That was his fucking buddy, his best bro in the whole damn post-apocalyptic world. What was wrong with that friendly face? Then again, Caliborn had said something about Cal being a powerful juju. Was that it?

"What do you mean," Dirk asked. "Cal's just a sick ass puppet. A sweet ass bro."

Dave's mouth contorted into a sort of disgusted sneer. "Uh-huh..." he mumbled. "Yeah, no. Maybe yours is. Bro's was a malicious evil fuck. I don't know what that thing did to him, but I found him more than once in my childhood talking to it. Arguing with it. He had a few breakdowns at it too. I think its why he stopped talking..."

Hearing this confused Dirk. There was a Lil Cal that was an evil, malicious force that tormented someone? That didn't sound right, but... He couldn't exactly argue with Dave. Dave, while more expressive than Dirk, still tended to try and mask his emotions. For Dave to show off that much disgust and dislike of something, it was pretty significant to Dave then.

Dirk nodded slowly, processing the information. Something had tormented Bro for a long time... Enough to have Dave have at least heard Bro's end of what was happening.

Dave turned back to drawing, seemingly finishing up minor details. "Bro had his problems and he wasn't the best person at times," he said. "But he gave a shit. Too much sometimes. He felt his emotions pretty intensely so he shut them down a lot." He turned the finished drawing towards Dirk. "But he tried his best to be good."

Looking at the completed drawing, Dirk felt his anxiety spike. It was him, staring back. A feral, unstable version of himself. For a moment, he felt all his worst fears might be true. That he might be just as depraved and cruel, if not more so, than Bro. He was scared of being manipulative, cruel, abusive, and downright awful. He knew he was these things, but he didn't want to be, and kept trying to fix it when he became aware of it. Seeing this drawing made him feel like his efforts to grow were for naught.

Then again...

The longer he stared the more the face looked... Different. Like another man entirely.

This man, this version of Dirk... He had been severely abused, his earliest memory likely being hit. He'd spent a good chunk of adult life apparently tormented by a puppet. He had no support beyond one or two people. He struggled with addiction, poor impulse control, and possibly a lot of pain if his scars and injuries were anything to go by. He was abusive and cold, distant and brutish. He was a man who had no real guidance his anything in life, except for perhaps the goal of raising Dave. Whoever this was... This wasn't him.

The realization rocked him, like a boulder had slammed into his back and knocked him over.

Bro wasn't him.

Genetically, they were one and the same, yes. But the longer Dirk gazed into the scribbled eyes of Bro, he felt the connection to the older man slowly loosen. It didn't snap or release, just... Relaxed. He would forever be connected to Bro, forever chained to a past he couldn't ever remember, but he could be better. He could learn from Bro's mistakes and grow. And he could be better to Dave than Bro had been. He needed to be better to Dave. Dave deserved better.

Dirk looked up at Dave, tension in his body easing. He smiled faintly at Dave. "Thank you, Dave," he said. "I appreciate this. Really."

Dave smiled warmly, looking like the sun in Dirk's eyes. "Yeah, man," he replied, giddy. "Anything for you. We're bros. We stick together and help each other out."

Dirk nodded happily, letting Dave hold his hand while Dave returned to babbling away about some dead thing he found interesting.

He couldn't totally say yet that he wasn't Bro. Guilt still ate at his psyche like an annoying moth chewing on clothing. Perhaps, one day, though, he could leave his fears behind.

[aajxs]

always and forever , SATORU GOJO !

the one where you're gone and satoru is reminiscing.

pairings - satoru gojo x fem!reader

contents - angstttt!!! , hurt/little comfort , mentions of death , mentions of blood , satoru gojo is bad at feelings , maybe ooc gojo (??) , arguing , idk what else to add so lmk if I missed anything

w/c - ???

a/n - the highly requested part two to 'meant to be'. I didn't really know how to end this but I hope it turned out okay 😭

masterlist , part one .

SATORU WAS ASKED the same question a lot. 'Is there anything you don't have?' He'd laugh this question off, give the person a cocky smirk and continue with his day. If he could, he'd give an entire list of things he doesn't have. Your name would be at the top of the list every time.

Satoru couldn't stand the atmosphere around jujutsu high now that you were gone. He used to sleep well knowing you were only a few rooms down peacefully sleeping, bundled in blankets and hugging whatever stuffed animal you had chosen out of your large collection that night.

Satoru always teased you about it, but that never stopped you from buying new ones. You had given him one of your favorite stuffed animals awhile back, and even though Satoru let out a laugh when you handed him the bear, he treated it with the utmost care simply because it was yours.

Before your room was emptied, Yaga allowed Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko to go through your belongings and take something to remember you by. Even if it was probably against the rules, he knew the four of you were close. The distant look in Satorus eyes said everything, and Satoru Gojo was never distant.

"Try to make it quick," Yaga said, patting Satoru on the shoulder as he walked out of the room. Your walls were littered with posters and polaroids, your nightstand had a book on it, your bed wasn't made, and everything felt so natural. Satoru knew that Suguru and Shoko would probably want some of your polaroids, so he only took the ones that had the two of you in them.

Your closet was still full of clothes. Extra uniforms because you always somehow ruined yours on missions, comfy clothes for when you weren't in your uniform, and the occasional t-shirt or pair of sweatpants that you had stolen from Satoru (He let you have them, but he always swore you took it simply because he liked being petty).

A part of him didn't want to take any of his stuff back, but he knew that if he didn't it'd probably be thrown away. Satoru went through your closet and grabbed anything that belonged to him, throwing it over his shoulder. When he was done, he turned around and strode towards your nightstand.

Satoru squatted down and opened the drawer to your nightstand and rummaged through it for a moment. There were notebooks that were mostly empty, and then sketchbooks filled to the brim with drawings. Satoru always saw you doodling whenever you got ahold of paper, and couldn't help but get curious. He would peer over your shoulder when you weren't paying attention and look at your little drawings.

He always thought it was cute how you'd keep a small notepad and a pen on you at all times just so you could draw. Whenever you and him would walk together to meet up with the others, you would occasionally stop to sketch the scenery.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Satoru questioned as he loomed next you, peeking curiously at what you were drawing. "Doing what?" You ask, glancing up at him for a moment before returning to your sketch. "You keep stopping to draw or whatever, why?" He asks again, this time a bit closer to you. "Well," You started, "It's easier than waiting until later when I don't remember all the details." You quickly explain, not caring to go into depth.

Satoru hummed and continued to watch you sketch. "I try to sketch out the base when I first see it, then make a better drawing later." You add as you glimpse at Satoru again. "Well hurry it up, we're gonna be late again." Satoru commented with a small smile, making you grin at him.

Satoru put down the notebook he was once skimming through, and grabbed one of your sketchbooks. He skimmed through it, most were of scenery, but there were a select few that caught his eye. There were a few drawings of Shoko and Suguru, and enough drawings of him that he couldn't count it on two hands.

Satoru blinked and a few tears he didn't know were welling up in his eyes fell onto the page. It was a drawing of him, it wasn't clear what he was doing in the drawing, but his face wasn't fully visible but from what he could see he looked focused. It was as if somebody snapped a photo of him and slapped it onto the page.

He cursed under his breath before picking up the notebook that he had put down earlier and placed it back inside your nightstand. After wiping his eyes, he closed the sketchbook in his hand and stared at it for a moment.

It wouldn't hurt to keep it.

Satoru took a deep breath as he stood up, taking in your scent one last time before exiting the room. Yaga was leaned against the wall, patiently waiting for Satoru to finish up. "What's with the clothes?" The teacher asked without thinking, slightly raising a brow in the process. "What do you think is with the clothes?" Satoru snapped, giving Yaga a look before trudging off to his quarters.

"Are you alright Satoru? You've been avoiding me and Shoko all day," Suguru voiced as he sauntered over to Satoru, who was sat under a large tree that was somewhat close to the school. "I'm fine, jus' been thinking, that's all." Satoru chirped back, sliding something into his pocket.

Satorus jacket was laying next to him, leaving him in his white button up. Suguru soundlessly made his way over to Satoru and sat down next to him, "Seriously, Satoru, what's up with you?" He asked gently, giving his friend a concerned look.

"I'm fine, Suguru–" Satoru began before getting cut off by a scoff from his best friend. "No you're not, tell me what's been going on." Suguru said, his voice stern. "Don't push it!" Satoru snapped his head towards the man next to him, an evident scowl on his face. Suguru visibly flinched away from Satoru.

"Ever since Y/N, you've been an asshole to everyone." Suguru said as he stood up, "She wouldn't want this." Before Satoru knew it, he was on his feet and Sugurus collar was bunched in his hands.

"Don't you dare try to tell me what she would want! You don't know her like I do!" Satoru yelled, his grip on Sugurus collar tightening by the second. "You're right, I didn't know her like you did," Suguru says, somehow keeping his composure, "And maybe I don't know you like she knew you, but I do know that this isn't you." He says while gesturing to Satoru with his hands, making his grip loosen slightly.

"I know it must hurt, but you need to understand that the rest of us are grieving too. Don't be selfish." Suguru says, and Satoru hesitantly removes his grip on his collar. "Me? Selfish? It's like I'm the only one here who actually cares!" Satoru curses, throwing his arms into the air in frustration.

"Y/N died in my arms! I came back here covered in her blood! It's almost like I'm the only one who actually gives a shit around here! Ever since the news broke, you assholes have acted like everything's normal! Like everythings not fucking ruined now that she's gone!" Satoru yells, shoving Suguru away from him, "Don't you dare try to call me selfish, you weren't there, Suguru." Satoru breathes shakily before snatching his jacket off the ground and walking off, leaving his best friend stunned.

That was the first time since your death that Satoru openly admitted that you were gone. Out of touch, in a place where not even Satoru Gojo can reach you.

After the incident with Suguru, Satoru tries hard to make it seem like he's okay. Like he's slowly getting over you. Over your death. In truth? It felt like it was getting worse. Satoru didn't eat or sleep, and he didn't have the energy or stimulation that his cursed technique required to be at its full power.

To a stranger, you and Satoru were simply best friends. Two people that understood each other through and through, even if there were a lot of ups and downs. To people close to the two of you, you were the only people who didn't realize the feelings the other had, and it caused a lot of problems in your friendship.

To Satoru, you were like his emotional support person. Better yet, his person. You were there for him when Suguru or Shoko couldn't be, you witnessed (one too many) of his breakdowns, you knew Satoru like the back of your hand. You were his and he was yours, even if neither of you realized it. Losing you meant he had one less person to lean on when things went bad.

Maybe Satoru was a little selfish after all.

The more Satoru thought about it, the more he realized your death could have been prevented. They should've given you a partner, they should've sent him or Suguru with you. If he got there a little earlier, maybe he would have been able to save you.

Satoru knew he would have to learn death sometime in his life, but if he knew you would be the first lesson, he would've let himself die a long time ago if it meant he wouldn't have to suffer the loss of you.

Satoru stared blankly up at his ceiling, recalling moments that reminded him of you.

Him and Suguru were walking in town earlier that day, and he caught a whiff of the perfume you used to wear. He froze in place and turned to look at the woman who was wearing the familiar scent, images of you flashing quickly through his mind. After that small moment, it felt as if Satorus mood had deflated like a balloon for the rest of the day.

Then, Satoru had taken off his glasses for a few minutes while in a large crowd, and a splitting migraine quickly formed. He recalled that there were many times when you two would be on the subway together, and maybe he had forgotten his glasses that day. You would drape an arm over his shoulder and cover his eyes with your hand.

You knew that his six eyes became overwhelming at times, and when he forgot his glasses it was hard for him to not look like he was in pain. You would always remind him that he needed to keep them on him at all times, and even convinced him to buy an extra pair to keep inside the pockets of his uniform just in case.

"Satoru, you can't keep forgetting them," You'd say as you held your hand over his eyes. At first he'd flinch away, and you would apologize before taking your hand away from his face. Then it'd be Satoru apologizing and grabbing your hand to place it over his eyes again, his lips curving upwards slightly at your sweet gesture.

It would always be you, that was something Satoru embedded into his mind. Even when he's older and has students of his own. Even when he's the strongest jujustu sorcerer in the world and has many people after him. Even when he's beginning to forget your face and what it felt like to hold you.

It would always be you, whether he wanted it to be or not.

© AAJXS

[sutherlins]

Down In The Heart SydCarmy Short Set about 2 and a half years after their first date written for my beloved @conceived-angel

I love the taste of you in the morning Maybe if I'm lucky, you might stay the afternoon I love the thought of us in the evening I knew you were the real thing When you walked through the door

Carmy took the front entrance to The Bear for a change, smiling at the sign in the window as he unlocked the door.

The Bear will be closed until July 1st due to a family event. We are excited to welcome our guests back to dine with us then. Thank you.

Once inside he locked the door again and dumped his things on the bar, making himself a coffee and returning to his desk for the day.

It had been almost an hour and the only thing on his notebook was her name.

Sydney.

It wasn’t that he didn’t have things to put down, it was how to put the magnitude of his feelings into words that was his struggle. He was so engrossed in the paper in front of him he didn’t hear the back door open, or the footsteps making their way closer. Didn’t notice until a hand tapped the notepad and pulled him from his thoughts.

“You good?” Nat laughed

“Yeah, no, yeah.”

“That a yeah, a no or a yeah?”

Carmy laughed and closed the notepad. “I’m great, just struggling to write my vows.”

“Ahhhh.”

“How did you write yours?”

“We got married in Chapel remember?”

“Oh yeah, no freestyling.”

“No freestyling.” She laughed, and poured herself a glass of water. “We did write each other a letter to read in the morning though. Pete wrote about our first date and everything he wanted us to do in life together”

He couldn’t help but smile at the way her hand stroked at her ring at the memory. “What did you write about?”

“The little moments. They mean more to me than the big ones.”

“I love the little moments too.”

“Then write that.” Nat grabbed her bag and then took a folder from under the bar. “You good?”

“Yeah, where you going?”

Nat smiled at his question. “To meet my soon to be sister in law, we left the vendor shit here a few days ago.” She said tapping the folder in her hand.

Carmy smiled at just the thought of his future bride. “Tell her I love her.”

“She already knows but I will, and... Bear?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t overthink it. Little moments. The important shit.”

“Thanks, Sug’”

Natalie left him alone once more and he opened his phone, swiping through his photos, the last image he took was from that morning, she was in bed, sitting up against the headboard, smiling at him. He put his pen to paper.

Sydney, I used to dread mornings and wish for the next one to never arrive, and then I found you, and now the idea that every morning I get to wake up with my arms around you make me think a life I no longer wanted to live will never be long enough.

He returned to his phone, swiping through photos that included meals, his nieces, and things around Chicago he wanted to draw. It wasn’t long before he came across another photo of Sydney. This one was taken late one evening, she was sitting on the sofa, the sun setting outside the window behind her and she was staring at the TV, her face was set in a soft smile and he had taken the photo because it was easier to do that than confront how overwhelmed he felt in his love for her. The ink started to flow as his feelings spilled out.

Sydney, nights used to be so lonely, nothing could tear me away from the kitchen because finding distractions from my life got me through the days. Now the only distraction is you. You tear me away from everything just by existing and I’ve never been happier. In those quiet evenings when I get to sit with you, I wonder how I survived before you. There will always be a before you, but there will never be an after and I’d go through all of the before a million times again to end up here with you.

He swiped some more, the photo making him laugh, it was a photo of her through the peep hole of the apartment door. The small window making a fish eye lens and she had her face pressed close to the door making it even funnier to him. He was writing once more before he even realized.

Sydney, the first time you walked through a door and into my life something shifted cosmically. Every time you walk into a room I’m in it’s like that day all over again, the world shifts a little, and everything wrong corrects itself.

He brought his phone back out, swiping some more. The photo of him and Sydney at the park, the bright mid day sun shining in the sky. The photo had been taken by Gia. The angle was low, as she pointed the camera up at them. That day they had been on babysitting duties and he’d had a sudden vision of a future date, their own kids joining them.

Sydney, to be your husband and the father of our children will be the greatest accolade I could ever achieve in my life. I will spend every day of my life making sure you know that. The lazy or rushed mornings, the content or chaotic afternoons, the slow and relaxed or the frenetic nights - as long as the rest of mine are spent with you I don’t care what they look like. I am so excited to be your husband, and have you as my wife.

Just as he was about to put his phone away it rang out with an incoming face time call. He swiped, smiling as she appeared in front of him.

“There was an issue with the napkins so we need to pick new ones. What do you think?” She jumped right in, ignoring the pleasantries and she switched the camera, pointing the phone at five napkins. He liked the second one, the simplicity of it. He knew she would like the third one the most, the little ruffle trim was something she would love.

“I like the third one the best.” He lied.

“You do? Me too, okay gotta go, love you!”

“Love you too.”

The call disconnected and he put his phone away, packing up his stuff and heading home, grateful for a life that gave him Sydney.

~

On the day of their wedding, with his hand in hers, he let her lead them to their sweetheart table. As they passed through the long rows of tables he admired the way the tables were set up, and the ruffled napkins lining the tables.

When they finally got to their own seats he laughed hard and kissed her deep when he spotted their place settings, the simple napkins he secretly liked more sitting beside their plates.

[hisui-dreamer]

CONGRATS ON 1K RINNAAAA :((( YOU WERE ONE OF MY FIRST MOOTS EVER AND ITS MAKES ME SO HAPPY AND PROUD THAT YOU HIT THIS MILESTONE!! THANK YOU FOR BEING ONE OF THE MOST WARM AND WELCOMING PEOPLE IVE MET IN THIS FANDOM <33 YOURE SUCH A GIFT ITS INSANE!!!!!

IM SURE THIS DOESNT SURPRISE YOU BUT!!! for the 1k event i was thinking soulmate au with azul (HEHE) except its the doodle one? LIKE WHERE YOU DOODLE ON YOUR BODY AND YOUR SOULMATES GETS THE SAME MARKINGS YK

and i have a habit of doodling sea creatures like octopi and morays on my arms and hands so i think it'd be cute for him to like, take his gloves off one day and just see a little eel on the back of his hand :((( squishy guy <3333

headcanons or a drabble is totally fine, whichever one is easier for you!!!! thank you for easing me into this fandom :(( i will never be able to thank you enough for making my anxious ass WAY less nervous <3 and no pressure if this doesnt inspire you ofc hehe you're never obligated to write anything !!! :D

the doodles that drew us together

Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x gn!reader

Synopsis: Azul thought all his life he didn't have a soulmate...

Tags: soulmates au (doodling), reader is yuu, fluff, comfort, reader likes sea creatures, bot proofread

Word count: 591

Notes: aubbie thank you so much!!! I'm so glad we became moots, you're one of my closest friends and everything I see something azul related I think of you haha! I hope you'll enjoy this azul soulmate au ♪⁠ヽ⁠(⁠･⁠ˇ⁠∀⁠ˇ⁠･⁠ゞ⁠)

Masterlist

Azul had been fascinated by the idea of soulmates as a young mer

it was something that gave him hope, that despite all the other mean mers who would make fun of him, there was someone out there who would understand him and love him

and so he kept drawing on his arm, doodles of shells and other fish that caught his eye

but there wasn't any response.

maybe his doodles were too ugly and his soulmate didn't like them?

and so he learned to draw better, drawing again and again, hoping he would get a response

but still not a single mark would appear on him

it had been a tough blow to him, but he eventually accepted that he didn't have a soulmate

if he was going to be alone for all his life, then he had to take care of himself (because nobody would)

he became super greedy and selfish, always prioritising himself and his materialistic needs

although he also had a friendship with the tweels, he really only befriended them because they could help him out (but he did get attached to them over time)

and so, he opened the mostro lounge and became the sly businessman that we all know

on the first day of his second year, as he was going over documents after closing the lounge, he felt a slight tingle in his hand

Azul's eyebrow rose in response to an unexpected sensation. A peculiar warmth, like a gentle caress, emanated from the back of his gloved hand. Intrigued, he swiftly removed his gloves, revealing smooth, pale skin. A gasp of astonishment escaped his lips as his eyes fell upon a minuscule masterpiece, a tiny, adorable octopus delicately inked in pen.

"Is this...real?" Azul murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. A surge of hope surged through his entire being, dispelling the weight that had burdened him for far too long.

With a trembling hand, he grasped his own pen and cautiously began to sketch his own octopus upon his wrist, with one tentacle reaching out, holding hands with your octopus.

And he can't stop he smile that graces his lips when a little heart appears between the two octopi.

What a hectic day it had been! For a magicless student to arrive in NRC and for him to finally connect with his soulmate!

...?

Oh. Azul had to speak to said magicless student as soon as possible.

when the two of you start being a couple, Azul does everything and anything for you

when you're in exams and your nervously doodling sea creatures, he'll draw some flowers nearby to help calm you down

no he doesn't help you cheat by writing you the answers, he's already given you the perfect study materials, you shoud put in some effort too

he gets jealous if you draw other sea creatures too much though, especially moray eels

he lets you work at the lounge with a very high pay, making sure you're not working too hard, and always offers to tutor you if you're struggling

his soulmate had to go to a different world just to find him, you'll be sure he helps to settle in and hopefully never leave again

Insert clingy octopus wrapping his tentacles all around you because he can't bare to let you go

when you have dates and appointments, he'll help remind you by writing on his arm

this man has waited for you his entire life, he's ready to lay the world down at your feet if you ask him to

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[juuuulez]

📰 | part twelve: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, no pronouns used for reader, slow burn, teenagers in love, cute Judith moments, dialogue heavy chapter, kinda just pure fluff, reader is an artist.

summary: You, Carl and Judith share a picnic away from all the troubles of war. Alternatively: the calm before the storm.

okay this was so so so so so cute!!! a very dialogue heavy chapter, but juicy so hopefully you all enjoy!!

next chapter will be…a LOT (pretty angsty) because guys it is our LAST CHAPTER!!! then there will be an epilogue to package everything up nicely

don’t worry, there will be waaayyy more xSaviour!Reader one shots to come because it’s my favourite trope, and i can work through tones of cute requests to keep us all with our required dose of carl grimes ;P

-> masterlist <-

You watched as Judith scribbled with her crayons, drawing nonsensical shapes and patterns onto her page. She seemed at peace with your presence, which made you a little bitter, knowing nobody else from Alexandria could ever see you in this light. After catching your staring, a chubby hand reached out, offering you a crayon.

“What’re we drawing?” You asked, leaning down to hover next to Judith. She didn’t answer, giving you that shy little smile, but nonetheless pushed a piece of paper towards you.

“It’s easier to find crayons than pens now,” Carl remarks, seated next to you on the blanket, “Do you guys have pens? At the Sanctuary, I mean.”

“Yeah. We’ve got pens.” You entertain the small talk, drawing a tree onto the page in waxy blue crayon. It starts out as a vague shape, though you slowly give it more and more detail, hatching in shading and even patches of grass at its base.

The silence resumes, though you’re content with that. Carl is, too. He’s just happy to have your attention, in a scenario without Alexandria or the Saviours or a war.

Despite this, you find yourself talking again, unable to keep these thoughts bottled up. Sometime, when you’re nervous, you run your mouth. Maybe Carl is making you nervous.

“Judith is lucky to have you.” You tell him, still colouring on the page. The admission catches Carl’s attention, and though he isn’t shocked with its contents, he’s a little surprised by the blatant display of.. vulnerability? He isn’t used to you being so personal.

“I know,” He agrees, “My dad says that family is the most important thing nowadays. He’s right.”

The idea leaves you thinking for a moment, and Carl can practically see the gears turning in your head. He liked digging deeper, seeing what made you tick, what was going on underneath those walls.

“Yeah,” You end up nodding, “I think I agree.”

“Y’know, that’s why we won’t punish you. When this war ends.”

It garners your attention, finally looking up from the paper. Carl is sitting next to you, whilst you’re lying on the blanket with Judith. He looks serious, but maybe a little solemn, not intending to steer the conversation down this dark path, yet viewing it necessary to discuss. He wants to be on the same page.

“My dad won’t kill Negan,” Carl continues, sounding quite sure of himself. “He thinks he will, but he won’t. I’ll convince him. I know I can.”

You look back down at the page, but don’t continue colouring. It’s a weird idea, that Rick would spare Negan. You couldn’t see how that would happen. But knowing Carl wanted to advocate for peace was nice. Comforting.

“Negan’s gonna kill Rick.” You eventually tell him, though it doesn’t hold the same certainty. It’s a bitter reality, loosing faith in your own people, yet with each day, this war is seeming more difficult to win.

Yet you know one thing. If given the chance, Negan would kill Rick. You knew he would. Carl knew it, too.

“That’s why you guys can’t win.” He tells you, not sounding too proud of the fact. Months ago, and he would’ve happily rubbed this in your face. But now, it made him feel a little nauseous.

You let the silence sit for a moment, and Carl worries he’s upset you. He hasn’t, but the whole situation is upsetting. Not that it’s his fault, which you keep reminding yourself.

So, you speak quietly, trying to be nice. “Can we not talk about this?” You suggest, throwing another glance up at Carl.

He takes pity on you, understanding that this was supposed to be a break from everything, though he feels a little better knowing the idea doesn’t make you outright hostile.

Carl lies down on the blanket, next to you, on his back whilst you lay on your stomach. He tilts his head towards you and Judith, brown hair pooling on the blanket and falling over his shoulders, bangs sweeping over his eyepatch.

You get an idea, shifting a little, focusing a tad harder on the drawing. One arm holds the crayon, and your other creates a barrier between Carl and the paper. Though, he doesn’t seem very focused, instead watching you.

“Does your head hurt?” He asks, eyes unconsciously drawn to the bandage wrapped around your head. It was almost silly, the way you matched, but Carl struggled to find any joy in that fact.

“Kinda. Just a headache,” You tell him, still drawing. At one point, Judith reaches out, trading you a yellow crayon in exchange for the blue one. “Did you find the bastard who shot me?”

Carl scoffs, a smile spreading onto his face. “Yeah. Someone from the Kingdom. Nobody you’ve gotta worry about, though.”

You roll your eyes, unbeknownst to how Carl inspects every inch of your face. “Who names their community the ‘Kingdom’? Pretentious assholes.”

“Like the ‘Sanctuary’ is any better.” He points out, which forces a smile onto your face, knowing that he has a point. It is a little silly.

Judith reaches out again, handing you a red crayon. You take it, giving her the yellow one you’d been working with, to which she happily continues scribbling on her side of the paper.

“Do you ever wish that things were normal?” Carl asks, once again prompting conversation. “Like.. would we have been friends, otherwise?”

“We aren’t even friends now,” You point out, sparing him a glance and smiling at his curious expression. So cute. “But no.. I don’t mind things how they are. I didn’t like my normal very much.”

This causes Carl to think, pondering on that statement. A light breeze brushes past, tussling his hair slightly, though he remains focused on you, looking so peaceful while you draw.

“Your normal… with Negan?” He begins, hoping that you would get the hint and fill him in. All this time, and yet he knows nothing about you.

You take the hint, giving a small shrug. “No. With my father.”

Carl tries to read your expression, to gauge how deep this wound is, but he struggles. “You didn’t get along very well?” He asks, voice soft and free of judgment.

It isn’t difficult to read your behaviour these past months. You’re snappy, easily agitated, and weirdly flighty yet strong and resilient at the same time. In many ways, your attachment to Negan is unnatural, though Carl presumed there to be a driving factor behind it all.

“No,” You confirm, “He was a heartless bastard.”

Carl nods, still lying on his back. The silence doesn’t last for long, as he still has more questions. “Did you have any other family?”

His curiosity didn’t piss you off, like it usually would. Maybe it’s because your guard was down, or maybe you felt you owed it to Carl, to open up with him a little.

“I had a sister. Younger,” You begin, speaking whilst you draw, “But she died at eight weeks old. My mother died with her, in childbirth. She was nice.”

There are a few beats where nobody talks. Even Judith has stopped playfully mumbling, though she pays no mind to your conversation. Your gaze flickers up to Carl, finding that he’s still watching you, seeming to be in thought. It’s like he sees something more: something beneath your surface, something you can’t even touch.

Or maybe he just relates. It’s surprising how much Carl understands you, to the point where he’s a little unsettled by it.

“Don’t ask depressing questions if you don’t want the answer.” You finally chime, trying to clear the air of this strange tension.

“No, it’s not that. I get it.” Carl concludes, his voice remaining in that soft tone, one that makes the hairs on your neck stand up. He doesn’t want you to feel bad.

You nod, reassuring him. “I know you do.”

Having such a personal conversation is strangely liberating. It makes you feel good, better than you usually do, better than anybody has had the ability to make you feel. For once, there’s a sense of peace, as you know Carl understands you.

The silence returns, but it’s pleasant this time. Trees in the distance rustle slightly in the wind, an atmosphere void of groaning corpses or yelling and fighting. You’ve never experienced that.

After a few more etches with the crayon, the drawing is complete. You spin around the piece of paper, sliding it to Carl with a smile. “For you.”

Carl sits up on his elbows, taking the paper to inspect it. It’s a sketchy crayon drawing of… well, him. Lying there, on the blanket. It’s surprisingly realistic, shapes accurately blocked out in a combination of yellow, blue, and red crayon. The very edge of his hat had been coloured in, messy pink scribbled roughly inside the lines by Judith

“When did you do this?” He asks, not having noticed you creating this masterpiece throughout the duration of the conversation.

You stifle a laugh. “Just then. I was gonna let Judith keep colouring it in.”

Carl nods, still fixated on the drawing. Nobody has ever drawn him before. “Can I.. keep this one?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make Judith something else to colour.” You agree, already pulling out another piece of paper to sketch something a little simpler. Though you viewed that drawing of Carl a breeze, he was amazed by how you’d managed it in such a short amount of time.

“I didn’t know you could draw.” He says, finally taking his eyes off the paper, to inspect your newest creation. This time he’s set on paying attention, wanting to watch how it comes together.

That, and he thinks it’s very sweet that you were drawing with the intention of letting Judith colour. A lot of artists would probably be protective of their work, but yours served the sole purpose of making others happy.

You decide to draw the tree line, using an unnatural colour like orange to outline the landscape, in hopes that Judith would colour it green. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You tell him, a strangely cagey answer, but Carl isn’t put off.

“I do want to know you.” He urges, and the conviction in his tone causes you to glance up at him, before back down at the page.

“You will. Maybe when this is all over.” You land on responding, an answer Carl can’t be unhappy with, as it fills him with the semblance of hope that you’re willing to open up to him. That you see a future where you get along.

He sets the artwork down, laying back on the blanket. “So… you agree? That all this will end?” He tests the waters with another question about the war.

“Don’t push your luck.” You immediately shut him down, a playful grin on your face.

Carl doesn’t mind, not when he’s already picked your brain so far. To him, you’re like a stray cat, any further and you’d start hissing and run away. He’d like to maintain this peace for a little longer.

So, Carl laid there whilst you drew an illustration for Judith. Eventually, the toddler gleamed with joy when you handed it over, eagerly scribbling in the lines with her colours. It was messy and unorganised, but brought you happiness to see that she was so immersed.

The two of you soaked in the sunshine, enjoying the quiet surrounding the clearing and absence of responsibility. Carl had somehow managed to coax you closer, to lay next to him, his hand guiding your head to his shoulder. It felt good, and you weren’t used to letting yourself feel good.

He ran his hand through your hair, careful not to disrupt the bandaged wound, finding it surprisingly soft. In a way, a lot of you was soft, and sweet. It was just buried underneath this rubble of anger and aggression, but Carl knew he could wiggle it out.

When this whole war ended, he hoped you’d be happier.

Regardless, the picnic was a nice getaway, though you tried not to seem too bothered when the sun had begun to set, and you knew you’d return to the Hilltop. It wasn’t your home. It was just some place where they held you captive.

“You’ll actually come and visit me, right?” You end up asking Carl as the pair of you pack up, you holding Judith while Carl stuffs the blanket into his bag.

He nods, “I will. I’ll come by your room every day until Negan takes this deal. Promise.”

That satisfies you, for now. At least you’d have some company, though the idea of being a hostage any longer was slightly sickening. For now, you’d put it out of your mind.

Carl leads you back up the hill out of the clearing, finding the car that he’d hidden away. You throw the bag onto the car’s floor, and buckle Judith into the back seat while he gets it started.

However, the bags zip wasn’t done up, fabric splaying open slightly to reveal that Carl had accidentally left the gun inside. It’s shameful that your first thought is to steal it: make an escape right now, leave for the Sanctuary and screw up this entire plan.

You lean down, palming the metal object. It would be a pretty large hike up there, but worthwhile if it gave the Saviours any power. Carl wouldn’t be able to stop you, as long as you had his gun.

Biting your lip, you pocketed it for the time being, coming to sit in the passenger side.

“When we get back, I’ll go ask Michonne how the deal is going. She’ll probably end up telling me,” Carl suggests, “You’ll feel a little better knowing what’s going on.”

The suggestion catches you off guard, watching Carl with a slightly surprised expression as it sinks in. That he’s willing to give you information simply to provide peace of mind. It’s a stupid idea, really, betraying the trust of Michonne and Rick and everyone else… but it’s sweet.

“You left this in the back.” You end up telling Carl, offering him the handgun. The words spill out before you can hold them back.

His brows furrow in concern, and mild irritation at his own forgetfulness, accepting the gun and hooking it back into his belt. “Shit. Thanks, wouldn’t want Judith grabbing it.”

The engine starts in a low rumble, filling the silence as you begin to drive back. Guilt wells in your stomach for even thinking about turning on Carl, and for the better part of the drive, you settle for watching the boy as opposed to the scenery.

“You alright?” He eventually asks, sparing you a glance before looking back to the empty expanse of road.

“Mhm,” You hum, “Just… grateful that you did all this..”

The admission causes Carl to grin, feeling an unfamiliar swell of pride, your thankful attitude boosting his ego. Even without words, the look he gives you makes you scoff, rolling your eyes and looking out the window.

A smile still grows on your face, knowing that he’s earned this victory. You reach out towards the dash, taking Carl’s hand and just holding it while he drives, allowing him to revel in his prize for a little longer.

taglist: @ilov3carlgr1mes @eminemxxeminem @strxwbxrrymarx @ilaaishi @iamaslytherin0 @grimeslvrr @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @kmsatm @ilovespiderpeople @hearts4mitski4 @jkvolgs @mysouleaten

[rocketbirdie]

Have you ever drawn Sephiroth? Also my favorite post of urs is Cloud and Zack chained together and getting caught by a poll XD ALSO ALSO how do u find an art style?? I've been asking this question to a lot of ppl but never get anything that helps me- my "art style" is always inconsistent and I'm trying to do something that expression how I feel as a person while drawing a character (but maybe it's because as a person I'm all over the place and I can't pinpoint how to express myself) I can give a little ref for a few of my drawing to show how inconsistent they are😓 though some things stay the same a lot of other things change (people say I'm hard on myself but I feel like it needs to look a certain way for me to like it ig also also also the 2nd drawing was a fixed version of the og because it was well elongated.. can you tell im no good at anatomy-?)

ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE RANT!! 😓

HI NO WORRIES FOR THE RANT!! Regretfully I have not drawn a whole lot of Sephiroth... perhaps that shall change someday? 🤔

Hmm I think I know what most people's advice would be, like "oh don't worry about art style just do whatever you like!" and yes, that's kinda true, but it's not really helpful. So here's my thoughts on the matter:

I find that the best approach to finding a style that fits you is to start by identifying your own tastes in art. Instead of worrying about consistency, focus on finding brushes/tools that feel good to use, colors and lines that appeal to you, and then play around with those. You'll find it a lot easier to make art that you like if you let yourself have fun with it, as opposed to subjecting it to pass/fail criteria.

For example, it's probably not surprising to hear that I love vibrant, colorful geometric art. I struggled for so long trying to use fancy brushes and weighted paintstrokes to make more realistic portraits, and it frustrated me because even if other people said it looked great, nothing I made looked right to me. Turns out it was my toolkit hiding my own art style from me. The moment I switched to solid colors and the goofy default pen setting, BOOM. Suddenly I was on a roll.

As for anatomy, you're already doing great!! My trick for anatomy (and for anything at all, really) is to break it down into simple 3d shapes. Fun fact, almost everything with the human body is just varying cylinders. Your neck? Cylinder. Hand? 5 cylinders attached to a cylinder that's been slightly squished. Torso? That's cylinder, babe! Arms? Legs? You guessed it, cylinders.

Challenge yourself HARD, EARLY. Don't wait until you think you're "good enough" to do a big intimidating project, or else you'll be waiting forever. Draw those difficult angles, perspectives, and compositions NOW, not later! It'll make the things that you're already good at feel ridiculously easy, and make those things come naturally to you, enabling you to focus your efforts into the stuff you do want to get better at.

[physalian]

There’s this unskippable Google AI ad on YouTube where this girl consults the robot about how to cancel dinner plans with the people across the table in the most annoying voice (likely because I have seen this ad now and had to listen to her asinine questions 20 times at least) and this ad, right here, speaks to my frustration around AI:

It disincentivizes critical thinking.

I know the ad is a joke and meant to be lighthearted and I’m only this annoyed because it’s unskippable and irritating af, but every time I see it all I can think is “if you can’t manage enough creativity and critical thinking to come up with your own excuse to cancel on your friends, maybe you shouldn’t have those friends.”

I have a relative who is firmly in the ChatGPT camp and, for example, yesterday I was trying to figure out how to compress a video file and was venting to them about it. They sent me back something I didn’t read from ChatGPT. Meanwhile, I looked up a YouTube video and figured out how to do the rest on my own, and getting the file compressed was immensely satisfying. Far more than mindlessly and thoughtlessly consulting the robot.

“It’s just like a YouTube video!” They’d told me.

No, a real person put time and effort into that video. That robot stole their content without their consent, didn’t credit them, and spat it back out. I used to patronizingly refer to ChatGPT as "the magic conch" and now I can barely do that anymore because that metaphor is becoming all-too real.

While I can understand the barriers it lowers—like if you struggle with writing the robot does it for you, or if you need a piece of art and are too poor, you can generate it for free. Mindless, repetitive tasks that eat up creative juices that can just be automated by a robot, too (even though everyone can tell when a response is canned and artificial and no one appreciates talking to a machine).

If you keep consulting ChatGPT for how to articulate what you want to say, or just straight-up having it do the hard work for you, you’re never going to learn. Yes it’s taken me 8 years to reach the quality and skill of writing I have but as another Tumblr post out there said: The time will pass anyway.

I can’t draw to the skill level that I’d like to. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to keep practicing until I get there. I thrive off that sense of accomplishment. There’s no little hit of dopamine from typing in a prompt and clicking a button and I certainly don’t appreciate the final product scalped without consequence from real artists.

Or, like when I had to fire a beta reader for flagrant abuse of AI in her work: I can copy-paste my manuscript into ChatGPT, too. I’d paid her for a human response, not garbage feedback that couldn’t understand what I was writing beyond that there were words on the page. I wanted so badly to ask her why she does a job in a creative field if she's just going to have a robot do all the fun parts? I beta read at a great loss of profit because I enjoy beta reading and it's a fiercely competetive market. Surely if she wanted to scam people, she could have done so in so many other ways. You don't need to know how to pen complex prose in your every day life, but by god, you do need to know how to effectively communicate, contextualize, and argue your perspective and this ridiculous ad joking about cancelling dinner plans sure is funny, until it isn't.

And I know the people who made AI probably did so with the best of intentions but people can be lazy and cheap and we love taking shortcuts to save money and I stand by this: "Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."

So. Yeah. This is a writing advice blog and this post has almost nothing to do with it, but that ad annoys me to no end and I had to say something somewhere about it. Bottom line: Robots were supposed to make the hard jobs, the monotonous jobs, the overcomplicated jobs, the belittling jobs easier, not make us all into pudding-boned Wall-E people. If you want to write, learning is absolutely free - write on the back of your grocery receipts for all I care. If you want to draw, pick up a notebook and pack of pencils from the local dollar store and start drawing.

What you made will always mean more to you than something that didn't cost you time, effort, brain power, or even money to obtain.