#not sure if i should put these under the art tag but oh well

[snippydippy]

Threw my PC on highest settings and made it suffer through ray tracing to take some shots of the Fortnite guy I like

[mingis-orangejuice]

Love and Deepspace Boys with an MC that's good with children Part.3: Rafayel

Summary: Rafayel desperately calls you to help him take care of his little nephew. Rafayel can't stand him but how difficult can one little kid be?

a/n: this one is my fave out of all the fics I've written so far. I love drama queen Rafayel. I made him as dramatic as possible, he's literally jealous of a 5-year-old kid cuz you're giving him more attention. Yep that's my man and imma stick beside him

Genres/Warnings: just pure teeth rotting fluff

Word count: 1173

Other parts: 1, 2, 4

“So what do you say will you help me pretty please?” Rafayel said from the other side of the call. He had called you to ask if you’d help him with his little nephew. He was stuck taking care of him since his cousin and her husband went off on another spontaneous trip. 

“Fine, as long as you pay double, bodyguards don’t babysit for free.” you joked

“Yeah sure double, I’ll even pay triple if you want just get here quickly!” you heard a crash in the background of the call and Rafayel screaming then he hung up.

You were only joking about wanting payment you didn't really think he would agree to it, but that crash had you concerned. Why was he so desperate for your help? How bad can one little kid be?

At Rafayel’s house, you let yourself in with the spare key. You hear your boyfriend yelling, another small voice laughing and the sound of something breaking. You follow the sound to the living room. The whole room was trashed. Mess everywhere, canvases and brushes on the floor, and paint everywhere even on the ceiling. Did a tornado pass through his living room? You see Rafayel chasing a young boy around the room as he causes more trouble “Rafayel what’s going on?”

“Oh thank goodness you’re here” He stops chasing the boy and runs up to you to greet you with a hug “He’s terrible, he’s destroyed everything in my studio I don't know what to do he just won't stop” Rafayel looked like he was almost about to cry.

“Who are you?” the boy stops in front of you “Are you Uncle Rafi’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I am” You bend down and put out your hand to shake his. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetie, what’s your name?” 

The little boy looks up at you with a big smile, completely enamoured by you “I’m Nate. Are you really Uncle Rafi’s girlfriend you’re way too pretty for him” he looks at Rafayel and sticks his tongue out.

“Hey I'll have you know that she is my girlfriend and she loves me, so there!” Rafayel sticks his tongue out at Nate too.

“Stop it you two.” you flick Rafayel’s forehead “You’re the adult in the situation you shouldn’t let him take advantage of you” you scold him as Nate laughs under his breath

“He started it, plus he doesn’t listen, he’s just a bad kid, we should bring him to an orphanage and leave him there,” he says pointing at Nate while hiding behind you.

You sigh and turn to look at Nate. “Nate, sweetie did you mess with your uncle’s art?” he nodded shyly. “That's not very nice now, is it” This time he nodded no. “you know you’re not supposed to do that right?”

“But Uncle Rafi was being so boring, I wanted to play tag but he just wanted to paint. He said he needed silence for his work so he left me in here alone.”

You turn and look at Rafayel. “Is that true?” He also just nods, looking like he was being scolded by his own mother. “Rafayel you can’t just leave him alone with nothing to do, what did you think would happen, he’d just sit there for hours doing nothing? No wonder he did all this, he was bored. You could have at least given him something to do.”

“I don’t know what kids like to do, that's why I called you. You’re so smart and would know exactly what to do to help your boyfriend in need riiight?” he attempted to flatter you so that you’d help him.

You sigh again. “Ok well, first we have to clean up this mess...” 

“I think you should make Nate clean it up himself, to make him learn his lesson” Rafayel glared at Nate.

You gave Rafayel the “mom death stare” and he quickly shut up “We are all going to help clean and then both of you are going to apologize, ok?” 

They both look at each other and then back at you. “Ok,” they both say. reluctantly

Later after the mess had been cleaned, you three sit on the couch exhausted. You hear a little tummy rumble.  You look to Nate “Oh are you hungry, maybe we should make something to eat” You head to the kitchen and Nate follows behind you holding your hand. Rafayel see this and jumps up from the couch trying to get in between you two. You push him away “Raf seriously, you’re jealous of a 5-year-old?” he looks a little embarrassed then quietly takes your other hand on the way to the kitchen. Nate looks over and sticks his tongue out at Rafayel again without you noticing. 

You guys cook up a nice simple meal for you all to enjoy but it wasn’t easy. Throughout the whole thing, they were both fighting for your attention. Rafayel was constantly giving you little kisses while you were trying to cook and Nate would keep pulling you away to get you to lift him up so he could get different ingredients or so he could sit on the counter. You found the little fight amusing so you let it go on since it was harmless.

You’re now sitting at the table to eat and the rivalry is still going on. “Come on just eat the food” it's healthy” Rafayel begs Nate “You need to eat something”

“No! it's yucky. I don’t wanna!” Nate whined and pushed his plate away from him.

“Nate sweetie, can you please eat all your food? If you do then you’ll become strong enough to be a hunter like me” You said with a smile. Nate instantly listens and shoves spoonfuls of food into his mouth. He’s finished in no time.

Rafayel looks at you in disbelief. How did you get this little brat to listen so easily? After Nate finished eating you got him ready for an afternoon nap. He gladly listened to everything you said while constantly glancing over at Rafayel to make sure he knew that he was only going to listen to you and not him. You put Nate in a bed in one of the guest rooms and waited for him to fall asleep. Right before you and Rafayel left the room Nate sleepyily said “ Uncle Rafi You should marry her I want her to be my new auntie.” 

You both look at each other and then back at him. “That’s the plan” Rafayel looks at you and winks. 

“Good,” Nate says right before he drifts off to sleep

You and Rafayel are now back on the couch, he holds your hand and looks into your eyes. “Hey thanks for today, you were a really big help I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you” 

“You don’t have to pay me, at least not with money.” You kiss him and give him a sly grin 

“Careful if you keep that up we’ll end up making another Nate” he laughed and kissed you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Life in the City 6

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bad friends, creep behaviour, abuse of power dynamics, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You move to the big city and find yourself swallowed up by its chaos.

Characters: Clark Kent, Thor Odinson, short!reader

Note: <3

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you. No tag list, do not ask for updates.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Clark drops you off right at the front doors. You’re early. Typically the bus would drop you off a block away about ten minutes later. At least you have your own office to hang out in. 

You head into the office, your iced matcha latte condensating down your hand and wrist. You step off as you try to sop up the mess, distracted as you walk blindly to your cubicle. You stop at the empty desk and scoff at yourself. Your so forgetful sometimes. 

You continue down to your office and let yourself in with the key. You shuffle inside and slip your bag off your arm onto your chair. You swipe several tissues from the box and fold it under the cup, setting it down carefully on top of the layers. You shake the moisture from your fingers and go to your chair, moving your bag onto the desk as you search inside for your phone. 

“You need a coaster,” a deep timbre breaks the early lull. 

You look up as Thor stands in the doorway, smirking as he watches you. You offer a sheepish smile as you put your phone down and fish out your rose gold pen. You place is by your keyboard and find your agenda to put with it. 

“Huh, yeah, I could bring one from home,” you shrug. 

“Mm, and what flavour is that? It’s rather... bright,” he muses as he breaks the threshold slowly. 

“Oh, it’s matcha,” you back up as he comes closer, peering down over your monitors. 

“Hm, I’ve never had it. Perhaps one day I might indulge,” he says, “a nice treat to start the day. I’d have guessed something sweeter. You know, the cafe downstairs, they have a cinnamon roll latte. Oh, yes,” he pats his stomach under his jacket, “dangerous.” 

You offer a courteous laugh. You can’t help but be intimidated and slightly put off by his spontaneity. You didn’t expect him to just wander in. Nor can you keep him out; after all, he is your boss. He gave you this office. 

“I’ve actually never been to the cafe. Bit steep,” you say, “I suppose I should get started.” 

You roll the chair back and pivot it, lowering yourself slowly. He hovers as he is, turning to peer around the office. He sucks his teeth loudly and looks at his watch. As you peek up at him, he taps his fingers against his chin. 

“This place is so dull. So boring. It does not inspire,” he puts his hands up, stretching out his long fingers, “I believe that atmosphere is everything. My whole vision for this company is innovation and you can’t be creative with... grey walls.” 

You look between him and the walls. You didn’t choose the colour. You just took what you got. 

“Come, I think we need to do some important purchasing,” he snaps his fingers. “Coasters, don’t want rings,” he points down, “and some art.” He turns and makes a frame with his index fingers thumbs, “mm, and maybe a pop of colour elsewhere. A vase. Flowers always do liven a place up.” 

“Oh, well, I actually should...” your voice trails off. You should do what your boss tells you. “Sure, uh, I suppose I could push a few things.” 

“Yes, well, fits in nicely, as you always do,” he says, “I did break my mouse... they make those things much too small.” 

“Oh no,” you murmur, “let me just...” you grab your phone and put it back in your bag, a notification flashing back at you. Later. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to be running around.” 

You step out from behind the desk in your platform oxfords. He looks you up and down, “ah, I did wonder if you had a growth spurt. Late bloomer or something.” 

You can’t help but chuckle, “I wish.” 

You go to walk around your desk and he points past you, “don’t forget your drink.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course.” 

You take the cup, most of the condensation has soaked into the tissue. You throw the sodden kleenex in the bin and turn to Thor. You give a bright but shaky smile. You knew today would be a lot but with him, it’s all so fast. 

“Staples?” You wonder. 

“Hm, sure, I suppose they have what we need.” 

“Do you have an Apple computer? You could get one of their pads instead of a mouse,” you suggest. 

“Mm, clever,” he remarks as he waves you ahead of him, “already showing innovation.” 

“Well, it’s just a thought,” you say. 

“That’s where the best ideas begin,” he follows you out into the hall. “Never underestimate the small things,” he comes up beside you and brushes his hand across your lower back before dropping his arm straight, “they do surprise us.” 

🏙️

The tall shelves of the office depot tower over you. Most things do. You stop to admire the colourful gel pens, knowing they’re impractical, but still covetous of their glittery inserts. 

Your phone vibes in your bag just as you check the time. An hour into your day and all you’ve done is wander the store. It hardly feels like a promotion, it’s aimless. You’re just going along for the ride. Quite literally. 

‘Are you free tonight?’ The message expands at a tap. 

At first, you assume it’s Melanie. Clark’s name stares back at you, followed in quick succession by a second messaged. 

‘Wanted to start planning!’ 

You measure your response. You don’t have much going on but you’re already exhausted. The week is hardly midway and it’s been a whirlwind.  

You type with your thumbs as you sidle along, ‘tomorrow? Don’t have much energy.’ 

You lower your phone as you hear your name. For such a big man, Thor can sneak right up on you. He’s only a few feet away as he struts up with a full basket. Wow. You smile and press your cell to your leg. 

“You on the phone?” He asks as he approaches. 

“Oh, no, just... just a message,” you hit the lock button and put your phone in your pocket. “Nothing important. Sorry.” 

“Ah, don’t be. I get it. Boyfriend checking in?”  

You nearly scoff. You just shake your head, “what did you find?” You point to the basket and he quickly refocuses, lifting it higher to sift through the contents. 

“Coasters,” he fishes out a set of flower-shaped coasters and grins broadly, “I thought these were very you.” 

“Oh?” You take them and admire them, “cute.” 

“And I found this,” he pulls out another item, a long fluffy cloud looking piece of foam, “a wrist rest; ergonomical and all.” 

“Right, ha,” you chuckle thinly, “yeah, I like it.” As you look at it, it seems like it will only be in the way. 

“But then, you can’t have that without the mouse pad,” he plucks out another item, the same pale blue as the wrist pad. 

“Did you get your mouse?” You ask. 

“Mm, that’s where I require your input. I can’t quite decide,” he turns to lay out his options on the shelf, “I like the colour of this one but this one’s bigger and this one lights up.” 

He’s almost like a child as he explains; there’s just too many good things to choose from. You feel that pain but you’re not used to being the adult. Besides, isn’t he the boss? 

“Well, I would say whatever you think would be most comfortable. You said the old one was too small, right? And this one’s pretty hefty.” You point to the center one, “oh, and ergonomic, hey.” 

“Mmm,” he hums thoughtfully, “wise. Yes, I do think I’ve made the right choice.” 

He takes the center one and drops it into the basket before gathering the others. 

“I’ll put these back then we can head back to the office. I almost forgot we have work to do,” he laughs. 

You smile sheepishly and follow him. He takes his time putting away the accessories then you set out for the checkout. You’re nervous to start the real work. The hard-hitting stuff. 

“I’ve some numbers to go over with you when we get back. We’ll get all this set up first and go from there,” he says as he stands parallel to you as you wait in queue. 

“Oh, alright,” you cross your arms, “sounds good.” 

🏙️

As promised, your day is more than just an impromptu shopping spree. You put the stack of coasters at the corner of the desk and lay out the new mousepad and wrist rest. Your space is looking a lot more brighter.  

Your walls are even a little more colourful. As you review the files Thor sent you the day before, he hangs the modern art prints on the wall. You’re not entirely sure what the abstract shapes are supposed to be; maybe plants? 

When he finally sits down, the anticipation has you wound tight. He brings a chair around to your side of the desk and looks over your shoulder. Of all the meetings you’ve had in your time there, everyone has their own device, their own screens. His proximity is overwhelming along with the endless rows of numbers and graphs. 

“You’ll see here where Onyx Row was most successful. This should be where we focus. We’ve finally got all their data and so that will be your task,” he explains, “but it’s important to look into the low points too. It’s just as good to know what doesn’t work, eh?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

He’s over explaining a bit. You’re an analyst. Your job is to look at it all. Maybe he doesn’t trust you just yet. After all, you are new. You don’t have the same experience as the rest of the team. It would explain why he’s spending so much time with you too. 

“So, how are you? Need a coffee yet? Tea?” He shifts his tone. It’s off putting how quickly he can swing from one extreme to the other. “I think I might hit the cafe downstairs as I mentioned.” 

“Really, I’m good,” you assure him, “that matcha’s got me jittering.” 

“Mm, another day then. You’ll let me know if you need anything?” 

“You’ve done so much already,” you smile, only then feeling how he grips the back of your chair, just behind your head.  

“Any good leader knows they don’t lead by demanding, they make it possible for their needs to be met,” he stands, a little too close then slowly steps back. “You have my extension, you know where my office is.” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod and grip your mouse tighter, “thank you.” 

You turn your attention to the monitor and listen to him leave. You feel as if you might melt with impatience. You just want him gone so you can relax for one minute. The door shuts and you slump back with a huff. 

You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. This is a lot of work. Sure, having your own office is great but at what cost? This is senior-level stuff and you’ve only just begun. You only got your diploma a year ago. 

As nice as Thor is, he’s still your boss. He’s in charge. If you don’t meet his demands, it could ruin more than just your job here. It would cost you the only reference you have in the field. 

You try to calm yourself down at the lines and numbers blur in your vision. You’re scaring yourself. Everyone else has been super awesome and you’re just being you. You sit up and a knock comes at the door. Oh, jeez. 

“Come in?” You call. 

The door opens and Thor peeks around. 

“No coffee, but I couldn’t resist getting you something sweet,” he strolls in with a box in hand, “blueberry cinnamon scone.” 

“Wow, oh, I’ll have to have it for lunch, thank you,” you accept it and set it by the coasters. 

“For sure,” his grin beams down at you, “just some sustenance to keep you going.” He winks, “you’re in the big leagues now.” 

“Sure am,” you agree breathily, “er, thanks again.” 

“I’ll just get out of your way,” he raises his coffee cup just slightly, “I’ll be around.” 

He leaves you again. You roll closer to the desk and plant your elbows. You hold your head as your eyes bore into the monitor. If you stare long enough into the abyss, it will stare back into you. 

You finally get yourself going, falling into a rhythm as you click through the zipped folder. A lot of the information is poorly kept. You can assume a few reasons Onyx Row went under aside from their numbers. 

The work is tedious and you find yourself going back and forth. The distant noise of the office can't touch you through your excel glazed trance. You're vaguely aware of a buzz and voices but your furrowed brow blocks the world out. 

It isn't until a knock sounds and your name rips through your dry-eyed purgatory that you sit up straight enough to feel the crick in your neck. You reach to rub it as you squint at Thor. Back again? 

“Thought I saw light in here,” he comments, “working late already?” 

“Late?” You blink and look at the corner of your screen. Holy cow, it's six! “Uh… yeah.” 

“I'm… actually glad you're still here, there was something I wanted to touch on sooner than later.  Urgent, actually.” He pauses to check his expensive watch, “unless I'm keeping you from something? Someone?” 

“No, just the bus,” you save the files and exit out. 

“Hm, well, it is quite the conversation, maybe we might talk over dinner? It is late and you're probably too tired to cook, eh?” 

“I… that's… you don't have to–” 

“I do have a reservation and they have a policy,” he clucks and taps his watch, “you know, I'm getting a bit of a reputation for eating alone too.” 

You frown. You want to say know but how can you? Besides, he's offering you a meal, not like he's asking you to stay and finish sorting through a swamp of numbers.  

“Well, if it's urgent,” you stand and grab your phone, “I guess we should talk sooner than later.” 

“Wonderful,” he pats his stomach, “I forgot my lunch. I'm starving.” 

[whatyadrawin]

The Fruit After the Flesh 18+ -Chapter 9-

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 4,872 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Headcanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings:  Sexual language, foul language, scary moment. This is Slasher smut, be mindful of that and use your discretion.

A/n: This chapter took me so long to complete! I had to read over it and edit like four times. I took 48 hrs to make all the art pieces starting from 3pm march first until 6am march second, took a nap, started back up to finish the art at 2:30pm and finalized EVERYTHING for upload at 6am March 3rd. I'm tired bro, I got so carried away with the art I really should have cut it down to just 3 images but artists always suffer for their passion, it's our curse. Let me know if you want to be in the tag list. I update chapter progress on the masterlist whenever something changes.

Please enjoy this chapter! I worked very hard on it so reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated very much.

Tag List: @fan-goddess , @artxasa

Chapter 9 

               The days at the Hewitt house went by slow as molasses, within these dragging days a construction crew had arrived and began repairing your home. They worked quickly and made a lot of headway which is unusual for contractors, the team seemed eager to leave for some unspoken reason. The foreman said that in one month, you would get your home back; you were excited to have your life get back on track despite enjoying your time at the Hewitt house. You made sure to water and trim the fruit trees so that they didn’t overgrow or die, since Dover was still missing, all the responsibility was left up to you. There was so much work to do but you were happy to be able to contribute your time to the property. In the passing days you didn’t see much of Tommy, he seemed preoccupied and was frequently away from the farm which only made the days last longer for you.

Half past 4pm, the day was really wearing on you and the sun was getting low in the sky so you decided to leave the orchard and head back to the Hewitt house to rest. On your walk back, you think about Tommy’s room and what it must look like, when you saw the door under that menacing red light it was simultaneously both frightening and intriguing.

The basement was such a dark and quiet place, so spacious and empty; You remembered that room with hooks that Tommy swiftly prevented you from exploring, your curiosity grew when he spun you around and slammed the door shut. This family has a mysterious history to you, the mention of them allegedly eating people weighed heavy on your mind -can I really get past the fact that they might have been cannibals? – it felt easier to gaslight yourself into thinking everything was fine, so you ran it out of your head.

When you arrived at the house, you make your way through the parlor and see Luda Mae sitting on the couch in the living room. She was reading a romance novel with a muscular, golden-haired man on the cover, it was reminiscent of the classics you had seen in your grandmothers closet as a kid. She sees you and places the book down to the side hurriedly as if she was ashamed of what she was reading,

“I-uh-ahem” She stuttered,

You smile politely “Reading anything good?”

She laughs, “Yeah, this one’s real saucy too. Thought I might get lost in it for a while.”

You felt bad for interrupting her, “Well don’t let me stop you, I’m just heading over to my room for some rest before dinner.”

she replies, “Oh, shoot that reminds me, best get dinner started now.” Luda Mae gets up with a groan and starts walking towards the kitchen.

“Time really does fly by when you find a good book.” She laughs as she passes.

You go to your room and get yourself changed and freshened up before dinner, you didn’t want to be around everyone while having the sweat of farmwork still lingering. You put on a comfortable pair of black tights and a white tank top which matched the white walking shoes you slipped on your feet.

When dinner was ready, you left your room to meet with the Hewitts at the dining table. The scent of roast chicken and baked corn wafted into the room, you were starving from having worked all day. Charlie was already sitting at the table when you arrived, he looked at you and said,

“Didja see the progress on the house?”

You take a seat, “Yeah, it’s coming along really fast, I’m surprised.”

He laughs “Don’t be, that crew probably knows this area ain’t so safe for ‘em. They’re smart, gonna get their paycheck and fuck off.”

You furl your eyebrows, “Why isn’t it safe for them?”

“Ah- Uh...” Charlie stopped himself when he caught a glare from Luda Mae from the kitchen,

“Well, what if they were to get hurt hm? Ain’t no hospital nearby or nothin’” he looked pleased with his answer.

You reply, “That’s a good point I guess.”

You know there is something more to what he said, but you didn’t want to push him. Luda Mae brought in the food, placing it all on the table followed by a big jug of ice-water, she groaned as she sat down; Tommy however, was missing tonight and you were worried,

You ask, “Where is Tommy? Is he not eating?”

Charlie laughs “That boy not eat? Maybe when hell freezes over after pigs fly n’ the fat lady sings.”

A devilish grin forms on his face before he turns to Luda Mae and says,

“Hey Luda, get the ball rollin’ n’ start singin’, then when the pigs grow wings Satan’s ass’ll turn to ice and the boy won’t be eatin’ us outta house n’ home no more.”

Luda Mae just rolls her eyes, she turns to you and says,

“Don’t worry hun, Charlie brought somethin’ to him so he don’t starve out there.”

You push for more info, “He’s been so busy lately; I feel like I never get to see him anymore. Where is he anyway?”

Charlie grabs a chicken leg and bites into it, he starts speaking with his mouth full,

“He’d shred us in half if we toldja. He’s been workin’ real hard though, wants to show you what all he’s been doin’ tonight”

Charlie swallows his food and continues, “He’s got a big ole’ hard on for you girlie, you better not be trailin’ him along fer nothin’, or he might lose it.”

Luda Mae whips her dishcloth at Charlie, who just smiles and winks at you. Luda Mae looks at you and says,

“Hope you get used to this foul-mouthed pig here, I might die from having to apologize on his behalf all darn day.”

She shakes her head at him and follows, “Thomas wants to meet up with you after you’re done eatin’. He wants to show you what he’s been workin’ on.”

Charlie pipes in, “Yeah, I bet he wants to show you somethin’. Probably whip out the fuckin’ anaconda he’s hidin’ down there. For an ugly motherfucker he sure was blessed. God is a real shit heel for that one.”

You squint your eyes at him, and he continues,

“He used to bathe outside when he was a youngin’ but once he grew up a bit the bulls started feelin’ emasculated.” Charlie starts laughing hysterically.

Luda Mae hides her face in her hands, she yells out,

“Why’r you talkin’ bout my boy’s privates like that!? You tryin’ to make us all upset?”

Charlie is now red in the face from laughing, he gets a sick pleasure in making people uncomfortable, but if anything, it just made you unbearably curious. You caught a glimpse of his erection when you watched Tommy run from you at the pond, it was greatly obscured but from what you could see, it was huge; You were able to feel the size and firmness of it in the laundry room, which factualized Charlies words.

He looked over at you, his eyes were watery from laughing so hard, he says,

“I’m sorry honey buns, but you need to be warned before you let him stick that goddamn two by four in ya.” He continues to laugh while he shovels corn into his mouth. You were still not used to his outlandish way of conversation and it made you blush.

The rest of dinner was mostly just Luda Mae trying to keep the subject matter light and Charlie giggling to himself. Once you cleared the table and packed away the leftovers, Luda Mae guides you to the door and says,

“Go wait for him by the silo, he’ll take you to his surprise. I hope you like it dear.”

The sun was now deep on the horizon which was losing its rosy hue, twinkling planets were already visible and the moon was following the dark part of the sky. You see Thomas leaning against the silo, he had one hand in his pocket and the other was fiddling with some wheat from the field to check the progress of the crop. He was wearing a very loosely fit tank top that looked old and worn, his pants were a pale blue jean with dirt and other stains scattered all over, he was still wearing his working boots which means he must have completed this surprise only today.

He looks up from what he was doing, when he sees you, he stood up straight, dropping the wheat to the ground. You could tell he was smiling, his deep blue eyes squishing upward gave it away, this made you smile wide as you felt knots form in your stomach. You felt like you hadn’t seen him in forever, time away really does make the heart grow fonder, it was agony not being able to spend time with him. He extended his hand to you and when you placed your hand in his and realized how small you really were compared to him, you felt like you could only hold onto two of his fingers while he could easily cover more than just your hand with his.

He looked at you and carefully pulled you toward the forest,

“Where are we going? It’s dark in there, sort of scary, isn’t it?” You were hesitant to be going into a dark forest as the sun was rapidly losing its light, he looked at you and tilted his head to the side,

“I’m here” he said calmly.

His voice was so deep and reassuring. You rarely ever hear him speak, so it felt like you won the lottery whenever he did utter out anything. He was walking slowly, he made sure to accommodate the vast difference in gait you both had by staying behind you, he guided you by gently moving you in the right direction with his hand on your shoulder. Even though you were nervous about the darkness of the forest, you felt safe with Tommy close to you. He was so large and unbelievably strong that there was no way harm could come to you.

Suddenly, Tommy stopped and turned you around to face him, he took your hands and covered your eyes with them, you couldn’t help but smile. He put his hand on the middle of your back to guide you further in, you trusted that he would ensure you don’t trip and fall. The ground went from dirt and crunching leaves, to soft grass, then a hard flat surface. Each step you took made a hollow wooden noise as if you were at a harbor. Tommy stopped you and moved your hands from your eyes. You looked around and gasped, you were on a dock that sat on top of the pond.

The moon was already shining a bright light on the water making it look like glass, the stars that now shone in the night sky were reflecting off the surface and turned the pond into what looked like a portal into space. The gentle croaking of frogs created a peaceful ambience, and as you walked further onto the dock you saw some wooden chairs to relax on, one was much larger than the other.

“Did you make all this?” your voice was exasperated with awe.

Tommy nodded again and pointed at you,

You smiled “You made this for me?”

He nodded again and went to sit on the largest chair, he tapped his hand on the other chair to get you to sit with him. You sat down and the deep seat forced you to recline which was relaxing.

“I’ve never had anyone do something like this for me. Thank you, Tommy, you’re such a thoughtful man.”

Tommy looked at you and nodded slowly, he made an approving ‘hmph’ noise, he felt good about pleasing you. The heat tonight was thick, it made your skin sticky with sweat, and you could see a slick shine on Tommy’s arms and chest. You get up from the chair to put your hand in the water, testing its temperature, small fish reveal themselves as they flash in the moonlight. You stand up and remove your shoes, Tommy stands up nervously and you giggle,

“Don’t worry, I won’t take off my shirt or underwear. It’s too hot to just sit down when we have the most immaculate natural pool right under our feet.”

You slowly take off your tights and fold them neatly on top of your shoes, the black thong you had underneath did nothing to conceal your feminine shape; Tommy turns away from you, staring off into the sky in an attempt to avoid gawking at you. It was amusing to you since he already saw most of your body the first time you were in the pond. You slowly lower yourself into the cool water of the pond, its cooling temperature feels like heaven.

Tommy heard you get in and slowly turns around to see you on your back, floating gently with the moon’s reflection circling your body, you looked like a goddess. You saw that he was just standing there watching you, you swim up to the dock and put your arms on the edge, you say,

“You know, you don’t have to just watch me.”

Seeing him act so shy was strange, a polar opposite of the last time you were both in the laundry room where he made no qualms of pushing himself up against your clothed pussy with his dick begging for entry. You watched as he took off his clothes, throwing them sloppily next to your neatly folded pile. You were annoyed that he was wearing black boxers which concealed the shape and size of his package too well, but being able to see his body almost completely unclothed was still enough to have you biting your lip in excitement.

Tommy had very long legs which were complemented by his thick thighs, his butt was muscular from having to haul his hefty body weight all over the farm. His torso was exactly as you pictured it, he had heavy muscle underneath a layer of fat that softened any sharp edges and did nothing but add mass to his already impressive size. His pecs were large and heaved with every breath he took, a smattering of soft hair covered the base of his chest and ran down his abdomen leading towards his groin, getting less sparse the lower it went.

Seeing him so exposed was odd, most people would look vulnerable, but he only looked more intimidating and fearsome especially since his arm muscles were well defined despite his soft torso. His size was not a mirage from thick clothes or padded jackets like most men you encountered, he really was authentically a behemoth of a man.

He lowered himself into the pond and let out a sigh of relaxation when he submerged his torso under the surface. You smile, and swim over to him,

“You deserve to relax after working so hard. I hope we could make this a frequent thing, something we could do together.”

You waited for a response, he looked at you and then up to the sky, he let out a positive ‘hm’ and nodded. You felt like you were in a dream, nothing you experienced was ever this beautiful, and no man was ever as generous as Tommy, you wanted to live in this moment forever. Tommy stands up in the water, he turns to you and grabs your hand to pull you to another part of the pond,

“C’mere” he says.

He pushes past some thick reeds and you end up in a tiny alcove where the water comes up to your chin and tall grasses circle you both which made the area very intimate. Tommy sees you struggling to keep your head out of water, he bends over you and grabs the smallest area on your waist under your ribs with both hands and he lifts you out of the water effortlessly. You let out a short-excited scream as he pulls you up and holds you close to his body. You’re barely able to straddle him, your chest was now just under his chin, your tank top clung to your breasts exposing your now hardened nipples. You placed both arms over his shoulders to prevent yourself from smothering his face with your bosom. He was so strong that you were able to sit comfortably on just the one arm, he looks out towards the grass and says,

“Watch”

Tommy used his free hand to splash water across the grass around you and it erupted with whirring, a horde of fireflies sprung out from their hiding places and lit up the night. You were stunned,

“I’ve never seen fireflies before, this is… this is magical.”

Tommy laughs and slowly turns to let you take in the full effect of the display before you, the glow of the fireflies created a warm soft light that was bright enough to let you see his eyes clearly, you couldn’t help but stare. He looked up at you, his eyes half lidded and glossy, he drank in every inch of the enchanting sight before him. When he looked into your eyes it was like projecting his soul into your mind, you could feel his emotions and you felt a deep comfort from it, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.

You reach up and move his hair away from his face, he took your hand and held it to his cheek as he pressed his face into your touch, his eyes closing and letting out a deep breath. You smile at him and decide to be brave; you begin to slowly remove his mask but he abruptly stops your action with his hand, you could see his expression was full of worry, you say,

“If I keep my eyes closed will you let me take off your mask? I promise not to open them.”

Tommy looks off to the side thinking, he wasn’t scared of anything except losing you and he was worried that if you saw his full face, it would disturb you. He wondered what you were going to do, but the fear was stopping him from finding out. You see him deep in thought and speak again,

“Look” you close your eyes tightly, “I can’t see a thing, I promise I won’t peek.”

Tommy trusted you, and despite the anxiety running through his system, he removed his mask and let it hang down on one ear. He took your hand and guided it up to the left side of his face, which had no significant damage compared to the other side. You feel his stubble and softly move your hand down to his lips, they were smooth and parted slightly. You smile when your fingers reached his mouth, despite not being able to see his face, from what you were able to feel, you knew he was handsome. You slowly lower your head down and pause, hovering your lips over his and testing to see what he would allow. He didn’t resist.

You pressed your lips onto his and immediately felt a jolt of hormonal chemicals race through you like an electric shock, he let out a muffled sound of surprise. He pressed back and slowly lowered your body so he could kiss you on a more equal level. You extended the kiss by opening your mouth slightly, parting his lips only to press in on them again passionately, Tommy reciprocated the motion and was now breathing heavily through his nose, you could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest as he groaned with arousal, it was so deep that it vibrated into your chest further exciting you.

You could feel some strange deformation on one side of his face, your lips didn’t quite connect with his fully on his right side. You stayed closer to his left side since it felt a little bit more intact, you wished you could see how unique his face was. Imagining the damage done to him at such a young age was upsetting, it only emboldened your feelings for him.

The kiss was long and passionate, you both couldn’t get enough of each other, it felt like a sin to stop. Every time you pulled back from his lips, he leaned into you to catch them again parting and closing your mouths to enhance the connection you both so desperately craved. You could smell the air from his nose washing over you, it was strangely intoxicating almost like it was fresh mountain air which aroused you further. His free arm was now trailing up your spine until his hand found a resting place on the back of your neck.

You wanted more of him; your emotions were getting so intense that you moaned each time the pressure of the kiss increased. You placed your left hand on his shoulder, and your right on his collarbone. You ran your fingers over the thick muscle tensing on his neck, his carotid artery was pulsating with his heart beat, you continued feeling upwards and reached his jawline where his thick stubble prickled your fingertips. His features were so far above a stereotypically masculine ideal, it made you feel a cautious excitement, as if you encountered the final product of evolutionary success aimed to create a monster of man.

You finally pull away, making sure to keep your eyes closed. You are breathing heavily, letting out a soft moan as you lean your head back to get more air. Tommy covers his face back with the mask and gazes at you still drunk off the kiss and feeling lighter than air. The fireflies have now dispersed to the point where it was very dim around you both. He carries you back to the shallow area of the pond so you could stand up.

You smile, “Thank you for trusting me.”

Tommy nods and smiles under his mask. You wade in the water around him as he sits in the water so his torso is once again submerged, his head leaned back and eyes closed. You look around at the leftover fireflies lazily floating over top the glassy pond surface, the water gently laps at your hips.

 A feeling of unease creeps into your body and raises the hairs on the back of your neck, you stop moving and a sudden wave of anxiety rushed over you. In this moment you freeze and quiet your breathing, you felt an instinct to try to listen to the world around you very carefully but you couldn’t hear anything out of the ordinary. The feeling of something being…off was now overwhelming and setting you on edge. You quietly move closer to Tommy to create a sort of protective border from the surroundings and hold onto his arm, he opens his eyes and looks at you with concern.

“Somethings wrong” you say in a hushed tone.

Tommy immediately got up from his sitting position and stood alert, he closed his arms around you and searched with his eyes to see what spooked you;

He breathed out slowly and moved you back towards the dock. You were confused and frightened, a tense gut feeling was like an ancient ancestral alarm which you knew should never be ignored. He helped you up on the dock and followed behind after you walked toward your clothes. You quickly put on your tights and shoes and as Tommy got his clothes on you looked around, trying to find the source for this sudden dread. You slowly panned across the forest, until you see it.

In the distance, and shrouded in the shadows of night, a silhouette of a person stood still. It was too dark to make out any features and just as you saw them, they disappeared into the bush as if they were nothing but a hallucination. You get closer to Tommy who just finished pulling his shirt down over his body, you press your back into him to feel a sense of security. Tommy looks at you and bends his upper body over you as he looks around,

“Where” he says firmly,

You point to where the shadow was and whisper, “There was someone there, watching us.”

He didn’t need to see what you saw in order to know that the energy outside had shifted, all he wanted to do was get you to safety. He lifted you up into his arms and held you tightly, he took one look around to ensure the exit was safe and bolted; His movements were agile and fast, it almost felt supernatural. The trees whip past and you quickly lose sight of the pond, his footsteps reverberating thuds as he moves through the woods with expert agility.  Your eyes are wide with fear as you watch the forest behind you darken the further away you get; How Tommy was able to see things in the dark was a mystery to you.

Finally, you are out of the wooded area and coming up to where the silo was, the feeling of dread dissipates and Tommy slows his pace down, he wasn’t even huffing and puffing like most people would be doing after running so fast with a grown adult in their arms.

You hug him tightly, “Thank you for carrying me.”

You give him a kiss on his neck and continue to tighten your grip. Tommy brings you into the house and shuts the door behind you both, he gently lowers you to the floor, you keep hugging him as you stand on your tip toes. He felt very protective of you and was mad that someone scared you so much. His rage was building the more he thought about someone being on his property watching the two of you. He wondered how they would have been able to evade the multiple traps he set up around the pond perimeter.

Tommy grabs your shoulders and pushes you back slowly, he lifts your chin to have you look up at him. He sees the worried look on your face and it fuels his rage of the intruder,

“Go sleep, I gotta do somethin’.”

His voice was rich in baritone, you could hear anger in his words. You didn’t want him to leave, but before you could tell him to stay, he was out the door. You made your way to the washroom to shower off the pond water and get ready for sleep, Luda Mae and Charlie were already asleep upstairs, unaware of the situation. You were disturbed by what you saw, but as long as Tommy was out there, you felt safe in the house. You went to bed that night worried, who was that shadow and what will happen if Tommy catches them? The morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Next chapter-

[hydemercats]

awkward looking animatic i kind of speedran

ill put the cws in the tags but ill also put them here just in case ^_^

//blood, corpse, also possible mild flash warning, i left one flame blank at is way more jarring than i intended anyway i made this in like 5 hours it is not the best quality b nice to me/lh

my script under cut, as well as AWESOME FACTS FIRE EMOJI

(the script is like, annoyingly tall)

Run from their pity - matthias finds the house of usher after WITNISSING the house of usher and he's like. um! what the fuck! (im not entirely sure how he finds the gw books, but he does) from responsibility - something something. he figures out portals and loses his humanity or whatever Run from the country - he goes and looks 4 adam and run from the city - adam finds him can run from the law - matthias climbs into jekylls laboratory through the window I can run from myself - oops! hydes already drinking arsenic I can run from my life - carmilla is fucking bleeding out! I can run into debt - hi dracula. he's just talking. matthias is exploring the library I can run from it all - jim shoots a man! I can run 'til I'm gone - jim tells matthias about how he shot a man! I can run for the office and run for my cause - matthias finds winston and is like 'hey man lets get the fuck out' I can run using every last ounce of energy - matthias crisis cuz he still feels some crushing guilt I cannot, I cannot -matthias is like. oh yeah that guilt is probably how im the sole survivor of the usher thing! tee hee! /j I cannot run from my family - transition 2 the end of house of usher when matthias finishes reading the tale and oh shit madeline is here They're hiding inside of me - madeline starts fucking killing roderick but also not really? its. its complicated corpses on ice - they die Come in if you like but just don't tell my family - even FURTHER flashback, roderick and matthias r talking a few nights before, roderick tells matthias about how he's probably going to die and why They'd never forgive me - matthias doesnt fucking believe him but he's trying to be nice about it because he's also pretty sure roderick is gonna kick it soon they'd say that I'm crazy - self explanatory

the book matthias reads at the start is the first book fall of the house of usher was published in, in 1840 i believe?

hyde has a green shadow behind him because of the line 'run from myself' and.. yknow,

matthias has a glass of blood 4 carmilla, he hadn't expected her to be literally dying when he got there

jim, when he's killing a man, has a dagger in his shoulder and is holding that pistol wrong. realistically he would probably be losing his arm here - or at least, being more seriously injured than he already is. or dead. i reread ti recently, he SHOULD be dead by now.

matthias is wearing a top hat when he meets winston, since they are slightly thematic in 1984

fun fact: im very proud of that hair animation

after that transition is where it gets really late at night when im drawing this and i start to go. LET ME GO TO BED PLEASE. so the quality rapidly decreases

if for some reason u read all of this, heres some roderick and matthias art i did for goretober a few nights ago ^_^

the roderick design is not at all accurate to my hc i just used it for simplicities sake. this mostly on one layer, including the lineart, btw :3

[taomyou]

the art of watching the wind - chapter 1

Pairing: Nanami Kento/Reader

Status: ONGOING, updates every other saturday, 1/7 chapters

Summary: As it turns out, swapping out his corporate cubicle for a florist’s counter doesn’t mean he’s learned how to live life to the fullest.

But, as Nanami Kento comes to find out for himself, it does mean he has all the time in the world to spend it on the beach with the woman who’ll show him how to.

-

or, Nanami learning how to be happy.

Word Count: 9.0k

Tags: slow burn, modern au - no curses, reader-insert, character study, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, nanami pov

(A/N: this fic is available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead! chapter one is mostly setting/exposition)

“That’ll be it for today's shipment, my friend!” Gojo beams, one hand on his hip while the other slaps against the side of a crate of roses. When his friend doesn’t say anything in response, he frowns, shoving his hands into the pockets of his rugged work pants. “Hey, what’s with the long face?”

Nanami blinks, his hands gripping onto the handlebar of the platform cart. “What?”

“You good?”

“Oh, yes, I'm fine,” Nanami answers, loosening his grip on the handles. “Just a bit tired.”

"Last one in the shop today?"

"Yeah. Yaga's coming by later to drop off some papers, but I should be gone by then."

"Sounds good." Gojo smiles at his friend sympathetically before putting a hand on his shoulder as he begins to pass him on the walk back to the delivery truck. “Take it easy, yeah? No need to stress yourself out.”

The blonde sighs before halfheartedly nodding, gently removing the gloved hand from his arm. “I’m not, but I appreciate your concern.”

“If you say so,” Gojo teases, “See you around, Nanami. Would love to chat, but I've gotta finish up my route ASAP and beat that loser."

"You're still on about that? I thought you already won."

"That was last month! I need to prove I can keep up with the spring rush this month!" Gojo laughs. "Besides, he's the one that gets all butthurt about it, I wouldn't care if he didn't."

Nanami supposes it's true. The older man—whose name is Fushiguro, if he's remembering correctly—seems to have it out for the white-haired delivery driver; Nanami remembers him grumbling under his breath about Gojo "fucking up the schedule" and "making him look cheap," whatever that's supposed to mean, but though their rivalry seems fairly one-sided, Gojo indulges him for the fun of it.

Nanami doesn't quite get it, but he supposes this is just what happens when you need to make up your own fun on the job.

"Well, good luck then."

"Won't need it, but thanks! Let’s grab drinks sometime, my treat if you pay for dessert after!”

The blonde kisses his teeth, but he smiles in spite of it. “Sure. I’ll let you know when I’m available.” He probably won’t, but he’s sure that his friend will find a way to drag him out for a night in the town sometime soon, one way or another (and that, one way or another, he'll find a way to get out of it).

Nanami raises a hand from the handle as a gesture of his goodbyes as Gojo leaves, as does Gojo himself on his way back to his truck. He watches as his friend hops up onto the high seat of the vehicle, picks up a clipboard from the passenger-side seat, and writes down something with a pen he'd kept tucked behind his ear. With his gloves still on, Gojo pulls out his phone from his pocket and nestles it between his shoulder and his ear, still marking down items on the clipboard whilst checking over his shoulder occasionally to look for things in the backseat.

It sure is jarring to see the boisterous snow-haired man hard at work at... anything, really. He'd always been so carefree and limitless, and though those traits still exist in the man whilst on the clock, he seems just a tad bit more responsible than Nanami remembered him to be.

Has it really been so long that he'd been able to change so much without Nanami noticing?

The blonde is completely silent as he turns and wheels back the last of this week’s delivery into the back of the shop. It's not an entirely far walk, but the shop isn't immediately near any delivery zone, so Nanami has to push the cart a fair bit away before he can really call it a day. He's had to walk the same path everyday, multiple times each time, but he still somehow forgets the crack in the pavement that, if he rolls the cart over it, knocks back the whole thing and nearly tips all the crates' contents out. Instead of cursing himself (or whatever else he can think to blame, really), he bitterly smiles as he tugs on the cart and lets go of the handle with one hand so that he can hold up the crates for the remainder of the trip back to the shop.

At least this is the last time he has to make the journey today. He'll just have to remember to avoid that sidewalk hazard next time. He's reminded himself of this every shift, actually, but he somehow always seems to forget.

When he gets back to the shop, the back entrance is held open with a spare footstool he'd placed there at the beginning of the day. Helps keep the place well-circulated while the air conditioning is being repaired, for one, and it's nice not having to awkwardly open it and hold it out with his arm fully outstretched every time he passes through. Still, Nanami has to readjust his grip on the handlebar of the cart because one of the front wheels gets caught on the doorframe, and after tugging on it thrice, it gives way, he's able to get through smoothly. He pushes through and is now inside the back room of the shop, and he makes sure that his apron is securely tied behind his back before he moves to take the crates off of the cart.

The backroom is quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the boxes as he moves them into the walk-in cooler, and once everything’s offloaded, he moves the cart to its designated spot in the corner of the room. His back aches slightly from the slow, weighted movements, as the crates are decently heavy and require more strength to lift than he has at this late hour of the day, but he bears with it long enough for him to finish without breaking too much of a sweat.

“That should be it,” Nanami whispers to himself, looking around the room. He makes sure that everything’s in its proper place—the cart, the gloves, the stool, the rows of crates filled with flowers that’ll need to be sorted first thing tomorrow morning—and he lets out a sigh of relief when he's triple-checked that it is.

Good. Everything’s where it should be. All that's left is to close the back door, and he'll get to be cozy at the counter doing what he does best. It's a bit cold today, winter only just now turning to spring, so he'll change his apron and pull his sleeves back to full-length.

As he steps out to retrieve the chair that's holding it open, his eyes are downturned and his hands are busy putting the stool back in its proper place; but, as he waits for the door to close behind him, he looks over his shoulder to be momentarily met with the sight of the sunset. The sky at this time of day is a sight Nanami hardly ever got to see before working here, and he feels it'd be a waste to not at least try to catch sight of it before the day is over, so he takes it in during the brief seconds it takes for the door to close.

Some of the late-night spots in the nearby shopping center are beginning to turn on their lights to let people know that they're open for business, and that casts more light upwards in bursts of technicolor. Molten gold and pear-cut sapphire melt into one another in front of a barely-there haze, and birds sparsely dot the horizon like sesame seeds on a red bean bun. Brushstrokes of red, violet, and pink chase each other against a pale canvas of blues and silver, and rays of sunlight burst through to form a halo over the earth. The underside of the clouds are burnt umber and golden brown, flaky and crisp like a pastry sitting neatly in a display case, and they frame the sky like its a painting.

It doesn't take a genius to know that the sight is beautiful—a snapshot of the world from a corner of it that only he knows in this very moment. The faint spring breeze certainly does help in painting the picture, pushing his outgrown bangs out of his face and kissing him with the gentleness of the zephyr.

It's too bad, then, that it's a sight that Nanami still ultimately doesn't care much for, because instead of basking in the light, he winces at it with worn, tired eyes. He puts his free hand over his eyes to rub the weariness from them, and he keeps them closed as he turns back in towards the shop.

Must the sun always be so bright, so "in-your-face?"

Checking his watch, he sees that if he finishes a bit earlier than usual with the bookkeeping today, he should have enough time to make it to the bakery right off the freeway on his way home before they close. He'd been meaning to try the quaint little bakery for so long now, having been recommended it by an older woman in his building he'd helped carry in her groceries when he first moved to the city three long years ago, but between his job, leaving said previous job, and getting adjusted to his current... arrangements, there hasn't really been a good time to go.

Truthfully, he's memorized their menu, front-to-back, and he thinks about making the drive over often, but he just... doesn't. There's always something in the way: work that needs to be done before the end of the day, personal errands he needs to run, a bad mood that won't let him go. Instead, their hours of operation are taped onto the walls of his heart and left to peel with the paint, but they've still always functioned as a loose guide as to whether or not Nanami's doing a good job keeping track of his time at work.

Clearly, he hasn't ever done that.

But, if he gets out on time today, it'd be a nice milestone gift, he tells himself.

Besides, today marks the third month of him working here—it wouldn't hurt to treat himself to a little trip over to the storefront.

There's not much else in his life that he has to celebrate anyway, so he'll just make it up as it goes. He didn't even realize three months had passed, just taking things day-by-day to keep the dread of the future at bay for as long as he could, but a younger high school-aged boy, Itadori, had started at the shop on the same day as him, and Nanami'd overheard him telling a customer that he hit the quarter-year mark at the job (a miracle, apparently, because his grades demand much more attention than work should; still, Nanami helps him and one of the other coworkers, Kugisaki, with their maths homework when it's not too busy at the shop).

Yeah. Today can be the day.

He can play it by ear. He's made peace with the fact that this is about as good as it gets, and there's no better time than the present when he's so sorely reminded of the fact now that he's left behind nearly everything he'd ever known in his professional career for... whatever he's made of his life thus far.

He'll make it special.

He's said that a million times before, but, today, he really means it.

After blinking a few times to get the sun out of his eyes, Nanami puts the stool in its usual spot right next to the door. With his hands now free, he unties the back of his apron, walks over to hang it up at the hook right at the curtain between the two areas of the shop. He pushes through the half-height fabric curtains as he tugs his sleeves back to his wrists, and he buttons his cuffs back up as he's making himself comfortable at the florist's counter.

With his cabinet key, Nanami opens up the side drawer where the accounting materials are, and he pulls them out to lay next to the shop's computer. It's a bit outdated, clunky beige keyboard and all, but he doesn't mind it. He types in the passcode for the admin account with his right hand on the number pad whilst putting on his reading glasses, kept in his shirt's breast pocket at all times, and he gets to work. Having had so much practice in the trade, he gets through all the bookkeeping tasks quickly enough. There's a few hiccups because the shop is still in the process of changing their payroll system and Nanami's in charge of getting that all sorted out, but that's nothing out of the ordinary for any business going through the same procedures.

It's a bore to remember what it is that he's even doing, lost in the flurry as tabs are closed and new ones are opened, but at least he's only doing this for a couple hours every week as opposed to his entire working day. His face is completely stoic as he types, clicks, and flips through the logbook for delivery dates and other miscellaneous information. Nanami keeps track of what he's finished with and what data he'll need for his next bookkeeping session for Yaga to pick up whilst he's dropping off papers later, and the older man will know to then drop those notes off with his parents—the owners of the store.

They're nice people. He knew them as clients when they outsourced their accounting to his firm (and, thusly, him), and they'd been generous enough to offer him a full-time position in the shop, especially considering he had absolutely no experience in any sort of floristry. Nanami wished they'd come around more often as it's a bit hard to express his gratitude to them through emails and in the in-between of the margins of the papers they have him sign, but he's glad to know they're able to spend most of their time doing things more typical for a couple their age. 

He doesn't mind it, though—the work. Inputting numbers, cleaning buckets, double-checking financial records, dethorning roses, calculating the budget, putting together bouquets and other arrangements—all of it. Really, he doesn't. He's obviously more... adept at some things more than others, but he's learned to enjoy what he's learned in his time working here. But, while his hands move methodically and his eyes trace the screen from left to right, he can't help but be reminded of how he'd used to do this for a living. He supposes that he still does, but being a general florist who helps out with the bookkeeping for a small family-owned flower shop is quite a far step away from being the top financial analyst at the region's most prestigious accounting firm.

He really shouldn't be thinking about it. He's already spent enough time contemplating whether or not the pay cut was worth whatever sanity he'd scraped away for himself when he left, and he should be happy he's content where he is.

He's not happy here. It's as simple as that.

After he locks up the cabinet and clocks out for the day, he exhales deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter and rubbing at his temples with his hands. His head doesn't hurt like how it used to, but it's still not exactly raring for more to do. Sitting here, he has a clear enough view of the sidewalk in front of the shop, if only blocked by towers of flowers and gift displays.

He sees that the sun has set, and he won't have to worry about it blinding him from the horizon as he's driving home. That's nice.

After taking another few deep breaths, he gets up from the seat, and he grabs his coat and other personal belongings before locking up shop, getting into his car, and starting the drive home. Glancing at the clock now, there's still about an hour or so before the bakery closes, so he decides he'll make the quick detour over there. As he maneuvers through the highway, sure-as-steel that he's obeying all traffic laws despite the ache in his feet and the dreariness of his morale, his mind drifts slightly to the long-awaited sweets he's been fantasizing about for years. 

Has it really been so long since he's moved to this city?

Regardless, whatever'd been keeping him from going over to the little bakery for so long, he'll conquer it today. There's still enough time to make it comfortably before closing; he checks and there's forty-five minutes for him to make it there comfortably, and he's nearing his exit anyway.

He wonders what he'll get. It'd always been a faraway thought—that he'd ever make the time to go to the bakery on the off-road—so he always just figured he'd order whatever gets recommended to him. He's done his fair share of looking at their menu, though. He remembers, in the very beginnings of his time at that... horrendous job, back before he'd been overworked and overloaded with the tasks of more than a hundred men, he'd look up pictures and reviews and transcripts of their offerings online when the workday got slow enough for him to take his phone out of his bag and steal time. Back then, he truthfully did have the time to go and try it out, maybe even reach out to a friend and invite him to come along, but he supposes he'd figured he'd have time for it in the future.

"Save it for another time," he remembers telling himself. "It'll taste better if you wait for it—if you have something to celebrate."

Next thing he knows, three years and three months have passed, and he's never so much as driven past the place.

But, amidst the blooming angst, his mind conjures up those fond memories of himself using his old work computer to look at online reviews for the place. Thinking of them again now after so long, he

All those pastries, all those sweets, all those breads. It'd been so easy for him to forget that such a simple thing brought him joy; that anything at all brought him any kind of peace. He feels it in the pit of his stomach right now—the quiet little spark of excitement he hasn't felt in ages. If he'd known he'd be so worked up over the mere prospect of enjoying something sweet there, or maybe even something savory, he'd have quit his corporate job so, so long ago.

A new match lit in his chest, he smiles to himself slightly as he's driving through the wind. He rests his elbow just beneath the side window and props his head on that hand, and he moves his other hand to the top of the wheel to steer with a bit more panache. There's not much light out anymore and he still has to be careful he's driving safely in the dark, but he gets cozy against his seat cushion and lets himself sink deeply into the plush. His window's rolled up because he's not sure his senses can take much more overload after a day spent near wet flowers and loud, crinkling cellophane, but he'd like to think there's another version of himself out there whose able to feel the breeze through his hair.

Then, just as suddenly, the fire's put out by an inevitable wind, because just as he's beginning to merge into the exit lane he's meant to take to get to the bakery, a car cuts in front of him, forcing Nanami to slam his brakes and grip the steering wheel harder to avoid hitting the vehicle in front of him. Just barely able to check his mirrors, he swerves back into the faster, continuing lane and pushes on the gas to keep the car behind him from driving into him. Nanami's seatbelt saves him from launching forward, but, now looking over at the center console as he's checking for the time, the same can't be said for the cup of coffee he'd forgotten in his car's cupholder from yesterday morning.

Great. Coffee all over the center console and even more of it starting to soak into his passenger seat.

He's forced to just sigh and look ahead, now only ready to go home and get started on cleaning his car. He raises his hand for the driver behind him to know that he's sorry he had to swerve in front of them, his heart still beating out of his chest, and he blows anger out through his nose as he's forced to think about whether or not he's going to reroute to still get to the bakery or just resign for the day and go home. Looking at the clock again, there's only about thirty minutes left for until closing, and, even then, it'd be cutting it so close if he were to get there in the twenty-something minutes it'd take to figure out how to get there, park, and find something to order or choose from the display case.

If working at the flower shop has taught him nothing else thus far, it's that coming in that close to closing is enough to ruin everyone's evening, and Nanami'd rather not put any of the closers through more than they already have to deal with.

Quite unfortunate, all things considered, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Most he can do is frown about it while he's brushing his teeth later, maybe even curse the universe after he's gone through the apartment and made sure all the lights are off.

Maybe another time, then. There's more important things to do than try out some bread that's probably not as great as he's made it out to be in his head.

🔅

With a heavy heart (and a trash bag filled with coffee-soaked napkins and a now-barely damp washcloth), Nanami pulls his keys from out of his pocket, finds the one he needs to open his apartment door, and steps through. He hangs his keys up on a red push pin that's stuck into the drywall immediately to his right, courtesy of an old friend who'd helped him move into the place way back when, and he holds himself upright using the doorframe.

"I'm home," he says to the walls, taking off his shoes and leaving them near the welcome mat by the entrance. He's lived alone for a long time now, but he supposes he never really grew out of the habit of greeting the house when he's home. He leaves the trash bag by the door to take out with the rest of the trash later, dreading the eventual long walk he has to take to get to the dumpster, but, other than that, everything else about his routine tonight is the same.

There's nothing important about today, so there's nothing new for him to do.

After changing into something comfortable enough to lounge around in, Nanami drags his feet as he walks back out to the kitchen to see what he can make himself for dinner. His socks create enough static that he's shocked when he grazes the metal of his bedroom's doorframe, but he can't be much more bothered than he already is, so he just ignores it.

His fridge is exactly how he'd left it that same morning, with more than enough ingredients to put together a decent meal for himself, and he moves around aimlessly to do so. Today, it's a quick short rib stew with rice, and he lets a shuffled mix of songs he doesn't quite enjoy play from his phone to keep himself awake enough to not burn himself as he's cooking.

He eats at the dining table with a book propped up on an empty vase and held open with the pinky and thumb of his left hand, chewing while mindlessly reading about the development of various computer types, and he lets the dishes soak in the sink while he sits across the television and watches today's rerun of the Great British Bake-Off. He still hates watching the technical bake, but he's just being a hypocrite; not like he can do any of that either.

Once he's tired of watching yet another person underwhip their soufflé batter, he runs his hands down his face lethargically and gets up to do the dishes, very much aware of the ache in his feet after hours standing up on the shop. The hurt's caught up with him by now and he has to hold onto the counter to keep his legs from shaking, but maybe he's just being dramatic for the sake of it because he's able to bear it just fine when he has scalding hot water burning his hands as he scrubs away stubborn stains.

After that's done and dealt with, he takes out the trash, cleans up around the apartment, makes sure to pay for the water bill that's finally reached him from the previous month. He makes sure to appreciate how low it is right now because he knows it's only going to get higher with the rising temperature.

He takes a shower to wash all the loose petals and leaves that've snuck between his work clothes and his body, brushes his teeth (fully remembering to fume to himself about having to miss going to that bakery), and after making sure that all his lights are off and no appliances are left running, he lays in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands laced over his sternum.

Well, that's it.

That's his day, full and complete.

Get up, go to work, work, go home, go to sleep. There's some other steps along the way, and, sure, there's other things he could be doing, but it is what it is

It isn't quite the life he'd dreamed of when he left his hometown—that was what he had before his quit his corporate job—so, if he ignores the pay cut, the loss of prestige, and the shame of being somewhere he'd never planned for himself, then this is the next best thing.

And sleep comes to him quickly, he's grateful for that.

Still, in the very brief and very quiet minutes it takes for the dull ache in his muscles and the even more faint one in his heart to settle enough for him to drift off into dreamless sleep, he wonders if this is really all life has to offer.

It has to be.

...

Right?

🔅

Nanami wakes up before his alarm has the chance to ring.

His body rises with the sun, its rays bleeding in through the fabric curtains at the window in his bedroom, and he rolls over onto his side to feel around for his cell phone, unplugs it, and checks for the time. He doesn't trust himself to be able to wake up a second time with only a few minutes until he's meant to actually get up, so with a yawn, he slips out of bed, puts on his house slippers, and drags himself to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

As he's brushing, he lets his mind drift until a swipe of toothpaste slips out of his mouth and falls onto the floor. He frowns, toothbrush still between his lips, and he reaches down with a paper towel to clean it. He's not allowed to move around lethargically anymore, acutely aware of the need to keep things clean so he doesn't have to come home to a mess at the end of the day, so instead of dreaming about the perfect breads he'd pair with the most perfect jams and the most perfect butters, he plans out his day.

What day of the week is it, again?

Maybe today's Monday? Tuesday, even?

Probably Monday. The weekend rush was noticeable enough yesterday.

He supposes it's hardly relevant, though, so he'll just figure it out later. It'd only matter if it were a Wednesday or a Thursday because those are his days off, but he knows it's not either of those days because he usually has to do laundry by then, and, right now, the bin's only three-fourths of the way full with clothes stained by cell sap.

No matter, he has to get to work soon, then get home after work, then make himself dinner, tidy up again, go to sleep again.

After gathering his bearings, he stands over the sink and spits out the pale blue mix of toothpaste suds and morning mouth grime. He runs his hands underneath the running water quickly, flicks his wrists to help dry them, and he runs his cold hands over his face to help keep himself awake as he gets ready. After he's made sure everything's been locked up properly and just as he likes it in the morning, he puts on a dress shirt, dress pants, dress socks, his watch, the non-slip deck shoes Yaga practically shoved Nanami's feet into when he found out he had been wearing oxfords to the shop up until that point, and he's on his way out the door with a cup of peach yogurt in one hand and his keys in the other. In his bag is a tupperware container with last night's leftovers and his wallet, and that's about all he needs for his day.

The route from his apartment to work is one that's fully planned and practiced by now: get on the highway, get on the ramp to the eastward route, exit, drive extra slow to not startle the elderly woman who owns the laundromat right next to the shop, and park directly underneath a tree that keeps his car cool for the duration of its stay there. By now, he's gotten pretty good at remembering which stoplights give him enough time to spoon himself some yogurt without spilling any of it, so once he's parked and collected all the things he needs for the day, he gets out of the car, unlocks the door because he's almost always the first person to arrive, and rushes to clock in and rinse the container to use as a seedling pot for the many greens they need growing in the back room.

Well, that's it.

That's his morning.

He'll spend the rest of it restocking the arrangement area because nobody else that works mornings here is tall enough to safely reach the cellophane rolls that they keep on top of the cabinets. He's the newest person at the shop so he's left with the grunt work most of the time, but he doesn't mind it—it's easy enough, and he knows he's not artistic enough to really be trusted with arrangements (on his own, at least; some of the younger associates will ask him for his help when making bouquets with "old people" in mind, and he doesn't have the heart to, one, turn them down, and, two, tell them that twenty-seven really isn't old at all).

He checks the schedule as he passes by to get his apron, seeing that it's Monday, and that Yaga's posted up a checklist of the things they need done for the week. There's also a longer list naming all the people who'll come and go throughout the week (which isn't really what Nanami expected when he first started working here, but he's picked up fairly quickly that it takes a village and more to keep a flower shop running, so doesn't really give it much thought anymore). There's a few names he recognizes, others that he doesn't, but he should know everyone that's coming in today, at least.

While Nanami's filling up a smaller bucket at the sink to have a well to draw from and water the greens, someone comes in through the back door, and Nanami looks over his shoulder to see Ino, arms full with coffee for himself, his laptop, and a few other miscellaneous gadgets. He's probably the person Nanami's worked the most with here (at least, if he excludes the time he spends trying to explain derivatives to Itadori; the boy is hopeless, but Nanami admires his determination regardless).

"Ah, good morning, Nanami!" Ino exclaims, rushing to put his things down anywhere he can.

Nanami lifts his hand to greet the younger man back. "Morning."

"Closing go okay yesterday?"

He nods, leaning over to turn off the faucet. "It was fine."

Ino doesn’t ask any other questions and just puts on his own apron, comes over to the sink, and offers to help take out the bucket so Nanami doesn’t spill it while it’s full. The blonde gives him a tight-lipped smile as he grabs onto the opposite end so Ino can hold onto the other side, and the two near effortlessly lift it out of the tub. After that and another smile, Ino leaves him to himself to go check for any orders that might've been placed during last night's non-working hours. Nanami isn't anywhere near the level of floristry where he can accurately fulfill an order like that anyway, so he's just glad that Ino's there and can handle them while Nanami does the grunt work and waits for more people to come in.

Regardless, there’s no real rush to get a move-on, seeing as nobody’s exactly rushing to get flowers on a Monday at seven in the morning, so the two men work in silence while more people cycle in through the door and get clocked in. Ordered arrangements ranging from personal bouquets to larger fulfillments of wedding orders and funeral flowers are put together at the designing stations while Nanami works in the background, picking up phone calls, updating order statuses, making sure customers are tended to.

Even though it's hardly peak times, there's still far too much to do, though, and Nanami finds himself running around earlier than he'd expected himself to be. It's really a blur of things that happen once the initial line gets built up at the front of the store: foam needs to be presoaked practically every other minute, people keep needing help at the register, someone needs to sign off on a delivery, and it's usually the blonde sent off to do those things.

And, just like that, the morning has eclipsed.

Like clockwork (because, well, it is clocked work), the morning workers swap out with those who come later in the day, and this is usually when Nanami takes his lunch because there's not really any other time that's going to work. Any earlier, and there's going to be so many people coming in and out of the break room that the ambiance he needs to enjoy his meal is ruined, and any later, he'll be too full for dinner in the evening and his whole routine will be pushed back.

After grabbing his lunch from the minifridge in the break room and heating it up in the barely-working microwave, Nanami sits by himself and soaks in the quiet that's barely given to him with the thin walls and the loud chatter between some of the younger, high school-aged employees that've just clocked in after coming out of class. He almost always takes his lunch alone because everyone else orders out and Nanami doesn't quite have the budget to get takeout five days a week, but, occasionally, Ino will invite him out, and even though Nanami will only come along if there's the promise of a comfy booth to sit in and ease the pain in his feet, he usually has it in him to do that every once in a while.

Ino has class on Mondays, though, so Nanami's taking it alone today.

Again.

But that's par for the course.

He'd eat lunch alone in his old cubicle, too, and he supposes not much has changed about him in the three months since he's swapped work environments.

As he pokes at the broth-soaked rice, he leans against his palm. He hasn't got much of an appetite, what with the smell of fertilizer and sap in just the next room over, but he eats anyway because he hasn't got much of a choice in the matter. He'll get off work a bit earlier today than he did yesterday because he doesn't need to handle the bookkeeping every single day, but he knows he'll be just as tired and that he'll have to at least stay energized enough to survive the early-evening rush of less-than-respectable men who want to buy the cheapest flowers they can for their wives at home—he'd envy them if he didn't find them so deplorable.

Just as he's putting the tupperware lid over his now-emptied container, someone comes through the fabric curtain after knocking on the doorframe.

"Hey, stopping by to ask if you'd like us to bring anything back for you," Kugisaki chimes in. "We're getting dumplings from the place down the street!"

Nanami looks up at the girl from his seat and raises his hand in gentle refusal. "It's alright, thank you for offering."

"You sure? We don't mind paying, you help us with our homework all the time."

"'Us,' as in, 'you and Itadori,' don't include me in this," the younger Fushiguro scolds, passing through the break room to refill his water bottle. "Good afternoon, Nanami."

Nanami waves at him with a gentle smile. "Afternoon to you too, Fushiguro."

"Yeah, yeah, nerd, me and Itadori've got it covered," Kugisaki rolls her eyes at her friend, then turning back to address Nanami. "C'mon, you really don't want anything? They have great gyoza!"

"I'm fine, I already ate. You kids go ahead and-"

"Are we ready to go yet? I'm starving-" the pink-haired boy pauses, eyes landing on Nanami as he gets up to put his lunch container away. "Oh, hi Nanamin! Sorry I didn't greet you when I clocked in, I had to help out someone in the front."

"No worries, good afternoon."

"Hey, what'd you get on the bio test earlier?"

"Better than you, that's for sure."

"Hey! How's that possible, we used the same study guide!"

"I got help from Maki during lunch."

"No fair! I had a club meeting!"

Itadori and Kugisaki bicker between themselves as Nanami joins Fushiguro at the sink to wash his dishes, and the younger ravenette passes him the bottle of dish soap. "Here."

"Oh, thank you."

Fushiguro grabs a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe the run-off from his water bottle, frowning slightly with what looks like embarrassment. "Sorry, we'll be on our way out soon."

Nanami hums as he scrubs at the tupperware. "No rush." Not that he minds their presence in the first place, they're good kids, even if two of the three are a bit... scatterbrained.

After he gets all the leftover suds off, Nanami flicks his wrist to get off the excess water and leave it on the drying rack, and his eyes follow Fushiguro as he joins his friends at the door.

"Well, see you in a bit!"

The young man smiles gently while waving goodbye to the trio, then turning back to the sink to wash his hands. Their voices, loud and chipper as they talk amongst themselves, fade out as they leave through the back door, which closes loudly behind them.

It must be nice to be so... carefree.

Nanami dries his hands with the last bit of clean fabric of his apron, and he gets back to work.

Now that it's later in the afternoon, his tasks shift from prep and phone calls to helping out more at the front. Famously, he's never been a man of many words, but that hardly matters when customers seem to flock to him anyway for help picking out bouquets and other miscellaneous gifts to buy and bring home. He still does his fair share of running around, trying to make himself useful, but, nevertheless, to keep the rest of his colleagues from having to direct their attention to the more run-of-the-mill business when they have other, more pressing projects to take care of, Nanami keeps a smile on his face as he directs people to what he can only guess they're looking for. The younger trio come back from their meal somewhere in-between all that, and the day passes by both quickly and slowly with how much has to be done to keep the place running. He has more than enough breaks throughout the day to decompress in the freezing cold quarters, but somehow his legs are still screaming at him and he's hardly got a second to breathe meaningfully.

But, thankfully, he's not closing today, so as soon as the clock strikes a modest six in the evening, Nanami's hanging up his apron and reaching for his keys in his pocket. He waves goodbye to anyone awake enough to realize he's even leaving (which, truthfully, isn't that many people because closing really is draining enough on its own, even if it isn't so late that nobody ever really ends up staying past eight or so), and he sits in his car until he's sure he's confident enough he can drive safely and with enough feeling in his feet that he'll be able to feel the pedals.

As he's driving home, his hands drift to the twelve and seven, too lazy to keep themselves at the disciplined two and ten. His mind drifts off to think about the routine he's grown into over the past three years, more-so because there's not much else to think about, less-so because it's too daunting to think of much else while he's behind the wheel, until, just as the sun's hitting his pupils, he wonders if it'd be worth the effort to try again today—to make the quick, quiet drive over to the bakery, step out of the car, and pick out something sweet to bring home and eat with what's going to inevitably be a boring, tasteless meal.

Would it really be worth the effort?

...

Would it?

It's hard to tell. Between all the other decisions he'll have to make today, choosing from the mundane and the even more meaningless, this one thing seems to hang over him, taunting him with the promise of something too good for him and something equally not good enough for him.

He'd already been let down yesterday. His car still faintly smells of the coffee that marred his chance at something that'd make him a tiny bit happier, and he doesn't know how much more dull heartbreak he can endure. His body aches enough with the burden of work and the surreal, sinking feeling that he's doing nothing worthwhile with his life, even after putting everything on the line to change that.

At the same time, he's taken a lot; a moment more of it isn't going to hurt him anymore than not doing anything at all. He's a third of a decade into desire, and he's survived keeping the one thing he can depend on actually making him happy away at arm's length for this long.

...

Sure, then.

It'd be worth the effort.

And, just like that, as soon as he's made the decision to make the tiny detour on the way home to stop by a bakery that has no more promise than what his own imagination has given itself, that feeling is back.

He feels like he's breathing in cinnamon as he follows the curve of the road, cautious to not take such deep breaths but unable to keep in the quiet excitement. The sun glares at him through his windshield, but he can hardly feel bothered by it—he'll rue it later as he's biting into a bread bun in about a half-hour's time. The moon, present in the sky in time to kiss the sun across the clouds, looks like an almond wedding cookie, dusted and deepened with craters marked like dimples. His mouth is starting to water, and as he kisses his teeth, he can feel himself smiling.

It's almost maddening, how... easy it seems to feel happy.

Is that the right way to describe this feeling? Happiness?

It's such a fickle feeling, so easy to pull out of thin air. Practically a figment of his imagination as it stitches itself into a quilt quietly in his passenger seat.

And, like the universe wants to teach him a lesson, it's taken away from him just as suddenly.

His phone starts ringing, and, already connected to the car's sound system, Nanami sees no reason not to answer as he pulls into the adjacent parking lot for the bakery. The call's coming from his landlord, but he 

"Hello?"

The voice on the other line belongs to someone he doesn't know. "Good evening, is this Nanami?"

No reason to expect that his landlord has his contact saved when there's dozens of other tenants. "Yes, any particular reason you're calling?"

"Yes, just phoning you to let you know that your unit won't have water in about two hours or so. There's an issue with the plumbing on your floor and we have people coming to fix that soon, but it shouldn't take too long to get it resolved."

Great. That's exactly what Nanami wants to hear right now. "How long do you think it'll be out?"

"A couple hours, at most. Maybe three or four? We're really sorry, but we'll be covering the repair fee and as much of the floor's utility bill as we can for the month, so we hope it isn't too much of an inconvenience."

Well, if anything at all, at least his landlord's reasonable enough to provide adequate compensation.

He sighs as he weighs out the options he has in his head.

He can either stay here, spend the next half-hour or so getting a few pastries and breads to take home and eat in an otherwise soulless apartment, twiddling his thumbs until the water comes back on so he can shower and get the infinite layers of dirt and plantwater off his skin while he fights off sleep and exhaustion long enough to make it back to a clean bed, or, he can rush home, make dinner quickly enough to be able to have running water to even wash the dishes with before the food dries onto them, shower, and go to bed earlier than he usually does.

It's not a hard decision to make. He knows he has to choose the latter; he's too tired to wait out the repair time, and he'll just end up spread out on the floor to keep the furniture from sullying anyway and tomorrow will be made that much worse with the knowledge that he's choosing a chance at happiness over the convenience of what he knows will always work.

Still, it doesn't make it any easier.

"Hello?"

Nanami blinks himself out of his thoughts, and he clears his throat while looking around his car to make sure it's safe to back out. "Yes, I'm still here. Thank you for letting me know."

"Again, so sorry for the inconvenience, but it should be resolved soon. Let us know if you need any further assistance."

"Sure. Thank you, have a good evening."

"Thank you, you-"

Nanami hangs up before the other line can finish, and he frowns as he turns the engine back on again and puts his hand on the gear shift.

Maybe another day, then.

Maybe, then, he can forget this faint pinch at his heart that's begging to be taken care of.

🔅

Third time's the charm, people say. That, on the third go-around at something, it'll work out all fine and dandy.

Well, they're just plain wrong.

Nanami groans into the palm of his hand, head downturned and elbow digging into his chest.

"What do you mean 'closed for repairs?'" He whispers to himself.

He'd waited. He'd been patient. He'd been easy on himself. It's been three years, three months, and three days of trying to get something from this small, out-of-the-way bakery.

And, still, somehow, all that waiting has amounted to nothing.

He can feel the stares of people passing by, slowing their paces to watch him wallow in the small self-afforded agony he's ended up in. People walk around him, but he's very self-aware of the fact that he's so tall that he'll attract attention no matter what situation he's in, so he just stands firm where he is and accepts that his shame is palpable enough to be seen by strangers who've caught him in such an unfortunate state. He can't really bring himself to move out of the way, feet already at the foot of the ramp leading up to the door, so he just breathes slowly as disappoint seeps from his veins.

The sticky note hung up on the walls of his heart falls with the realization that it's about as useful as a whisk for water. It's a simple affair, one that starts and ends immediately with the event unfolding at his feet, but one that still pains him all the same.

He supposes that he can't really even be mad at anyone but himself for making it all the way out here without checking if it was even open. He'd made the decision to come out here on his day off, all other errands accounted for and completed, on a complete whim, so it's really his fault that he wasn't careful enough in planning the one thing he's actually been trying to do for the last 

He's not even sure why he's so fixated on making this happen right soon. It seems like, for so long, it'd escaped his mind—the desire to explore the bare remnants of what he remembers making him happy—and, now, he can't find himself to commit to anything else.

Is he such a failure that he can't even do this one thing right?

He knows he'll have to move out of the way and go home at some point. There's nothing he can do other than admit defeat.

There's no fanfare. No parade to tell him that he's at least tried. Not like he even really wants there to be one, but what's there to even accompany the effort he's put into the very simple, asinine. meaningless desire to get something from this bakery?

...

Can he really even call it effort?

All he has to show for this desire is a spilled coffee stain on his car console, a new stitch on his shirt, and uncomfortably pitiful looks from what feels like the entire population of this wretched city.

...

Well, that's alright.

He hasn't got much to show for anything else, anyway. This can't shake him; he won't let it.

If nothing else, he has enough hope that things will sort themselves out, and he'll get what he wants one day. That's what he's banking on with every other aspect of his life, anyway.

That, maybe, one day, he'll get to try something from here.

His feet move on their own, dragging him back to his car and through a sea of bodies he know are judging him. But he'll find himself here again, under better circumstances, someday later. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to keep at least something in his life worth moving on for.

That, maybe, one day, he'll change enough to be okay with disruptions to his routine.

He clicks on the ignition in his car after gingerly putting on his seatbelt, and he hooks his arm over onto the backside of his passenger side headrest to back out the parking space. His foot hovers over the brake pedal until he's fully matched up with the mirrors of the cars next to him, and he just about runs off when he's shifted into drive. He isn't sure how to get to the next place he needs to go to avoid traffic and construction work on the road, and it's working up enough of a sweat to think that this is yet another thing that's off about his day, as if it isn't already enough as it is. But, someday later, he'll be better at not feeling this way. Even if isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not let the feeling regress into a scarier apathy towards change.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be able to face himself at the end of the day with the thought that what he's doing with his life is worth not being able to enjoy a piece of bread he can't be sure is even good until then.

He makes it back to the apartment, cleans up around the place, makes a tasteless dinner for one, takes a shower that's too long. He's worked all day today, so it's fine that he stands under the running, steaming water for a near-hour, wishing he could be anyone else, anywhere else. He slips into bed, hair still wet because he doesn't care enough to wait for it to dry, and he stares up at the ceiling to pray that sleep will come fast enough to give him an out in having to think about what he's really doing with his life. But, someday later, this won't be the case, and he knows he can finally watch the stars without shame on his balcony. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not feel so ashamed about not being able to have the one thing in life he thinks could complete him.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be happy.

He'll come home at the end of the day to a home, well-loved and filled with pastries afforded by the wealth of a career he knows he's allowed to be proud of. His feet will not ache, he won't wish for something he doesn't know he wants, and he can sleep at night knowing that there's more to life than the mundane and the meaningless. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself this so he has something to hold onto. What else is there to drive him? He's already trialed the life he dreamt of, and that wasn't enough, so this lie has to be.

Yeah, one day he'll have the world, and he'll be content.

One day.

🔅

(next update will be sep 14! thank you for reading :D)

[amoreuxx]

forgive us our sins — ksn.

18+ ; minors dni !

tags: unprotected sex, contains catholic themes, blasphemy. do not read if you are sensitive to such.

"can't believe you're lying on a bed being pounded by someone in a position like the man who died on the cross." sunoo said. it was good friday, a day commemorate Christ who died on the cross for our sins. yet, you were doing something so sinful inside a room nearby where your mother and her fellow sisters in Christ were chanting the life and death of Christ as part of some Catholic practice. you were trying so hard to stifle your moans but the faster and harder sunoo just went making you unable to think properly. "oh my God." you cried out as he hit a particular spot, making you feel some sort of knot in your stomach. sunoo covered your mouth with his hand. "shh, you wouldn't want your mother to come in here seeing her daughter in the middle of a sinful act, don't you?" he shushed and whispered to your ear in a low voice. unable to utter a word, you shook your head. he chuckled, seeing as you were helpless under him. "Jesus was crucified to pay for our sins, yet you're committing another sin. i don't remember your mom raising a God-fearing daughter like you." you shook your head, denying what he said. "where's that girl serves in church?that offers everything to God? that puts Him first and prays to Him regularly at the chapel?" he questions. but you were unable to answer and you let you head bob dumbly as he thrusts deeper each question. he takes your jaw into his hand and squeezes your face. everything was a haze but you could recognize that arrogant grin he was wearing, knowing he's fucked the dumb out of you. "i think we should pray to Our Father. say sorry for sinning once again, hmm?" you only hummed in response. he raised his head away from you and you see him do the sign of the cross. despite that, he kept a steady pace thrusting in you. "Our Father, who art in heaven, holy be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven." he prayed. you were so focused on reaching your climax that you couldn't focus on the prayer. he slapped your face since you hadn't responded and tears were pooling in your eyes. despite being hit in the face, it just turned you on even more. "fucking respond." he demanded. you whimpered and tried to utter out the response. "Give us this day... our daily bread... and forgive us... our sins—fuck!" you managed to say in a shaky breath and sunoo somehow and unimaginably just went faster. he gave you another slap to the face. "that word isn't part of the prayer." he scowled at you. you mewled and continued. "As we forgive those... who sin against us." he raised your hips higher to meet his closer than ever. his pace was starting to get erratic and you know he was nearing his high as well. "Do not bring us to the test... but... deliver us... from evil. Amen!" gripping on to his back as hard as you can as you felt your climax, you're sure it would leave a mark. you could feel his own pour inside you as well. he slowly thrust his cum further into you before pulling out. he chuckled once again as he got a look of your fucked out face. "Amen, indeed." he said before planting a soft kiss to your lips.

[wickedsnack-art]

Can I ask about your online selling experience? I know you're moving away from Etsy (and I don't blame you!) but just curious about what's worked/what hasn't. Trying to help my mom sell her art but like. She's older and I have never sold art online and can't give her any advice.

Please feel free to tag other artists selling their work as well! Thank you 🙏

Oh I have to be honest I am probably not the best person to ask about this as it's something I've definitely struggled with myself! I will say for what it's worth that I've been seeing a lot of artists struggling lately; no matter how "popular" an artist is, many seem to be reporting sales that are lower than expected even if market research/interest checks/preorders were done.

Everyone is struggling financially right now---it's been this way for YEARS---and art is one of the first luxuries to go.

That said, Etsy worked well for me for a long time. If your mom isn't doing fanart, she should be fine, because my biggest issue with them arose about the fact that I was selling fanart. Some tips I have;

USE EVERY TAG. Etsy has, if I recall correctly, 13 tags you can put on an individual item. Use all 13. Use them for alternative words for what you're selling (if it's a sticker, tag it as a decal, if it's a print, tag it as a poster). Think about who you think would buy this and what weird search terms they may use to try to find it, and think about alternative uses for the item (a trinket dish might also be an ashtray).

HAVE DESCRIPTIVE TITLES. Put the most important words first so people can see what they're getting right away, but don't be afraid of slightly longer titles. Honestly my titles could've and should've been longer, like Sailor Moon Art Nouveau Digital Art Poster Print Multiple Sizes or something.

RUN SALES OFTEN. Even if it's just 10-15% off people will buy something they've been eying for a while when there's a sale, or they'll feel more eager to buy something they've just found if it's on sale.

USE ETSY'S AUTOMATED DISCOUNT OFFERS. Etsy can automatically send a discount code to people who have interacted with your shop, use it. I made more sales from the automated 10% off code sent to people who favorited items than my monthly Patreon discount.

USE ETSY FREE SHIPPING. Shipping via Etsy is pretty cheap, and activating the "free shipping on orders over $35" will boost your spot in the algorithm, will boost the likelihood that people will order from you, and will boost the average cart size of people that order from you.

I RECOMMEND PRINTFUL. I used Printful for selling my larger prints, but they also offer other items if you want to branch out. If you don't want to get in trouble with Etsy, make sure you register it as a manufacturing partner and assign every item that Printful makes for you. Dropshipping on Etsy is a problem, but the problem is people who steal art or use AI to generate images to sell. I don't personally see a problem with someone who makes their art themselves going through a print shop to sell products they don't have the means to create at home. If you don't want to do that, you can check out inprnt. I haven't used them, but many other people have and seem to like it well enough.

SHIP THROUGH ETSY. It doesn't take very long to set up a shipping profile for your items, and it makes shipping easier and cheaper. As long as you get your items out on time, you'll get their shipping star or whatever very quickly and easily and maintain it without problem. It also has the benefit that if a buyer ever has an issue with the shipping, Etsy is more likely to have your back. If for any reason you can't ship through Etsy, I recommend pirateship. Also!! Be more careful about international shipping than you think you should be. There are a lot of confusing international laws regarding sending items as a corporation to those countries that you may not expect, so before you agree to selling something to a foreign country, make sure you check their laws.

I have also tried having an Instagram shop and I'll be fully honest I don't do what I should do with my Instagram. Maybe other people have more successful Instagram shops, but the process it took for me to get it started compared to how many sales I've made as a result of it (literally ZERO), I would not recommend it.

Shopify is good if you have a following somewhere, because you have to bring all the traffic there yourself. That's the benefit of Etsy and Instagram; they are able to make traffic for you. I've never had a following large enough anywhere to feel like I could run a Shopify of my art. Maybe one day.

I don't personally know a lot of artists who sell online successfully, so if you see this and you fall under that category PLEASE SHARE TIPS!!

[r3g-p14y3r]

Oh, hello!

Welcome, welcome! As you can see above, my name’s Viren! Feel free to call me Vi though.

I’m not much of a talker online or in person…what I’m trying to say is that I’m like talking to a wall. I try to compensate for that with emotes/GIFs, but do tell me if they bother you! Got a sneaking suspicion that I might be aroace but I didn’t add it to the lil card above since, well, I ain’t too sure of myself.

Inbox open all of Nov for Trick-or-Treaters!!!

Uh…I got a server I made for talking about OCs,,, if ya want— I talk bout my OC blorbos there occasionally and listen to others talk about theirs,,

[Tags]

There are a few, and I’ll list them down here:

#osfe is for the DCA Transformers AU I’m working on with the lovely @capring! If yer wondering what it stands for, it’s Our Sky Fell Eastward! Grey’s writing, I’m currently trying to figure out designs. Pretty hard when you haven’t drawn robots all that much (did so once. Help—), so I guess you’ll be watching me grow as slowly as I draw along the way.

#The Box of Mutuals is for—you guessed it—mutuals! You should be able to find all of them under this tag. #[insert name here] collection!! is for each individual mutual.

#regular doodles is where you’ll find my art, as well as #doodles (tis old art tag)!

#Vi jibberjabbers is for me answering asks!

#Vi rambles/ponders is for my thoughts and whatever nonsense I may spew. Can include my hyperfixations.

#vi attempts writing is for…my attempts at writing! My English language comprehension is elementary (/srs /gen (I haven’t done English since elementary)) so don’t expect much.

#👁️‍🗨️^ is for some of my favourite posts!

#birb is for, well, birbs. :>

#🫵 is like me using the “This!” reaction on discord! That’s the best way I can describe it.

#rebloggle is usually for the posts that I’m unsure what to put under/miscellaneous.

If I’m missing anything, I’ll update the post.

[mythrite]

the weird CoD and Phighting crossover pt1

“Hey there! This is Shutter taking over the blog for a quick sec. Switch and I decided that we should bring over her team to the Inphinity, to meet some people and stuff. Hopefully nothing goes wrong heh…”

“‘kay I’m looking at the list you made… okay yeah Ghost would be cool with ‘em… did— you put Soap with Subspace?!”

“…You told me he was a demolitions expert.”

“And YOU told me Subspace was a fuckin’ mad scientist!”

“I did… oh well.”

“My god…”

Next part

I’m not sure how long this series of comics will last, but my goal is to at least get through the 141. Also sorry if the art sucks.

The 141’s clothes were based on this post’s headcanon.

I won’t go too tag heavy on the CoD side, Phighting will get more of the tags i think.

btw this won’t be under Switch’s or Shutter’s tag, instead it’ll be #cod x phighting crossover

[thatndginger]

OC Deep Dive Tag

thank you very much @pandoras-comment-box for the tag (their answers for the fantastic Cal and Finder here!)

Rules: answer the following questions for your OCs!

I used a random die roll to pick which character got to answer these, and apparently the universe really likes Warrick right now, because he's the winner~

What uncommon/common fear do they have? 

Warrick is scared of heights, and also of outer space. His reasoning for that last one is that it is a near-perfect vacuum devoid of anything except for bullshit fake-but-actually-not stuff called ‘dark matter’ and ‘dark energy’. Of course he should be scared! Also: aliens.

Do they have any pet peeves? 

For someone who doesn’t really care about germs, he really hates it when people don’t wash their hands before putting them anywhere near their mouths. Or any orifice, really.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? 

A duffel bag full of spraypaint cans. A poster for the “4th international motorcycle speed event” of 1964. A white, sheer silk shirt with a floral pattern.

What do they notice first in a person? 

Confidence, or lack thereof.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? 

For minor injuries 3/10. For major injuries 8/10. He’ll whine to hell and back about a stubbed toe, but will try to play off a dislocated joint like it’s no big deal.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? 

Usually flight, unless he’s been backed into a corner.

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? 

Yes, because Warrick considers the Pack to be his family. There are roughly 20-30 people who consider themselves Pack (the numbers fluctuate some as people come and go) which is a big family. And while he’s kind of flighty and forgetful Warrick’s end goal is to make sure they’re safe.

What animal represents them best?

…. Well, he is a werecougar. But if I had to pick another animal, it’d be a labrador retriever: friendly, loyal, sometimes kind of dumb, and 10th most dangerous dog breed in the US statistically.

What is a smell that they dislike? 

Banana.

Have they broken any bones? 

Yup. He’s broken a couple toes and fingers, and once one of the bones in his tail while in cougar form.

How would a stranger likely describe them? 

Cute in a gangly goofball way, flamboyant, fantastic hair, a little spacey.

Are they a night owl or a morning bird? 

Night Owl 100%. His preferred schedule is staying awake until 5am and sleeping until 2pm. Or later.

What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? 

Hate - sweet potato. Love - Fenugreek

Do they have any hobbies? 

Graffiti art, urban exploring, fleecing unsuspecting fools in games of pool.

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? 

After he manages to restart his heart, Warrick is so fucking jazzed. People want to celebrate him? And they went to the trouble of planning a surprise party? This is the best thing to ever happen to him. Will try to pretend that this doesn’t make him want to cry happy tears, but is going to hug every single person in the room at least once and will be smiling like a loon the entire time.

Do they like to wear jewelry? 

Oh my god, yes. In addition to being a fashion disaster when it comes to clothes, Warrick loves accessorizing. He’s got a couple ear piercings and an eyebrow piercing that he’ll change out regularly, and always has some assortment of rings, bracelets, and necklaces. He doesn’t stick to one material either, so it’ll be a mix of gold, silver, leather, shell, or whatever else he’s found. It shouldn’t look good but somehow usually does.

Do they have neat or messy handwriting? 

Messy. So messy. Which is hilarious considering his graffiti writing is usually very neat and stylized. But give him a pen and it devolves to chicken scratch.

What are the two emotions they feel the most? 

Excitement and boredom.

Do they have a favorite fabric? 

Silk. Followed closely by linen. He’s a fan of natural fibers.

What kind of accent do they have?

A generic American accent with a bit of that northwestern accent (saying egg like “aygg”, caught as “cot”, pawned as “pond”)

I shall gently tag @sliceoflifeshepard @aritany @half-hell @a-crystallen-author if y'all would like to rant about an oc or two!

Here is a handy list of the questions to make it easy for you:

What uncommon/common fear do they have? Do they have any pet peeves? What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom? What do they notice first in a person? On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance? Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? Do they come from a big family/are they a family person? What animal represents them best? What is a smell that they dislike? Have they broken any bones? How would a stranger likely describe them? Are they a night owl or a morning bird? What is a flavor they hate and a flavor they love? Do they have any hobbies? Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprises? Do they like to wear jewelry? Do they have neat or messy handwriting? What are the two emotions they feel the most? Do they have a favorite fabric? What kind of accent do they have?

[littlefroginthegarden]

Sold to Heartsteel 1/24

its a liiiittle bit late but whatever... im trying to write an advents calendar fic, theres some buffer but ill write during the month so im also open to input if you have any good ideas :)

hope you enjoy!

Tags: semi-ironic adaptation of 'sold to one direction' trope so yeah theres obv selling involved, angst, fluff, friendship, romance, maybe smut, mlm, transmasc character, some transphobia but mostly just parents being shit but nothing explicit or slurs or stuff, yeah i think thats about it, ill update this if anything changes xoxo

Part 1

Hi, my name is Hwei and I’m a misunderstood artist. Well, that’s not exactly true. My Parents hate my art and they think it’s just a waste of time. But under the name DemonBrush I’m known all around the world, my art account just recently hit two million followers. Which didn’t help me at all in my real life. I’ve been 18 now for a few months but my parents still act like I’m 16. I haven’t finished school yet and I can’t move out because my anxiety has made working impossible so far. My parents don’t allow me to get therapy or meds and I’m on their insurance so there’s nothing I can do. I sigh and try to think about something else but looking out my small window into the dark December morning isn’t helping. I go and pull the curtains, turn on my fairy lights and sit at my small desk that is crammed between the bed and the heavy wooden dresser. 

My reflection stares at me in the mirror, dark shadows under my amethyst eyes, a sign that I slept terribly, once again. The nightmares wouldn’t leave me alone. I sigh and start doing my makeup, nothing bright, just some smudged dark eyeshadow and black eyeliner on my waterline. My mom was probably gonna complain again but I don’t care. Last week she told me “People might think you’re gay!” Yeah, sure mom. I mean, why do you think I have all these Heartsteel posters hanging in my room? Because I love their one song so much? But when she says "gay" she means "lesbian". She would have an aneurysm if I tried to explain to her that I’m trans. And then she would probably throw me out. As if she could read my thoughts, I hear her shouting from downstairs “Come down immediately, Hwa! I can hear that you’re up.”

Ugh.

I throw on a black oversized hoodie that matches my skinny jeans (also black) and put my dark juniper green hair in a messy bun before I run downstairs as quick as I can. Better not make mom wait, she’s awful enough as is.

When I enter the kitchen, I almost bump into a large man in a suit that is standing next to my mom.

“Oh fuck, sorry!” I quickly say, getting a death stare from my mom but for once she doesn’t even berate me for swearing. She just looks between me and this dude, who was wearing dark sunglasses (in December!) for some fucking reason.

“Who is this?” I ask after a few moments of awkward silence.

“My name is Mr. Mundo, nice to meet you, Hwa.” His voice fits his impressive stature perfectly.

My mother steps forward and puts her hand on my shoulder, looking at me more seriously than I have ever seen her. “You know that we haven’t had the easiest time since dad lost his job. And since you refuse to work and pay your share, we had no other choice.”

“What do you mean? What choice?” I ask, slowly starting to panic.

“You’ll go with Mr. Mundo, he has a job for you where you’ll work for six months. You’ll get a room and food and the money goes to pay back all the debt you owe us.”

“Debt? What do I owe you?”

“Darling, you've been living and eating here for free for 18 years!”

“This is insane!” I yell at her. “You’re selling me? You are a monster!”

“Selling? It’s just temporary honey, and it’s a decent job, don’t make it sound worse than it is!”

“You can’t do that, I’m an adult, you can’t force me!” At this point I’m full on panicking. This can’t be happening, it should just be another nightmare. But I know it’s real. My nightmares are way different.

“You are right and nobody is forcing you. But think about this, it would give you the perfect opportunity to get some good job experiences while at the same time helping out your family! Also –” she adds “if you don’t take this offer then you’ll have to pack your bags, we can’t pay for you any longer.”

“If you stayed off the booze you could.” I press through my teeth, anger winning over panic.

She just ignores it and tells me “Please Honey, think about it. If you go with Mr. Mundo at least you’ll have a roof and food. We just want what’s best for you! You’ll thank us in a few years, mark my words.” With this she turns around and leaves me alone in the kitchen with this absolute hunk of a man.

“Go pack your stuff, we leave in an hour.” He hands me a big suitcase before sinking down onto the washed-out red leather couch in the living room, turning the TV on, unfazed by all of this as if it was his daily job. Which it probably was.

Still in shock, I go back to my room and just stare at the mirror for a solid minute. I still haven’t processed what just happened but I start throwing my most important stuff into the suitcase. I have a lot of clothes but most of them are from my parents and I hate wearing them. So it’s not too difficult to fit all my favorite pieces into the suitcase, some skinny jeans, flowy tops and hoodies and of course accessories, I can’t leave my choker collection here. Then I go to my bed and from under the mattress I pull my binder. I put it under all the other things so it won’t be visible if my mom checks my suitcase. She would freak out. I gather the rest of the stuff, making sure I have my laptop, makeup and favorite books, and check the time. I still have 15 minutes left but at this point, the quicker I’m gone the better. I grab the heavy suitcase and try to carry it down the stairs. Two steps in I nearly slip and the suitcase crashes onto the step with a loud Thud. Before I’m even up I can hear heavy steps on the stairs.

Mr. Mundo grabs the suitcase without saying a word and carries it down. I awkwardly follow him, hoping my mom is distracted and hasn’t noticed the commotion. For once I seem to be lucky, she’s nowhere to be seen. At the door, Mr. Mundo turns around and asks me “Are you sure that you have everything? You won’t be able to come back here anytime soon.”

“Yeah I’m not planning on doing that anyways. Can we go?” I ask impatiently.

He doesn’t answer and just opens the door and walks down the driveway towards the black car with darkened windows that is waiting at the end of it. He puts my suitcase in the back of it with ease and opens the door in the back, gesturing for me to get in. I hesitate for a second, but when I can hear the front door of the house open again, I quickly get in before I can hear whatever my mother wants to tell me. He slams the door behind me and gets into the driver’s seat, which I can’t even see from back here because there’s a divider between the front and the back of the car. Like in a limousine. Or a cop car. It feels more like the latter, like I’m a prisoner.

The car rumbles to life and even though the windows are heavily tinted, I can see the shadows of trees racing past us. Where are we going?

[genyathefirebird]

⭐️ End of year questions ⭐️

Thank you to @mekana47 for tagging me in. I was feeling a little down-in-the-dumps since I haven't written a lot (arbitrary I know, but compared to the last few years), but these questions were nice and turns out I am proud of what I've done.

Tagging in @ongreenergrasses @strangesmallbard @melodious-madrigals @aphroditestummyrolls @lttrsfrmlnrrgby if you want to play and anyone else who has been writing and arting and crafting!

What is your favourite thing you created?

the ties that bind us - my first fic of the year and a fun splash around in magic realism in the world of The English where Cornelian Whipp sees threads of destiny and we follow as she finds love and revenge. There was a lot in the show’s costume design and fashion at the time that I got to read around but it was really sparked by Emily Blunt's delivery on her lines about there being magic.

Which work are you proudest of?

I try to sing a melody (your way) - a Piranesi fic in the voice of the House. I wanted to play with a setting-voice for a long time and the House was the perfect sandbox and I got to walk a few more halls and staircases before reaching the roof to look down on all its infinite kindness

Is there anything you are proud of that you achieved this year?

love, the armour saints wear - this one is a Grishaverse fic. Genya is a fascinating character and this is where I got to put the young Tailor under a microscope and explore her as the asset others view her as. As a treat I also threw in a splash of the ongoing tussle between the verse's most dysfunctional mother and son. Baghra is hilariously fun to write.

Did you explore anything new this year? (A new way to be creative, a trope you didn’t write before, or an idea you hadn’t thought of earlier, etc.)

I committed to submitting an original short story to a lit magazine (which has now shut down). Touch Of The Sun was a coming-of-age sci-fi about a young girl Asha and life living underground on a sun-scorched Earth. It was fun to write for a different purpose, but now I'm not too sure what to do with it. I will be writing more original pieces though.

Which work gave you the most difficulty?

keep me searching for a heart of gold - La'an, oh La'an, you know sometimes you come across a character you share a little facet of personality with, or more than a few? Anyway, this has stalled a little both because of its angst and also because of writer's block, so I guess we're both in this time loop.

What was your biggest creative challenge this year?

Boring, but I've not been well so trying to find some free time to sit down where I have motivation and energy to write has been The Challenge. It's meant I've had to change my habits (easier than I thought) and also try to be kinder to myself about not-writing (harder than it should be).

Which work brought you the most joy?

we can't keep meeting like this - funnily enough, it's a bit of a mirror to I will share your road, the Andy and The Doctor fic I wrote a while back, in that she repeatedly meets another long-lived acquaintance… Death. Bashed this one out fairly quick and I like the way I wrote their recognition-to-friendship. It was also fun plotting out their meeting points across time and a map.

Which of your works do you think people should check out?

Anything you want! The mix of fandoms and genres and concepts continues to grow.

Do you have creative plans for next year? Is there anything exciting you’re currently working on?

I have two upcoming fics in my Genya the Firebird series. One is the multichaptered story and a twist on the Firebird tale, and the second is a tooth rottingly sweet but angsty one shot. I want to write the first draft in full before I post anything which is why it may be some more months.

Lastly, any words of wisdom or anything else you would like to share?

Nothing revelatory but 3 things that have helped me this year…

1) If you're not happy with your writing or fic goals, change them!

2) If you want to write something, write it because your first audience is you!

3) If there's a story type or a trope that you enjoy, remember you're never limited to writing it once!

Happy New Year and hope 2024 brings you much enjoyment for whatever you're working on! 💜💜💜

[aemondsa]

Whats wrong with shipping Aemondsa tho? I feel like its the number #1 Sansa crackship rn (at least in my pov) like I want to ship Sansa with all the fictional characters I like. Heck, i'm honestly just here in the shadows patiently waiting for some big brain author to write a Gojo x Sansa or Geto x Sansa fic 😂

Same! Sansa is my favourite character in fiction and I just like the idea of putting her together with unexpected people and seeing where the vibes take us. ✌️💗

Ooooh, I would be down for a Sansa in JJK universe fic. It could be a fun concept! I know there is a Sansa/Sesshomaru fic and a Sansa reborn in Naruto ‘verse fic. (haven’t read either, but it’s marked for later)

Personally, I like crackship more than any canon ships—they can never let you down, unlike the ships that are fighting for the canon crown. However, as there is an unexpected influx of people who dislike the ship, I made that previous post. I’ll put more details under the cut, so it’s easier to read.

To preface, if someone doesn’t like the ship, that’s okay. I’m not saying everyone should like it. However, lately people have been acting in a way that makes me think ‘damn, y’all really will do anything to be a hater, huh?’

Here’s a break down of some of the things that happened:

There is a… cluster of twitter users who occasionally make posts like ‘if you ship sansa and aemond, I know you have mental problems’ and ‘sansa x aemond shippers are genuinely insane.’ That’s a very odd thing to say about strangers online over a non-problematic ship that exists because people decided to put their favourite characters together.

Same contingent of people insists that J@ce/Sansa is the better ship, and a) somewhat suspicious that you only bring up J@ce/Sansa as a contender when you are putting down Aemond/Sansa; and b) well, if you feel so strongly about J@ce being Sansa’s ‘gallant, perfect prince’ then why not write that yourself? Be your own hero, make the content you want to see in the world. Nothing is stopping you.

Not for the first time, people on tiktok make videos of the ‘why does this ship exist? ew’ variety, but recently, one reposted art and spoke about the context negatively, and had the gall to say ‘found on pinterest, credit to the artist’ and ???? google reverse image search is free and not that hard to use? Fine, you don’t like the ship, but don’t repost an art without credit. Someone with skill and talent spent time and energy to draw and fully render a complicated piece. Creditless reposting is a dick move. (OP eventually deleted their video.)

Another tiktok came out and it used Aemond/Sansa as a punchline of their joke. And fine, whatever, it’s a comedy sketch and not particularly deep, and sure the scandalised ‘Aemond and Sansa?! 😱😱’ were annoying, but it’s the lying that got me. They said ‘I know people get frustrated because [Aemond/Sansa] are all over the main Daem0n/Rh@enyra tag.’ and that is just… not true. Something that can be disproven with basic math: Aemondsa has 78 fics total of which 23 fics are tagged with Daem0n/Rh@enyra ship. Daem0n/Rh@enyra tag on ao3 has 5,272 fics. 23 of 5,272 is *dun dun dun* 0.436%. Not even half a percent. Sooooooo, how exactly is that ‘all over the main tag’? It’s the lying that gets me, you know?

And of course, the casual ‘oh, why is this a ship?’ / ‘I can’t believe people ship this’ / ‘free my girl Sansa’ tags that people add to posts. Why do we ship them? Cause we can. We’re having fun.

(These are just some examples of recent events that irked me.)

TL;DR: People are strangely threatened by a crackship with less than 100 fics in their ao3 tag, like 10 authors to its name, and necessitates time travel to function. Is it really that serious? Why are people more pressed than a juice that a group of Sansa fans also like Aemond and are exploring the idea of them together? We’re practically a fringe movement, given our numbers—it’s not that serious that we exist. We are just having fun with our friends and gushing over our faves. Mind your business and stay out of ours.

[hearteyedbunny]

you mentioned an oc, Thatcher, in your tags on an oc prompt post. who's he?

these tags??

oh Thatcher. oh my sweet boy. he is most definitely "always having a bad time, all the time". LMFAO.

his name is Thatcher Black! he's a priest, in his early thirties and dedicated to his job and community. he's a very, very honest and kind man, he would do anything for anyone if they asked. he's devout to his religion and tries to use it in a way to better the world, not tear it down. that being said, he also struggles with putting himself first and standing up for himself because of it.

well. an angel named Abaddon (or Abby) is sent to earth to be his sort of... guardian angel. except they are incredibly bad at their job. I'm still working on their story, but they are using Thatcher to regain their status as a high ranking angel after being cast out because of...previous activities on earth not going as planned. I don't want to type too much, but just know Abby is not a good person and cares little for the people (especially humans) they hurt along the way of achieving their goal. they are just here to have a good time.

so! long story short, the two meet and Thatcher's entire world view is shaken to its core. sure, angels are real apparently, but there is no singular all mighty "God" that he preaches about, only several different deities running different aspects of the world, and the angels that work under them. all of his views are wrong, everything he preaches about is wrong, the book he runs his life by is wrong. he feels like a fraud, but tries to continue his life as normally as he can despite being shaken to his core. and on top of everything else he now has to deal with this angel taking up space in his life. and apartment.

their story is a bit long but Abby gets him into many a precarious and dangerous situation. Thatcher slowly unravels as they spend more time together, him falling in love with Abby being his absolute downfall and being the thing that ends up killing him. I haven't decided if his death is the "canon" ending, but it feels fitting for a man who loses himself and intertwines his life with such a dangerous otherworldly being.

SORRY THAT GOT LONG! him and Abby's stories are intertwined so I can't have one without the other. I should have just said Thatcher is Abby's punching bag and been done with it haha. Thatch is never having a good day ever in his life. but at least he gets to kiss a beautiful angel.

unfinished art of them for your viewing pleasure

[strange-creature-222]

HELLO, WELCOME, WHY DON'T YOU TAKE A SEAT? RELAX, GET COMFORTABLE, TAKE A SECOND IF YOU NEED TO

Here's my little blog site thingy, I'd recommend using it while viewing my blog, so the posts aren't annoying white blocks

Y'all can call me Creature, Archivist, or scourge , I go by it/they pronouns, as well as any neopronouns

MORE INFO BELOW [warnings, interests, tags, blinkies, and is that a playlist of songs I like?]

One: GENERAL WARNING FOR INSECTS, ARACHNIDS, AND OTHER CRITTERS IN THIS BLOG

I SHOULD ALSO ADD THAT IM REALLY INTERESTED IN JUST ABOUT ANY OTHER ANIMAL THAT PEOPLE FIND SCARY

Two: this is my only account, I don't have a side blog or art blog right now, if you specifically want to see my art you can use my art tag (tags listed below)

Three: I block freely so I'm not writing a big dni, don't interact if you fall under basic dni criteria (racists, pedos, nazis, etc. You know who you are), terfs don't interact (although I don't see why you decided to come here in the first place)

Four: WARNING FOR EYESTRAIN!!!! I LIKE BRIGHT COLORS!!!! Oh and eyes, A lot of eyes

I tend to avoid flashing lights, they don't cause me pain but they're really annoying

If I should start tagging stuff as warnings just ask <3 I might not be amazing at it but I'll try

SOME STUFF IM INTERESTED IN

Wings of fire*

Will wood*

Warrior cats*

Wander over yonder

Lemon demon*

Animaniacs

Ride the cyclone

Hamilton

The beetlejuice musical

The Jekyll and Hyde musical*

Tally hall

Miracle musical

Jack stauber

Lackadaisy

Gravity falls

Across the spider-verse

Birds (mainly birds of prey)

Sea Creatures

Bugs

animals that people find scary in general

Fossils

history

Space

Rats

My chemical romance*

The owl house

The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde*

The glass scientists*

The Magnus Archives*

A bunch of other things

*starred interests are ones I mainly post about*

MUSIC

MY TAGS

MY ART POSTS

#creature draws : this one has my art!

#creatures neon dragons : this one has some simple brightly colored sketches of dragons on a black background (im not sure I'm continuing this, all posts here are old)

#super cool art : other peoples art that I reblog

#creatures comic collection: comics that I reblog, I will still also put comics in the art tag

MY TEXT POSTS

#creatures ted-talks / #creatures ted talks : these have my text posts, stuff where I talk (I don't do so very often)

#creature answers : this one has my answers to asks and responses to tags

MY REBLOG STUFF

#creature rambles In someone else's post : self explanatory, I talk in someone else's post

#very important post (vip) : this one has posts I find important, nowadays I stick to things with helpful links

#creatures faves : posts I really like

#creatures faves² : posts I really really like

#creatures saved files : this one has things I want to save for later

#creatures saved files art edition : art tips and color palettes I wanna save

INTERESTS

#wee woo : will wood related stuff

#silly music people doing silly things : other musician related stuff (where you'll find lemon demon and mcr posts grouped together, yaaayy!!)

#casualdejekyll and formaldehyde : Jekyll and Hyde related stuff

#Normal British archives : The Magnus Archives related stuff

#wof of fire : wings of fire related stuff

#warrior kitty cats : warrior cats related stuff

(edit 2/20/24 THEY TOOK THE YELLOW TEXT AWAY WHAT THE FUCK)

Any now for a collection of blinkies and banners (credits in tags)

HERE'S MY PRONOUNS PAGE, THIS HAS MY NAMES, PRONOUNS, WHAT WORDS YOU SHOULD CALL ME, AND OTHER QUEER STUFF