#so here’s an artists that is an expert at what you’re looking for :)

[sweetest-honeybee]

Don't beat yourself up! Honestly, it's fine if a commission takes a little long, the last thing I'd want is the person I commission to stress themselves over a piece and getting frustrated. In my opinion I rather wait as long as possible for something that had time and effort put into it then receive a product the artist didn't have a good time working on!

I really appreciate it! It’s not for everyone to wait and that’s alright but genuinely, a lot of my best work comes out of patience and enjoyment. I put in a LOT of effort and fun details and take my sweet time cleaning up the piece when I know I’m gonna enjoy taking all that time to do it

Like hell, how I did the entire second version of that piece of the one oc and Frank? I had so much fun doing it and adding details that were harder to notice and taking the time to throw on some more layers to make a creepy one and I hardly minded taking that extra time to do it because I was in the zone and having fun 😌

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 7)

Masterpost

Danny was very happy to be dragged around by Damian being introduced to all of his pets, first outside to the barn to meet Bat Cow and his ducks, and the giant weird dragon creature which was so cute!! It was all over Danny too, obviously liked him. Danny had a feeling if he woke up from nightmares or couldn’t sleep he would end up finding his way back to the barn to cuddle up with these animals. At this time of year it would probably be a bit cold and night but the cold never really bothered him and Goliath was warm. 

Then back into the house to meet all of the pets, the dogs, and snakes, and Alfred the cat, and finally a second cat and her kittens. 

“This one is just a foster,” Damian said, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed in a half lotus as Danny sat on the floor next to the box the mama cat was in with her four little ones. Danny felt like he might cry, it was so cute! The mama was a little wary of him but he was easing her way into her trust and good graces.

“Mhm?” Danny sounded, he was listening but he was scared to move since the mama cat was sniffling his fingers.

“I found her while she was heavily pregnant, feral cats usually have kittens in spring, at this time of year they would have been too vulnerable outside. I’ll rehome them when they’re old enough,” Damian explained. “I was glad I got her to trust me enough that I could be present and make sure nothing went wrong while she had the babies.”

Danny held his breath as he tried to pet the cat. The quiet stretching between them until he felt ready to talk without scaring the cat. “Am I your next pregnant stray,” Danny joked.

Damian gave him a guarded look over. “... I have been told humans don’t like being compared to animals,” He said bluntly, and Danny laughed. 

“Ya most don’t. But you take very good care of your animals, when you’re making this comparison, I’m guessing what you’re trying to say is that you’ll do what you can do be here for me and make sure I have what I need for me and the babies to be healthy and safe?” Danny said, giving Damian a fond smile. 

“Yes,” Damian said stiffly. This was why he usually preferred animals, they could read his intentions and didn’t require him to say such embarrassingly vulnerable things. At least Danny was saying them for him so he just had to agree. 

Danny finished petting the cat and moved to sit next to Damian on the bed. “It’s okay Damian, I really appreciate that. I know handling these emotions can be hard, they feel too big for our bodies and they’re hard to express. I’ll let you in on a secret though, they’re more easy to express physically, and I’m not made of glass just because I’m pregnant. We should spar later.”

“Are you formally trained?” Damian asked stiffly. 

“My mother was an expert martial artist and she taught me, but I’m very strong too. I promise you won’t hurt me Damian,” He promised, bumping his shoulder against the kid’s and giving him a smile. 

“Alright, I will go easy on you.” Damian promised, just as stiffly.

“Until I prove you can’t afford to,” Danny joked and Damian scoffed and shoved Danny’s shoulder. “But really, thank you Damian. It means a lot that you and your family are willing to stick your necks out for me like this.” He sighed, if he didn’t know better he might have wished his parents had been the ones to protect and support him like this, but wishes were dangerous things.

“This family is made entirely of strays, tragedy is a prerequisite. You’ll fit right in,” Damian promised before getting up from the bed, apparently that was enough emotion. “Do you want to train now?” he asked looking back at Danny. 

“Sure, I assume this being the home of the bats and birds there’s some sort of training space?” Danny asked getting up from the bed. 

“Yes. This way,” Damian agreed and trotted out of the room with Danny on his heels, making sure to close the door behind him so none of the kittens could wander out. 

--------

Jason took off his helmet and dropped it on the couch with a sigh of relief before wandering back into the kitchen to grab a drink. So what if he was technically still too young for it? He’d done a lot worse just in the last 24 hours then half a glass of scotch. He had been off grid for a couple of days on a mission and had just gotten home. He was exhausted and half of him wanted to have his drink and go to bed, leaving his phone off for another day so he could get a proper rest. 

But he had responsibilities, both to his gang, his turf, and more recently even to his family, so he turned it back on and grimaced when more than a dozen notifications popped up in a row. Damn, something big must have happened while he was gone. Why could there never be just a quiet day around here?!

He opened the most recent message from Bruce that just said; ‘can you call me when you have the chance?’ which made him sigh. But at the same time, it wasn’t urgent, it was ‘when he had a chance’ not immediately or anger about him not answering sooner. So knowing that he scrolled back down to the oldest message so he could get a feel of what was going on.

Cas, 28 hours ago: New brother! 🤗

Oh, well that was a very good start to the context, it seemed that Bruce was in the process of adopting some other poor schmuck. Well, hopefully they’d do better by it then Jason had. And explained why Bruce wanted him to call, he always worried now how Jason would react to new siblings, as if he wasn’t well over that. He’d only been mad about Tim at first but he wasn’t even Really mad at Tim anymore! Ya he felt the urge to attack him regularly, but only the same way Jason did with everyone else in the family now.

Tim 22 hours ago: I’ve got a favour to ask, or maybe a tip for you depending on how much you want to kill someone right now. Vlad Masters brought a pregnant 16 year old to the gala last night. Apparently he’s the baby daddy. 

Oh that had Jason seeing green, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. That man was good as dead, especially when Jason paused to google him and saw someone who must have been old enough to be the kids Father, if not even grandfather judging by the gray hair! 

Tim 19 hours ago: Don’t rush in! Turns out he’s got superpowers of the magical variety. You’re going to have to prepare for this one, and talk to Danny.

Danny must be the new kid then, the pregnant 16 year old Bruce was no doubt making quick steps to at least foster. Where were the kid’s parents in this? 

Tana 16 hours ago: Please make sure your wards are set up and you have that anti-possession charm we gave you. There is a situation still developing. 

Huh, well, good to know both that she was involved and what sort of powers they might be dealing with. 

Tim 8 hours ago: We have the parents in custody but didn’t have the resources to hold Masters. Danny and his sister are staying at the manor for now. You’ll like her, tough-as-nails red head.

Jason rolled his eyes, he dated one amazon and now everyone thinks the only people he’s into are tough ladies! He likes tough boys too god damn it! Why doesn’t no one get after Dickie about this?! (He knows they do.)

The last text from the family before Bruce’s was one from Damian, which was rare.

Damian: Hello Todd, you should know before you meet him that Danny has also previously died and come back. I believe you and he are quite similar and I do not know if that will mean you get along well or if you will repel one another. You should know that if you hurt him there will be consequences. 

Well wasn’t that just the cutest! Demon brat didn’t usually get attached to new people so soon.

He texted Bruce back: No I will Not call you. But I can be bribed to come for dinner tomorrow if Alfred makes lasagna. 

He checked the messages he had from his lieutenants about business and replied to the ones that needed it. Then the ones from his friends. He was just about to turn his phone off again when he got a text back from Bruce. 

Bruce: Done, we’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry Jay.

Well that was ominous. Jason sighed and turned off his phone, setting it down on the coffee table and heading to bed. He needed to fucking sleep. Whatever the hell Bruce was sorry for could wait until tomorrow.

--------

Bruce had asked Jasmine for a copy of her slideshow, and Tim for a copy of his notes and updated the files on Danny, Jasmin, Damian, and Jason. He always felt a bit odd about the files he had on his own children, but they were important! Both because his memory wasn’t infallible and he needed to remember all this, and because if he needed to tell someone about his children quickly it was good to have all that already typed out and ready.

Not he was just sitting at the Bat-Computer, staring at the cover picture of the slide show. All of them were so young, and all dead or irrevocably changed by the actions of adults around them. His goal, all their goals, had always been to make a safer world for children, and everyone but especially children. And every time he was confronted with the abject failure to protect a child it tore at his heart. If he found who had blocked them from contacting the JL he was going to have very strong words with them.

“You can’t save every child Master Bruce,” Alfred said making Bruce jump. He must have been staring at the computer for longer then he realized, to not notice the butler’s approach. “There are billions of people on the planet, you cannot catch every single one, especially the clever ones who hide it well. They’re responsible for the harm they cause, not you for not being able to stop it.”

They’d had this conversation before when Bruce got too hanged up on the people he’d failed. He knew that wallowing didn’t do any good, and depression got in the way of action, but he couldn’t always help it. As hyper-logical as he tried to be to compensate, he was still human, and seeing these things would always hurt.

“It’s not just Danny and Jazz,” Bruce said, rubbing his face. “It’s Jason too, I’m trying to figure out how… how what Jazz said about liminals and ghost changes how I feel about him. She says they can look like their immoral but it’s always amoral, following their obsession. I feel like I failed him that this is how he came back. And I blamed him so much, and put him down so much. She said their obsessions have to be supported, if they don’t indulge in their obsessions they die.

“No wonder he’s reacted so negatively every time I talked to him about this revenge quest, this thing that he’s doing. Now that I know I wonder if we can compromise, if we can’t then what? I don’t know if I can blame him at all for what he’s doing, but I know what he’s doing is wrong. I don’t know what to do Alfred.” Bruce said, rubbing his face hard.

“Well, it sounds to me you’re putting the cart before the horse Master Bruce. You haven’t even spoken to him about it yet, and you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Sleep, then talk to him, then you’ll know how worried to actually be,” Alfred advised.

“You’re right, as usual,” Bruce chuckled and got up, shutting down the bat computer. “What would I do without you,” He chuckled, patting Alfred’s shoulder affectionately. 

“I’m sure you’d be just fine,” Alfred said, in a tone that made it clear he was just being polite and a playful twinkle in his eyes that made Bruce laugh. 

“Thank you Alfie. Let’s all get some rest.”

Next

[clockys-soul]

Updated designs for these guys!

Here’s some Ideas/Headcanons I have for the tribes:

For all tribes:

-they don’t use any weapons outside of daggers maybe (bro you’re a quadrupedal creature, using a spear or sword or bow is not gonna work how you want it to, and you have claws and teeth plus fire or venom??? You have weapons built in bro) it just looks dumb to me, like what are you doing.

-Dragons Never stop growing like crocs

SkyWings:

-Most aggressive and bad tempered but not unfairly so, they don’t trust strangers and are much less friendly out of caution.

-prefer poultry and red meat, fish not so much, they also like to smoke their meat for special events.

-Hatchlings are capable of flying and breathing fire within a few months of their lives, quicker than most other tribes.

-their horns are the longest of any tribe and they take great pride in them, most (especially nobles) adorning them with jewelry.

-when on the ground they sometimes use their wings as extra arms, holding onto something for example.

-they are the best blacksmiths out of tribes, their craftsmanship is respected even amongst other tribes.

-they are almost completely fireproof, which is why they rely on their teeth and claws when fighting amongst themselves, their flames range is also the furthest and they can breathe fire the longest without stopping.

-Firescales have to touch another Skywing for a longer time to do damage.

-they have the best endurance when it comes to flying and they are also the fastest. They hold annual races.

-like birds of prey, they have insanely good eyes. They can see the furthest out of all tribes.

-during the before mentioned races they paint their wings with cool patterns just like they do during war, however the patterns are different, the Warpaint pattern is darker and rougher.

-their teeth are similar to that of medium to large theropods, they rely mostly on their fire an less on their bite as it’s a bit lower due to their longer necks.

-their eggs are white and long. Usually only laying one per clutch.

SeaWings:

-relatively sociable, suspicious at first but especially once they get to know you they act like they never had a problem with you in the first place.

-obviously they prefer fish but also crustaceans and other sea creatures, SeaWings living more up north, hunt seals.

-second strongest bite force, also their main weapon.

-very round scales and thick skin.

-Hatchlings need to stay underwater for the first few months of their lives as their lungs finish developing.

-Short but very curvy horns, their "whiskers" vary severely between individuals.

-their glowscales vary in size and sometimes even in quantity, I think they use them mostly region-wise (face, tail for example) and then by how often they flicker (like morse code maybe?).

-Most of their jewelry consists of seashells and pearls, but also of platinum and Gold.

-they are expert tattoo artists (just like sandwings) and they take pride in their underwater murals.

-their sails/frills also vary a lot, there are several variants, some more wavy.

-Seawing families living in colder water up north have developed a bit of blubber over the generations.

-they have pharyngeal jaws (like sharks), their teeth are also a bit more flat like most sharks.

-Medium to large in size. (Everything in the ocean is big so why not)

-their eggs are round, a bit reflective and darker shades. SeaWings may lay up to 5 eggs per clutch but usually ist between 2 and 3.

Sandwings:

-small to medium in size.

-amicable tribe, they often help dragons stranded in the desert.

-they have the second most fire resistant scales, while hotter fire and longer exposure will do eventually do damage getting blasted for a bit does nothing.

-they have keen senses, their sense of hearing and smell being the best.

-they can go without eating or drinking for weeks without issue.

-they have naturally warmer scales (like Skywings do).

-Sandwings love jewelry and accessories in general, they like decorating themselves with all kinds of stuff, like tattoos and piercings.

-Hatchlings hatch with more pronounced markings (like lion cubs), sometimes they stay that prominent even into adulthood.

-sandwing eggs are dark in color, Sandwings lay up to 2 in a clutch.

-sails are unique and every Sandwing looks different, they like to adorn them with piercings and other accessories.

-they also like to take sun naps, not nearly as long or often as Rainwings but they enjoy the sun.

-rely mostly on their barbs but also claws and teeth when fighting, less so fire.

Leafwings:

-Medium to large, (trees can get real big)

-eggs are long and pale. They may lay up to 3 eggs a clutch.

-omnivorous but mainly meat, fruits and vegetables are usually just a side dish or snack.

-their scales change to duller hues in during winter, patterns stay the same though.

-hatchlings are pale and only get more saturated if exposed to sun, like rainwings.

-they have lots of golden accessories along with colorful cloths and gemstones.

-leading tribe in toxicology, they know their plants and how to use em, and they love their spices.

-they have the second longest tail of all tribes and like Rainwings use them to hold onto branches when perched in Trees.

-while they are typically shades of Green or Brown/Orange, they may also have accents of all kinds of colors to varying degrees.

-they have Treehouses but also build stone temples, their Royal Palace is a rather large one with large gardens.

Silkwings:

-all silkwings have "fur" but some have less and some have more, typically it’s a line down their spine to their tail tip.

-they are omnivorous, mainly eating fruits and the like, but every now and then they will eat meat to balance out their diet.

-they have the shortest claws out of all tribes, which makes sewing and the like much easier for them, which it’s why it’s what most Silkwings do as a job.

-their wings patterns and shape is their most unique feature, they are also relatively quiet during flight.

-while Silkwings are typically very colorful they may have black accents (almost every butterfly has black so how tf are the butterfly dragons not gonna have some)

-they have the weakest biteforce, and rather weak claws, they are naturally pacifists.

-Silkwings have long thin tongues, cuz why not.

-it’s common for Silkwings to braid and generally style their hair, adding cuffs and other things like hair clips.

-they also have relatively weak scales, they’re a rather weak tribe, but flamesilks are about as fire resistant as Sandwings.

-eggs are small and round, per clutch it’s usually 3-4.

Rainwings:

-laziness is not normal, before the main story Rainwings were much more active and kept track of their eggs

-eggs are round and small, very similar to snake eggs, 2 max per clutch.

-Rainwings are the second smallest tribe.

-their frills are essentially and extension of their ears.

-they require meat at least 3-4 times a week.

-only tribe, aside from Hivewings, to have fangs.

-their jewelry consists of flowers, gemstones and feathers mainly, but cloth is also often used.

-longest tail out of all tribes, parents sometimes carry hatchlings with them.

-shorter horns, usually curvy.

-scales get duller with age, and elder ones change scale color less.

-very curved claws to help em climb, also useful when hunting.

-Short wings like harpy eagles so flying through trees is easier.

-eyecolor cannot change neither can the horns nor claws or mouth.

-the older the individual the duller the scale color.

Mudwings:

-largest tribe, also strongest tribe.

-due to needing to have a higher body temp to be able to breathe fire, they rely on teeth, claws and overall strength.

-strongest bite force, one bite can amputate a leg with ease.

-they may have different variants of tusks, male typically have larger ones.

-slowest flyers, the prefer the ground.

-Fire is more magma like, more liquidity.

-the usually have 2 sets of horns, 1 large and 1 small.

-eggs are large and typically tan to dark brown with spots, 6 eggs per clutch sometimes even 8.

-younger individuals are typically kinder, and more likely to help.

-they have shorter but incredibly strong tails.

-wings are more round in shape, and are used as extra legs sometimes.

-require a lot of meat, all different kinds, prefer red.

-jewelry usually consists of different kinds of metals and such, imbedded with gemstones and old tusks.

-mudwings love play-fighting and sparring and will do so often with their siblings, very good fighters.

Nightwings:

-strong bite, maybe 3rd strongest.

-more nocturnal, but are perfectly functional during the day.

-their flames have tints of different colors, unique to every individual.

-some have more star scales than others, depending on how starry the night was when they hatched.

-strong sense of smell and very good eyesight.

-veils, and a bunch of jewelry imbedded with gems and crystals, they like their silver and gold.

-eggs are oval and black with hints of different colors.

-their wings have accents of different colors at the edges or in the middle, usually the brightest part of their body.

-Fire is very Smokey, their range isn’t that far either but it’s the second hottest fire.

-typically only 1 egg per clutch, 2 is rare.

-Mindreaders will have one teardrop scale for each moon they were born under, so all 3 would be 6.

-Prophets will have one starscale on their forehead for each moon they were born under, all 3 would be 3.

-padded feet like t-rex makes them quite even on the ground.

Icewings:

-blood varies from violet to more turquoise on the spectrum.

-claws are long and curved for extras grip but instead of be serrated, it’s their feet that are.

-the older the individual the more spines the will have.

-prefer to eat fish, but often eat red meat as well.

-eggs are long and white. Typically 1-2 per clutch.

-furs, silver and platinum are often seen, but royals will wear gold.

-teeth are long and thin, very similar to orcas.

-spines start growing along the horns as well, making them look similar to antlers.

-they are almost completely frostproof, as in, they cannot be hurt by frostbreath, or hypothermia.

-Frostscales are a thing, essentially the same as Firescales but frosty.

-about as trusting as Skywings, they are not particularly respectful either until you earn their respect.

-Medium to large in size, they grow incredibly large.

Hivewings:

-venom is more similar to Sandwing venom, and all of them have fangs and a barb, the strength of the venom varies though.

-most agile flyers, maybe even second in speed.

-teeth are thin and needle-like, the rely on their venom to weaken their opponents.

-piercings and warm colored Jewelry are a must, usually imbedded with ambers and other similar stones.

-loud during flight.

-blood is dark, almost black.

-eggs are oval and black, typically 1-2 eggs per clutch.

-very curved claws, good for holding onto things, for climbing too.

I may add some more as I come up with it!

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet masterlist

18+ Squirting

Bucky had been at it for hours. Taunting you. Teasing you. Tantalizing. Tormenting. His fingers, be it flesh or vibranium, tickled your skin with the tiniest of pressures. Enough to get your blood pumping. The pulps of his calloused digits pushed into your skin, kneading, fondling, massaging every inch of your body. He knew exactly how to read you, how to arouse you. From the feather light brushes against your abdomen to the deep pressure on your thighs.

“Look how beautiful you are.”

He hushed your pleading whines and kissed away your petulant pouts. He reassured you that he simply wanted to take his time. But his eyes told a different story. The determined glint in those beautiful blues told you that he had a plan. 

“Let me take care of you.”

The way he moved was exquisite, smooth, like fluid. Bucky’s ministrations were so distracting that you only realized he was undressing you when your tank top caught the tip of your nose. He apologized, nuzzling you, peppering kisses over the offended organ. He never failed to make you feel loved, even when he was planning on doing the dirtiest things to you.

“I love you like this.”

Exposed. Fully. Stripped bare of every thread that covered your form. That’s how he liked it. Bucky loved having access to each and every part of you. He worked on all your sensitive areas, intimately familiar with how your nipples responded to his touch. Under his attention, they had the ability to grow as tall as mountains and as hard as diamonds. He chuckled darkly as you writhed with pleasure beneath him.

"Just like that, Doll?"

You nodded, your mind lost in the moment. His lips left marks as worked on your skin. He was the artist and you were his canvas, ready to be molded to his pleasing. There were no limits to his abilities to draw out your beauty. 

“I will coax every gasp, every moan, every noise I can get out of you.”

He didn't waste time in making good on his assurances.  Bucky put his talented tongue to use, licking thick stripes over your folds. It left you crying out for more, only for him to oblige. His lips formed a circle around your clit, which he gave a warning lick before applying the perfect amount of pressure to make you scream. Bucky watched out of the top corners of his eyes as you arched your back and clutched at the bedsheets.

“I'm here. I'm right here. Hold onto me.”

Next he introduced you to his fingers, smooth and cold but once they were coated in your slick arousal, they slid in and out of your sheath with ease. Bucky felt you stretch as he pushed in and out, caressing your walls with his dark and golden digits. He was an expert in finding that special place where you were most sensitive and made the most of his talents. Brushing against you with the most erotic pace. His lips pressed against the top of your head.

“Wish I could fuck you right now. I want you to sit on my cock, be so deep inside you until you’re screaming for everyone to hear… ‘til you forget who you are and all you can think about is how good I make you feel. But that’s not the plan. I want to make you squirt all over my pants and ruin them.”

You gasped at his words. He let the pressure build within you at an agonizingly slow pace. Every movement elicited its own special sound from you, he played your body like an instrument to the tune of a symphony of his desires. Everyone of these notes rang with the melody of your pleasure.

“Are you going to give me what I want, Doll? Are you going to come for me?”

Bucky murmured as he continued to bring you closer to your climax. An old familiar feeling coiled inside of you, ready to be released at any moment. He pulled your hips into his lap, looking hungrily at your sex, like he could devour you right there. But he had a plan and he was going to follow through. He licked his flesh fingers and pressed them against your swollen nub. Rubbing perfect circles to drive you over the edge. You squeezed your eyes shut as your walls clenched around him. Waves of ecstasy rolling through your body. Back arched. Toes curled. Heart pounded. Bucky's plan came to fruition as your sweet juices poured out around his fingers.

“That's my girl. You did such a good job for me. Just look at this mess you've made. All for me.”

He smiled down at you, looking proud of his pretty princess. 

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of ​​Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day. 

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar. 

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course” 

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this. 

The idea of ​​being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities. 

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind. 

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?” 

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice. 

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second. 

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time." 

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body. 

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.” 

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?” 

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.” 

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.” 

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.  

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth. 

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late” 

“I really...” you try to say. 

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face. 

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you. 

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat. 

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble. 

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here. 

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side. 

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio. 

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera. 

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot. 

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university. 

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you. 

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around. 

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today. 

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.” 

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead. 

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress" 

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins 

“No, you don’t” you retort. 

Fucking bastard. 

“Strip” he repeats firmly. 

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here” 

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable. 

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form. 

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you. 

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F. 

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.” 

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra. 

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too." 

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor. 

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate." 

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.” 

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl. 

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last. 

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding. 

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point. 

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly." 

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them. 

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold. 

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented. 

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling” 

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your  body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse. 

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on” 

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs. 

No, you can't. 

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses. 

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag. 

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy. 

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ​​ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is. 

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve. 

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you. 

God, you want him so bad right now. 

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him. 

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

"Can I?" he grunts. 

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath 

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care. 

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins. 

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine. 

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?” 

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched. 

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again. 

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan. 

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge. 

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time. 

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet. 

“So fucking perfect” 

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you. 

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers. 

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them. 

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please." 

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin. 

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher. 

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in. 

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come” 

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh. 

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine. 

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion. 

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea. 

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice. 

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair. 

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me” 

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes. 

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell. 

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat  ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.” 

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum. 

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles. 

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today” 

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you. 

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says. 

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit. 

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is. 

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

[fioredeciliego]

Sweet like Sin (Extras) - Kim Minji x Fem!Reader

a/n: sooo i really liked this fanfic, and i already miss it:( so here are a few gag reels!

--

Y/N takes Minji to volunteer, hoping it’ll be a straightforward way for her to practice kindness.

Y/N: handing Minji a ladle “Just serve the soup. That’s all you have to do.”

Minji: enthusiastically “You got it, boss!”

Minji accidentally tilts the pot too far, sending soup splashing across the counter.

Minji: holding up the empty pot “Well, at least no one’s hungry anymore!”

Y/N: groaning “Minji, no one even got a bowl yet!”

Minji: grinning sheepishly “Oops?”

--

Y/N decides Minji might connect with the gentleness of animals.

Y/N: watching Minji pet a baby goat “See? This isn’t so bad. Just be gentle.”

Minji: nodding “I’m always gentle!”

The goat suddenly nibbles on Minji’s hair, startling her.

Minji: flailing “Ah! It’s eating me!”

Her wings flap in panic, causing a nearby chicken to squawk and scatter. This sets off a chain reaction of chaos.

Y/N: dodging a stampede of farm animals “Minji! What did you do?!”

Minji: standing in the middle of the mess, holding the goat protectively “I think I made a new friend?”

--

Y/N thinks a group painting session will let Minji’s creativity shine.

Y/N: demonstrating “Okay, just dip your brush in the paint and add your part to the mural.”

Minji: excitedly dipping her brush “Got it!”

She accidentally flings paint behind her, splattering the nearby artists.

Minji: whipping around to apologize, sending even more paint flying “Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

Y/N: now covered in paint “Minji, please stop moving!”

Minji: freezing, looking down at the paintbrush in her hand “Does this mean I’m not getting an A for effort?”

--

Y/N suggests Minji hand out balloons to cheer up the kids.

Y/N: handing Minji the balloon bouquet “Just walk around and hand these out. No flying, no stunts.”

Minji: saluting dramatically “Yes, ma’am!”

Minji trips over her own feet, releasing the balloons, which drift toward the ceiling.

Minji: looking up “Well, uh... at least the ceiling looks happier?”

Y/N: facepalming “Why did I think this would be simple?”

--

Minutes after Minji receives her halo.

Minji: poking at her new halo “So, uh... how do you keep this thing from falling off?”

Y/N: sighing “It doesn’t fall off. It’s literally a part of you.”

Minji: leaning too far forward, her halo slipping and wobbling “Then why does it feel like it’s about to fall—oops!”

The halo tumbles off Minji’s head and lands in the stream, causing a splash.

Y/N: pinching the bridge of her nose “Only you, Minji. Only you.”

Minji: grinning sheepishly “Guess I’m a work in progress?”

Y/N: sighing but smiling “Always.”

--

Minji decides to cook dinner for Y/N to show her gratitude.

Minji: wearing an apron that says “Kiss the Cook” “I’m going to make the best meal you’ve ever had!”

Y/N: sitting cautiously at the table “I’m terrified but also impressed by your enthusiasm.”

Minji accidentally turns the stove too high, causing flames to leap up from the pan.

Minji: panicking, grabbing a pot lid “Is this supposed to happen?!”

Y/N: rushing over “No, it’s not supposed to happen!”

After extinguishing the fire, Y/N surveys the smoke-filled kitchen and the ruined meal.

Minji: offering Y/N a charred piece of toast with puppy-dog eyes “Still romantic, right?”

Y/N: taking the toast with a sigh “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

--

Minji insists on giving Y/N a ride through the skies to impress her.

Minji: smirking “Hop on. I’m an expert at this.”

Y/N: nervously climbing onto Minji’s back “If we crash, I’m revoking your flight privileges forever.”

Minji takes off but wobbles as she tries to do a fancy loop. They narrowly avoid colliding with a cloud of angelic doves.

Y/N: clutching Minji tightly “Watch out! That was someone’s choir practice!”

Minji: laughing nervously “Okay, so maybe I’m almost an expert.”

Y/N: reluctantly laughing as they land safely “You’re a menace, but that was... kind of fun.”

--

Minji challenges Y/N to a game of angelic trivia, confident she’ll win despite her lack of celestial knowledge.

Y/N: reading a question “What’s the primary duty of a seraphim?”

Minji: with over-the-top confidence “Uh, setting stuff on fire? They have so many wings; they probably need to do something cool.”

Y/N: laughing uncontrollably “That’s... not even remotely close.”

Minji pouts as Y/N racks up more points, eventually flipping the board in mock frustration.

Minji: dramatically “This game is rigged!”

Y/N: teasing “Maybe if you studied instead of trying to cheat, you’d actually win.”

Minji: leaning closer with a sly smile “Or maybe I just wanted to see you laugh like that.”

--

Minji convinces Y/N to teach her an angelic waltz.

Y/N: leading Minji through the steps “One, two, three. One, two, three. See? Not so hard.”

Minji: accidentally stepping on Y/N’s foot “Oops! Uh... graceful like a swan?”

Y/N: wincing “More like a duck on roller skates.”

Minji spins Y/N too forcefully, and they both tumble to the ground in a heap, laughing breathlessly.

Minji: still holding Y/N’s hand “I think we nailed it.”

Y/N: smiling despite herself “You’re impossible.”

--

Minji tosses Y/N’s halo into the air like a frisbee, despite Y/N’s protests.

Y/N: chasing after it “Minji, stop throwing my—oh no!”

The halo gets stuck on a tree branch. Minji tries to retrieve it but accidentally knocks the entire branch down instead.

Minji: sheepishly handing the halo back “Good news: I got it down! Bad news: that tree might need a little help.”

Y/N: taking the halo with an exasperated smile “You’re lucky you’re adorable.”

--

Minji spots a line of angels gracefully sliding down a rainbow bridge for fun and decides to join in.

Minji: excitedly “This is going to be epic!”

She dives headfirst but slides too fast, knocking over three angels like bowling pins before landing in a fluffy cloud.

Y/N: arriving breathlessly “What did I say about blending in?”

Minji: popping her head out of the cloud, grinning “I did blend in—just... dynamically!”

Y/N: facepalming “You’re a celestial hazard.”

--

Minji volunteers to sing in the heavenly choir, claiming she has a “demonically good” voice.

Choir Leader: politely “Follow my lead, and keep it soft and harmonious.”

Minji belts out a dramatic rock rendition of the hymn, complete with air guitar motions. The other angels look horrified.

Y/N: yanking her off the stage “What part of angelic choir did you misunderstand?”

Minji: shrugging “I thought it needed some... spice?”

Y/N: sighing “You’re banned from music practice forever.”

--

Minji finds a group of cherubs playing a game with halos and decides to show off her “skills.”

Minji: grabbing a halo “Watch and learn, kiddos!”

She attempts a trick shot, tossing the halo into the air, but it ricochets off a harp, bounces into a fountain, and lands on Y/N’s head.

Y/N: deadpan “Impressive aim.”

Minji: proudly “See? I’m a natural!”

Cherubs: cheering “Do it again!”

Y/N: groaning “Please don’t.”

--

Minji discovers a pile of angel feathers meant for crafting and starts a playful pillow fight with the angels nearby.

Minji: hurling a fluffy handful at Y/N “You’re going down!”

Y/N: dodging “Minji, this is not a—”

Before she can finish, Minji slips on the feathers, sending both herself and the pile flying. She ends up sprawled on the floor, covered in white fluff.

Y/N: trying not to laugh “Congratulations. You’ve invented angel snow angels.”

Minji: making one “I think I nailed it.”

--

Minji insists on sliding down the golden staircase like a kid at a waterpark.

Y/N: arms crossed “Minji, you’re supposed to walk gracefully.”

Minji: already halfway down, yelling “Too late!”

She crashes into a group of dignified seraphim at the bottom, who glare at her in disapproval.

Minji: dusting herself off, sheepish “Uh, first-time slider privileges?”

Y/N: apologizing profusely to the seraphim “I don’t know her.”

Minji: grinning at Y/N “Oh, you definitely know me.”

[feyascorner]

11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that? 

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters. 

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova @madislayyy @lordfishflakes @nicalysm @djarinsway @tinystarfishgalaxy @brainz00 @hopeful-n-sad @ohdeerieme @madisban @chrismarium @chonkercatto @fanfic-share @bitterbeanren @sleepyred1703 @miskouly @ravenswritingroom @iamlowkeycrying @deezus-roy @spiritraves @mariposakitten @dinobae-replyacc @whisperingwillowxox @bdudette @misscrissfemmefatale @atropapurpurea @cosywinterevenings @phoenixgurl030 @generalstephkenobi @shadowsmusical @himesuedi @girlygmer-blog @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @hyperfixationwhore @teardropcup @marina-and-the-memes @kiwi-mansanas @woosaaghh @cminr @everybodystaycalm @divineknightmare @bangtanbecks @carolinelec @aelieknox @bluelovesleep @catching-fire-in-the-wind @moonlight-stay @thatbeanieboss @atotalmess-lol @lavender-romancer @roguishcat

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Gojo's reaction to his s/o, who has the ability to perceive the future, getting harassed because her client's not happy about their future?

Satoru hummed a happy little tune as he walked down the busy streets of Tokyo to go see his wife.

He had been blessed with an unusual day off after a quick meeting with the ‘old men’; probably because they were so annoyed with him that they just wanted him to go away. Still, it was a rare treat. So he thought he would surprise his wife by taking her to lunch. She could afford to close the shop for a day.

The sorcerer giggled a little as he wondered if she knew he was coming. With her innate ability to see and predict the future, it was hard to pull surprises on her. But he always tried. Taking the challenge on at every turn to keep his wife guessing and marriage spicy.

“That’s not right! You’re a liar!!”

Satoru’s eyebrows jutted up over his sunglasses, hearing the yelling once he had come in the door. He walked in further to the shop towards the back, where [Y/N] would hold private readings, and saw a woman who had clearly just jumped up from the table and was pointing at [Y/N].

“I’m sorry,” she apologized to the angry looking woman, “but that’s what I see.”

“No! That’s not true! He promised he would leave his wife and be with me! That has to be what my future will be next year!”

“I mean….there’s a possibility that the prediction could change. The future isn’t set in stone but-“No buts! I want my money back!”

“I can’t give you your money back just because you don’t like your prediction. This is a business. If you wanted someone to just agree with you, then you should have just called a friend.”

“They told me to come here! I see now that they just wanted me to get cheated too! You’re nothing but a liar and a con artist! I know my future and it’s to be with him, and you’re just making this up because you’re alone & jealous!”

“If you knew your future, then why did you even come here? Clearly there’s some underlying trust issues if you asked your friends, I assume family, and now a premonitions expert. This is just free advice at this point but maybe this relationship isn’t what you want for you’re future.”

The woman went full red at this point and raised her hand to presumably strike [Y/N]. She never got the chance though as Satoru grabbed her forearm to stop it just as soon as it was raised. “Now, now. Let’s have none of that.”

The woman looked startled and jerked out of his grasp and away from him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Just a concerned customer.” He replied with a cheeky grin, which he could see that [Y/N] did not appreciate out of the corner of her eye. “And also, her husband.”

The woman’s face went from shocked, to a mixture of crushed, back to angry. Clearly realizing that the only person alone in the room was her, but not yet willing to accept it. “I want my money back! Or I’ll sue!”

“Go ahead.” Satoru told her. Then pressed his fingers to his temple, “but I see an arrested in your future if you keep pressing this. Attempted battery is almost just as serious as if you actually landed that punch.” The woman let out an angry huff, then grabbed her belongings and dashed out. “Another satisfied customer.”

“Don’t be mean Satoru.” [Y/N] replied once they were alone and stood up to clean the mess the woman had made of her reading table. “It’s not my fault she’s chosen a hard path. I didn’t even have to use my ability to tell her this wasn’t going to end well. What was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t have minded. Delusional people like that only want to hear what they want to hear.” No one needed psychic abilities to see that.

“What are you doing here by the way?”

“Oh! I came to take you to lunch!” In the commotion, he almost forgot why he was there. “The old men gave me the day off, so I thought I would spend it with you.”

“That’s nice.” [Y/N] said with a smile. “But I have to work Satoru.”

“Why?” He asked with a pout. “You know we don’t need the money. I know you like to work but….you can take off for one day. Plus, shouldn’t you get hazard time for almost having a client flip a table on you?”

[Y/N] chuckled a little. Even if it was a sad sort of noise. “Well…I guess you’re right. The shop will be fine if we close early for today.”

“Hooray!”

Satoru helped her clean up the last little bit and they left. He asked her once, when they were dating, to use her powers on him but she said that she couldn’t. His future had too many variables. Too full of potential. But he knew, even when they first met, that his future was going to be with her.

He didn’t need psychic abilities to see that.

[linkablewritingadvice]

How much should it cost to be a writer?

It depends what route you’re taking. If you are planning to go for traditional publishing, which looks like you finishing a manuscript and then querying agents who will then take your book to publishers, you should be paying for basically nothing. One exception would be if you decide to hire an editor to get a pass over your manuscript and/or query package before sending it off, but this is not required.

If you are in the process of trying to get your manuscript traditionally published, you may be approached by a “publisher” offering to publish your manuscript for a fee. THIS IS A SCAM! An author should never be paying for “publishing services.” Anyone asking you to pay for your own printing, marketing, etc. costs is taking advantage of you. These are called vanity publishers and they will not turn you a profit, help you attract readers, or provide you the prestige of being published. 

Always check on Writer Beware - search for the name of the person or company. You can also just google that name along with the word “scam” or “reviews.” In general, don’t let yourself be blinded by dreams, or let yourself be convinced that something is a good idea because you really want it to be true. Never, ever, ever pay a publisher.

If you are going the self-publishing route, you will be paying for certain things, but none of those should be payment to be published. You are the publisher. Uploading your manuscript to Amazon or other marketplaces is free. However, you will be paying for things that a publisher typically pays for. This could include:

-Cover art - you could do this yourself, though this isn't recommended. A good cover is key to a book's success, so budget to purchase a pre-made book cover, or hire a professional cover artist.

To find pre-made book covers, you can just Google "premade book covers," or check one of these sites: BookCoverZone RockingBookCovers Beetiful

And here's a list of places to buy both custom and pre-made cover designs that's a good start. You can also check Reedsy and Etsy for people listing cover design services. If there is a self-pubbed author whose covers you love, try asking them what artist they use.

-Formatting - you could do this yourself using a formatting program like Atticus, or you could hire someone who does professional e-book formatting.

Here's an article on the turbo-DIY route. Here's a list of formatting programs you can use. To hire someone, you can simply search for book formatting services or look at places where people list such services for hire, like Reedsy, Fiverr, or certain Reddit boards.

-Ad campaigns - you may want to pay for ad campaigns on platforms like Meta or Amazon. More niche, author-specific platforms like BookBub, Book Funnel, or Book Sirens also come with certain costs. 

-Author services - you may wish to hire an expert in things like marketing, blurb copy, social media metrics, newsletter management, etc. You can find information on that here.

Be aware that scam publishers might try to pitch themselves as "author services" - you should be paying someone to help you with specific aspects of your self publishing work, NOT paying to be published.

-Software and platforms - whether it's a subscription to Duotrope, a paid Scribophile account, access to pro Canva features, etc. you may decide to pay for tools that you will use to do your work well.

-Expert advice - some people offer courses, books, or other resources on how to do specific things like write a compelling blurb or run an effective ad campaign. You may notice that a lot of the links I shared here will include upsells from people doing exactly this!

Be very cautious about this, as most of these people claim that they make tons of money on their self published books, but really, they make their money selling this stuff to people like you. Always check out a person’s free resources first, and wait to invest in this sort of thing until you have a specific question you need answered or are trying to do a very particular thing that you need granular guidance on. 

One thing you should NOT pay for is a review, feature, or interview. Self-published authors will be approached by a lot of scammers who claim that, for a nominal fee, they will share information about your book to their huge audiences. These are completely useless and a waste of money. Never spend money on this.

Always keep track of what you are spending on all of this. You may be able to deduct it from taxes you pay on your income from writing, and you will want to really understand what your profit margins look like.

[chiyuuchu]

Kazuha meets his match <3 (31st July 2024)

Kadehara Kazuha x Reader

Prompt! Accompanying Aether to Liyue, Kazuha takes an interest in the traveler’s peer.

Aether and Kazuha had just arrived in Liyue, marveling at the bustling cityscape and its rich cultural vibrancy. The sun dipped low, casting golden hues over the rooftops and streets, as they wandered in search of a place to eat.

Aether suggested they visit a quaint diner he’d heard about, known for its traditional Liyue cuisine and warm atmosphere. As they entered, the scent of sizzling dishes and fragrant spices greeted them.

Seated at a cozy corner table, they were served a variety of delectable dishes. Amidst their meal, Aether’s eyes fell on a familiar figure just a few tables away. Y/N, a local dancer renowned for her traditional performances, was enjoying a meal with her friends—Hutao, Yanfei, Yunjin, Xiangling, and Xingqiu.

With a smile, Aether nudged Kazuha. “That’s Y/N. She’s a local dancer and knows all about Liyue’s traditions. She might be able to give us some insights into what i’m trying to figure out.”

Kazuha, intrigued, watched as Aether approached Y/N’s table with a friendly wave. “Y/N! Over here!”

Y/N looked up, her eyes sparkling with recognition as she saw Aether. “Aether! It’s so good to see you! And you must be...?”

Kazuha stepped forward with a charming grin. “Kazuha, at your service. It’s a pleasure to meet you, lady Y/N.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Kazuha. Say, aren’t you that wanted criminal at Inazuma? I’m sure Aether has told me about that before.” Y/n tilts her head with curiosity.

“I must admit, I’ve been told I have a knack for getting into trouble,” he said with a playful glint in his eye. “So, tell me, Y/N, do you think you’re into bad guys?”

Y/N laughed, a warm and melodic sound that seemed to harmonize with the ambient music. “Well, that’s certainly an intriguing introduction. But I do suppose it depends on how you define trouble.”

“Maybe I could show you sometime.” Kazuha said in his soft spoken voice.

Aether thought to himself: ‘He is definitely downbad.’

“Hey Y/n! Do you think we can join your dinner table tonight? I have not been in Liyue for quite some time.” Aether interrupted, clearly trying to get out of the sudden third wheeling position he was in.

“I suppose that I don’t see why not.” Y/n smiles.

As Kazuha and Aether joined Y/N and her friends, the table was filled with lively conversation and laughter. Hutao, ever the playful spirit, greeted Kazuha with a mischievous smile.

“Ah, another traveler! What brings you to our humble gathering?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

Aether chimed in, “Kazuha here is just tagging along with me. We’re exploring Liyue and thought we’d drop by. Y/N has been gracious enough to let us join in.”

Yanfei, ever the legal expert and mediator, added, “It’s always nice to meet new people. And if Aether says you’re interesting, I’m sure you are.”

Kazuha’s eyes sparkled with interest. “I hope I can live up to the expectations. It seems like I’m in excellent company.”

Yunjin, with her grace and poise, nodded. “Now where were we? Oh! Y/N, tell us about your dance performances. I’ve heard they’re quite spectacular.”

Y/N’s face lit up as she spoke. “Oh, I’m very fortunate to perform traditional dances that celebrate Liyue’s heritage. It’s a blend of storytelling and art that connects us with our history.”

Xiangling, her eyes bright with curiosity, leaned forward. “I’ve heard you’re also gotten even more skilled with your polearm and Pyro vision. That’s a fascinating combination! How does that blend with your performances?” she quickly rambles with her enthusiasm.

Y/N nodded, clearly proud. “Yes, I sometimes do try to apply my abilities to add a dramatic flair to my dances. The fire especially help me to convey the message of the stories I perform.”

Kazuha, intrigued by this revelation, leaned in slightly. “Pyro wielding and a polearm applied into an artistic dance, you say? That sounds like a truly impressive combination. I must admit, I’m quite fascinated by it.”

Hutao raised an eyebrow, teasingly. “Careful, Kazuha. You might end up wanting to join one of Y/N’s performances yourself.”

Kazuha chuckled, his attention fixed on Y/N. “If it means I get to see such a talented performer in action, I just might take you up on that offer.”

As the evening progressed and the wine flowed, Kazuha's flirtatious nature became more evident. With a slightly tipsy grin, he turned to Y/N. “I must say, your talents and beauty are truly mesmerizing. I can’t help but be enchanted.”

Y/N laughed softly, clearly enjoying the company. “And what about you, Kazuha? What makes you such an intriguing person?”

Kazuha’s gaze softened as he took a sip of his drink. “Well, besides my charming self, I suppose it’s the sense of adventure and the appreciation for poetry that drives me. And tonight, I find myself captivated by someone who has stolen my attention so seamlessly.”

With a tipsy grin, Kazuha leaned in closer to Y/N, his words slightly slurred. “You know, Y/N, I have to say, your presence here makes this meal all the more delightful. I can’t help but feel that fate has a funny way of bringing people together.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly as she smiled, clearly enjoying Kazuha’s attention. “And what do you think fate has in store for us tonight?”

Kazuha’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his flirtation taking on a more genuine tone. “Perhaps it’s simply a chance to enjoy each other’s company. But if you’re open to it, I’d love to hear more about your life in Liyue. I’m sure there’s much I can learn from someone as captivating as you.”

“If you insist Kazuha.” Y/n can’t help but smile.

The evening continued with laughter, stories, and more wine. Kazuha’s charm and Y/N’s warmth created a delightful atmosphere, making the night unforgettable for everyone involved. As they parted ways, Kazuha made sure to express his appreciation.

“This has been a delightful evening. I’m grateful to have met such fascinating individuals. And Y/N, your company has made the most of my night.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed slightly as she smiled. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Kazuha. It was a pleasure getting to know you. If you’re ever free, you know where to find me.”

With a final wave, Kazuha bid farewell, leaving Y/N with a memorable impression and a sense of anticipation for what future encounters might bring.

The next week, Aether, having wrapped up his business in Liyue, went out in attempt to find Kazuha so they could sail back to Inazuma. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the city. He decided to check in with Beidou at her dock, hoping she might have seen his friend.

“Beidou, have you seen Kazuha around?” Aether asked as he approached the ship captain, who was overseeing the final preparations for departure.

Beidou looked up with a knowing smile. “Ah, Kazuha? He’s been out and about with that dancer girl—Y/N, right? They seemed pretty interested in each other’s company. I got to give it to him, I never took Kazuha as a guy interested romance.”

Aether’s curiosity was piqued. “A dancer girl? Where might I find them?”

Beidou pointed towards a nearby park. “They were headed towards the fountain area. You should find them there.”

Aether thanked her and made his way to the park. As he approached the fountain, he noticed Kazuha and Y/N sitting on the edge, laughing together. The fountain’s soft splashes and the twilight cast a romantic glow over the scene.

Kazuha was holding a small, wrapped bundle and, with a playful grin, presented it to Y/N. “I made this for you. I hope you like it.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she unwrapped the gift, revealing a delicate handmade bracelet. “It’s beautiful, Kazuha. Thank you so much.”

As they continued to exchange laughter and warm words, Aether decided to make his presence known. He cleared his throat, walking up with a friendly smile. “Kazuha, we’re about to set sail. Time to come back to Inazuma.”

Kazuha looked up, slightly startled but still smiling. “Ah, Aether. I guess our time here has come to an end. But I’m glad we had this moment.”

Y/N gave them both a warm smile. “It was lovely meeting you, Aether. I hope you both have a safe journey and do let me know when you both will visit again.”

Kazuha rose. “I’ll make an effort to make that soon, my lady.” Giving Y/N one last, lingering glance before following Aether. As they walked away, Aether couldn’t help but ask, “So, how was your little date?”

Kazuha chuckled, his gaze still drifting back towards Y/N. “It was quite delightful. I believe we made some.. rather interesting memories.”

The two headed back towards the docks.

“I’d definitely come back just to see her dances again and perhaps maybe more.” Kazuha smiled mischievously.

[dodger-chan]

On this, a totally normal day, please enjoy this short scene featuring demon Steve Harrington:

“They’re con artists,” Steve asserted, rolling his eyes. “They’re nothing I need to worry about.”

It wasn’t that Eddie thought Steve was wrong. He’d read a book about their involvement in that possession and murder case in Connecticut five years back. It had certainly read more like fiction to him.

It was just that demons tended towards overconfidence. Or at least Steve did. Maybe that was more of a jock thing than a demon thing.

“You’re bound to the mortal plain by a two-bit ring from a Crackerjack box,” Robin snarked. “Forgive me if I’m a little concerned.”

There was that, too.

“I’ll have you know that ring cost me fifty cents. It’s solid nickel,” Eddie joked. But he kind of agreed with Robin. The ring was a flimsy object, and entirely incongruous with Steve’s preppy look. Even if the couple weren’t practiced demon killers, the ring would be an obvious target.

“So that’s why my finger keeps turning green,” Steve mused. “Look, I can’t let this stand, but one of you can wear the ring until they’re gone, okay?”

-------

Which was how Edde found himself twisting his old ouroboros ring around his finger, sitting in a diner booth across from Robin. Stealthily watching the demon hunters eat their lunch. Waiting for Steve to arrive. The wait wasn’t long, but it was tense.

Steve ignored them when he walked in, only paying attention to the couple seated behind them. Robin leaned forward and stole some of Eddie’s french fries.

“I think we’re in trouble,” she whispered. She was only half joking. They weren’t supposed to be there; Steve didn’t want either of them associated with a demon. But Robin was not about to let Steve face even fake demon hunters completely alone. And - coward or not - neither was Eddie.

He shushed her, keeping an eye on Steve as he sat down at the hunters’ table.

“I read the contract you signed with Susan Mayfield. Book rights to her daughter's story for a flat fee? Seriously? My deals are more fair.” Steve was facing away from them, so Eddie had to imagine the smug expression on his face. The older couple looked confused.

“Your deals?” The man asked, like maybe he hadn’t put it together yet.

“I’m sitting here right in front of you and you still have no idea.” Steve shook his head. “And you call yourself demon hunters. I knew you were just con artists.”

Understanding dawn on the woman first.

“You’re the demon,” she said, fear in her voice. “The one who killed those kids.”

“I am a demon. But no, I haven’t killed any kids in Hawkins,” Steve corrected. “Those three dead kids, the Mayfield girl’s injuries, that really was a human. People can be evil all on their own, you know.”

“Why should we believe you?” the man asked. He didn’t appear as afraid as his wife, but Eddie was an expert on posturing. The guy was about thirty seconds away from shitting his pants.

“Believe, don’t believe. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not here to keep you from writing your little book and ripping off the American public with your absolutely true demon stories.” Eddie would bet good money Steve was rolling his eyes. “I’m here about this.”

Robin nearly turned around to see what Steve was holding even though she knew what it would be. Eddie kicked her ankle and she turned back.

“You see,” Steve went on, “I made a deal with the Mayfield girl’s brother. It means I owe her a certain amount of protection. So this contract you sweet-talked her mom into signing? We’re going to rework the terms. I’m thinking percent off the gross?”

-----------

Notes:

"that possession and murder case" refers to the Arne Johnson murder trial, where the defense tried to argue the killer had been possessed by a demon. The book was titled The Devil in Connecticut and published in 1983. It's also the inspiration for one of the Conjuring films.

Allegedly (and I'm not doing enough research to confirm it because this six hundred word story has enough notes already) the Warrens paid people flat fees for the rights to their stories and then made bank themselves off of books and films about the 'hauntings' and 'possessions.' Frankly, everything I've read about them makes them sound like unscrupulous con artists.

"two-bit ring from a cracker jack box" is a reference to a Firesign Theatre sketch (The Further Adventures of Nick Danger) released in 1969; Robin knows it from her parents.

Two-bit means cheap in general, but also two-bits refers to a quarter, so when Eddie says he paid fifty cents for the ring he's saying it cost twice as much as Robin implied (still pretty cheap)

I doubt Eddie knows for sure what alloy any of his rings are made of, but cheap jewelry often contains nickel, and nickel can turn your skin green.

"percent off the gross" is revenue percentage rather than a percentage of the profit, so Max can't be cheated out of money via creative accounting.

[savingsallow]

On the mantle, sitting behind a row of neatly hung stockings, Val spots it: a mandrake. Its expression is sour, its leaves drooping slightly. It hasn't screamed - but it's definitely not pleased.

"Stockings," it mutters, its voice bitter. "Everyone gets a stocking. Even the cat. But me? Nothing. I've been good too! Where's my fuzzy sock? My little treats? Or is the mandrake too much trouble to include in your holiday cheer?"

What does Val you do?

The bustling Herbology greenhouse is filled with the warm scent of fresh earth and a swirl of vibrant green plants, each thriving under the enchanted glass ceiling.

Val's pink hair glimmers in the sunlight as she wanders among the rows of magical plants, her eyes shining with curiosity and delight. Today’s lesson is all about mandrakes, and the Slytherin girl's excitement is palpable—though she knows the little sprigs can be a handful.

As Professor Garlick is demonstrating proper handling techniques, Val glances over at her assigned mandrake, nestled snugly in its pot. To her surprise, it's wearing a particularly disgruntled expression, its leaves drooping and a faint moan escaping its lips.

"Stockings," it mutters, its voice bitter. "Everyone gets a stocking. Even the cat. But me? Nothing. I've been good too! Where's my fuzzy sock? My little treats? Or is the mandrake too much trouble to include in your holiday cheer?"

Val bites her lip, holding back a laugh. “Aww c'mon, little buddy!” she calls out, her voice warm and playful. “I know things can feel a bit…rooted in monotony, but this is Herbology class! You’re literally the life of the party here!” She leans closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Besides, I think your sour attitude might just be your only real accessory,” she added with a wink.

The mandrake glares at her, unimpressed, but the girl continues, undeterred. “Look, I'm no plant expert but I think I have an idea.” With a flick of her wrist, she reaches into her bag, pulling out a shimmering purple flower. “This is a Belladonna Blossom—very rare and known for enhancing plant beauty! Just a little sprinkle of this on your leaves, and you’ll turn heads, my dearest Mandrake.”

The mandrake narrows its eyes but can’t resist a peek at the Belladonna. “You really think that would work? You’re not just buttering me up for a scream practice, are you?”

“Oh, please!” she chuckles, shaking her head. “Just imagine it: You’ll be the talk of the classroom. ‘Did you see the Mandrake with the glow?’ Everyone will be jealous, especially the cat! And don’t get me started on all the holiday parties you can crash once you’re looking fabulous.” She pauses dramatically, grinning. “Plus, if you scream, at least it’ll be more like a rock star entrance than a scary concert! Think of that as your holiday gift to the world!”

With a theatrical wave of her wand, she lightly dusts the Belladonna Blossom over the mandrake. Instantly, a spark of shimmering light surrounds it, and its leaves perk up, transforming from dull and grumpy to vibrant and cheerful.

“There! See? Much better!” She stands back and admires her handiwork, clapping her hands together like a proud artist. “Now you’ve got the festive look to match your spirited attitude! Now, who’s ready to spread some holiday cheer?”

The mandrake blinks in disbelief, then lets out a soft giggle that sounds surprisingly like a bark. “Okay, Val. Maybe you’re not so bad after all.”

“Just wait until you see what I have planned for you at the end of class—a little surprise treat! Nothing dark or murky, I promise!” she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just a bit of holiday flavor for a plant who deserves it.”

As it adjusts to its newfound allure, the mandrake begins to sway, almost dancing with the rhythm of the lively classroom. "You know," it calls out teasingly, its voice bubbling with excitement, "I may have been a little too root-bound before! Who knew looking fabulous could feel so magical?"

With that, the mandrake launches into an impromptu performance, mimicking dance moves learned from watching the students. Its tiny arms wave in the air, and it spins around in its pot, exuberance washing over it as it basks in the attention.

Val grins wider, feeling a sense of triumph as she watches her little friend thrive in the spotlight. The other students, once wary of the mandrake’s notorious screaming, are now cheering and clapping, eager to join in the fun.

As the class progresses, it becomes clear that the belladonna has given the mandrake not just beauty, but confidence. It starts to bond with its peers, sharing jokes and playful banter, even poking fun at the stubborn cat who’s lazily perched outside the greenhouse, clearly feeling left out of the festivities.

By the end of the lesson, Val knows she’s made a friend for life. “Alright, time for your surprise!” she announces, producing small, colorful treats from her bag—little enchanted berries that shimmer with a hint of magic. “I call these ‘Jolly Jesters’! They’re sweet, festive, and sure to give you a little bounce!”

The mandrake’s eyes widen in delight, and as Val hands one over, it excitedly chomps into it, its expression lighting up with joy. “This is the best day ever! I can officially say I’m part of the holiday cheer now! Maybe stockings aren't such a bad idea after all—if they’re filled with goodies like these!”

As the bell rings and the students migrate out of the greenhouse, Val takes a moment to admire her handiwork. The mandrake, once sour and overlooked, is now a dazzling centerpiece of the classroom, ready to take on the world with a newfound zest for life.

After all, what’s the thrill of Herbology without a good dose of plants, puns, and a sprinkle of magic ✨

[davidisnotmyname]

okay I do think that the adrenaline coursing through my veins while reading the comic for the first time has somewhat faded, and the rose colored glasses I was wearing have turned into normal colored glasses cuz my vision still sucks regardless. Anyways I wanted to actually share my opinions on the story of the comic and how it was handled. As you should be expecting by now, major spoilers for the seventh comic ahead:

First off, I want to make it clear that any criticisms I have are not meant to be a dig at the artists and writers. They could have easily left the project as dead, but they decided to give us all closure after seven years. The comic team is chock full of incredibly talented creatives, and I have only the utmost respect for the time and energy they put into this project. I am incredibly grateful for that. Additionally, I am not an expert on storytelling, nor do I claim to be. I’m just a neurodivergent kid who feels insanely strongly about this game and fandom, and I felt compelled to share my personal feelings. Anyways, yeah here’s what I think:

I am… a bit upset with how they managed the characters in this comic. Not in terms of mischaracterization, they did a fine job with that as per usual. However, it really feels like the mercs got totally sidelined in the comic about the game that they’re literally the main characters of. Most of them had barely any lines (if I am recalling things correctly, Medic did not speak once(obviously pyro doesn’t actually speak, but there wasn’t any mmph-mmphing to be seen anywhere either), Demoman and Sniper had like one line each, and even the mercs who did have more significant line counts felt largely overshadowed by other characters). In my personal opinion, the only merc who had significant contribution to the plot through his lines was Engineer and maybe Spy (soldier and heavy talk quite a bit, but it feels like soldier is only really talking for exposition and to connect to the time skip, and heavy is there to save his ass from the Korean mafia).

They were treated more as background characters than anything. A vast majority of the scenes involve the mercs just standing in the general vicinity of characters like Pauling and Admin as the actual plot happens. It’s disappointing since this was kind of a last hurrah for official lore and characterization regarding the mercs. This was already an issue in the previous comics (with characters like pyro being largely ignored and just hanging out in the background), but it’s increased tenfold here.

also, I cannot express my sadness enough about how we got basically no detailed interactions between the mercs other than spy and scout (duh) and heavy and soldier (double duh). Tf2 is such a unique circumstance in regards to its characters. They are exaggerated and cartoonish in their personalities, but they’re still fueled by their own motivations, fears, and emotions. They’re really fun to watch interact with their world and each other, and that opportunity kind of got chucked out of the window.

A prime example of this would be Medic and Heavy. And no, before you start saying “oh you’re just upset that they weren’t made canon,” I’m not talking about shipping necessarily (although it would have been really nice to have a canon queer couple, especially after so many years, plus their romantic dynamic is really enjoyable at least for me, but hey, it would be kinda out of left field if they were suddenly explicitly). Let’s take a look back at the previous comic, shall we?

in that comic, the very climax is centered around their relationship. Medic dies and goes to hell and Heavy beats the shit out of the Classic Heavy, quite literally stating he didn’t care if he died as long as Classic Heavy suffered. Keep in mind, they haven’t seen each other in months, and they’ve only reunited for like five seconds maybe before Medic is killed. Their bond is explicitly depicted and is used as a tool to move the plot forward. What do we get for the final comic?

uh… well, they certainly stand next to each other multiple times.

ALSO, even simple interactions between the mercs contributed so much to the story, even if it was just the humor of it or just small glimpses into their characters. The whole conversation between Medic and Demo about his eye, Sniper and Spy mildly beefing but ultimately sharing cigarettes while they’re both severely wounded, Heavy and Scout’s conversation on the motorbike. These brought so much life into the story, but in the seventh comic, they took like two dynamics (soldier with heavy and spy with scout) and just ran with it. I wish we could have seen the mercs actually do shit, to basically sum up my incoherent attempt of making a point or two.

[makxmaa]

Definitely, the discussion between Issho and Akane in this latest chapter is my favorite interaction between two characters in the entire manga. And as if I were an expert (which I’m not lmao), I want to analyze why I think it’s a masterpiece.

The interaction begins the moment Akane sits in front of the door—a door that separates her from the man who ruined her father’s artistic career— In Akane`s eyes, Issho could be a "demon". She closes her eyes, tries to calm herself, she says she's going in, and steps into the room.

There`s Issho, standing tall and intimidating, giving her a look over his shoulder. She stays sitting the whole time, unable to get up and face him.

Akane starts speaking and apologizes for yelling at him. Issho quickly cuts her off.

But here´s where I want to clarify something: Issho doesn´t stop her just because he knows why Akane came, but because he knows those apologies aren´t sincere. Akane doesn´t actually care about yelling at him. She only apologized out of protocol—after all, she´s just an apprentice and has no right to speak to a master that way.

This part is amazing. You might think Issho just doesnt want to teach Akane the story and that’s it. But that’s not it at all. Right here, he´s testing her, provoking her. He´s desperate for someone to do what he couldn´´t—make sure Shiguma´s art doesn`t die, someone who can tell the story he never could.

First, he traps Akane in a "cage" — Forget about Shiguma`s art.— Then, from behind the bars of that "cage," he insults her teacher. And finally, he goes straight for her: You thought so highly of yourself

( In the official Spanish translation, Issho´s line feels more hurtful—it says: You think you’re so special, don’t you?)

Akane just keeps quiet, holding herself back. She has to act right, it´s all part of the protocol. Then Issho, still behind the "bars of the cage," finishes with, — This is my school, and you just follow my orders

Issho is ready to leave, there´s nothing else to talk about. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Akane wasn´t the Rakugoka he´d been looking for. She´s just like her dad weak.

What he doesn`t know is that Akane isn´t her father. She accepts that weakness, but she also accepts the Rakugoka hes been looking for—the strong one, the one who doesn`t hesitate— She`s the fusion of both.

She``s not only listening to her new master insult her "father" (Shiguma), but now he’s attacking her too.

If that`s the game Issho wants to play, then let`s go. Akane hits him where it hurts, mentioning his past, the one he can’t escape. (So who’s really the one trapped in a cage?)

Issho turns around and looks at Akane. For a moment, Akane regrets what she did, but then she remembers —she has a purpose, and she gave her word to get it done— There’s no turning back.

Akane starts getting up slowly. She tells Issho that she`ll master Shiguma`s art and finish the story. The "cage" is gone now. Issho gives her his approval, letting her show what she can do. Now they’re standing face to face.

[anitabighug]

❥ A Perfect Experiment : Wally x Reader (She/Her Pronouns, Named) ✿

Chapter Masterpost: [  ♡   ♡    ♡ ]

Chapter Five; Can’t Help Falling in Love ( A/N: This chapter has a lot of music involved with it! If you’d like to listen along, click the [♫] SONG NAME - ARTIST as you see them! ) ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● The four of you arrive in the square, and go your separate ways. Barnaby, who had carried Wally limply under his arm all the way over for some reason, dragged the boy over to the snack table to start the party up straight away. Howdy had his work cut out for him, that was for sure. You and Poppy scooch over to an empty table, and are quickly met by Julie, hiding her intentions with another pot of flowers that she sets up next to your record player. “Did you bring the goods, Buttercup?” She asks in a hushed tone, pupils darting from side to side. “Buttercup?” You raise your eyebrow, and Poppy pulls the cable out of your hand to start plugging things in. “Its your code name!!! I thought of ‘em myself. You’re Buttercup, Poppy is Pigeon, Sally,” She points across the field where Sally is, running an extension cord from Home to plug in the lights, “Is Honey, and I’m the Captain!” She shoves a thumb against her chest proudly. “Why do we need code names?” You settle into one of the folding chairs, and rest your head on your hands, peering up Julie. Your eyebrow remains cocked. “Every successful mission has code names. Scientific fact.” Julie waggled her eyebrows at you oh-so charmingly. Well, you can’t argue with that logic. You lift the record up from its resting spot, and Julie squeals, grabbing it from your hands and spinning. “There he is!!! The King Himself! This is going to be PERFECT!” She hands it back to you, bouncing up and down vigorously. Elvis’ face gives you a suave smile from the record sleeve where he rests, and you nod. Excellent choice. “Now!! Here's the plan.” Julie slaps a crudely drawn crayon map onto the table, pulling the two of you in close… ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Julie’s plan had you DJing the event, to wait for her signal. This was more than fine with you, you loved your record collection and were beyond psyched to show it off. Besides, you could dance just as well from the comfort and privacy of your chair. The sun had just set, and with a nod and a flourish, Frank had lit his project ablaze. It turned out to be an intricate bonfire, and it lit up the clearing beautifully, well worth his hard work. The beats from your speakers bounced around your neighbours, their booties shaking wildly. Phase one; Lull them into a false sense of security. It takes a boatload of willpower to keep the malicious smile off of your face. Something about this secret agent mission thrilled you, though you would never admit it. You’d gone home earlier briefly to change into something more party-appropriate, as had everyone else, it seemed. Your party outfit was based on extensive testing and focus groups, discussed amongst groups of experts, and had 100% chance of making you look ‘Just cute as a button!’ according to the top expert, Julie. By ‘extensive testing’, you of course mean that it won third place in the fashion show that you, Julie and Sally had put on in the comfort of your home. You’d claim nepotism, but the way the girls had looked at each other, it was obvious that they’d already tied long before you’d even moved to Home. The dress itself was pastel pink, some sort of pleather, tighter than you’d like, with a tall white collar and no sleeves. What it lacked in sleeves though, it made up for in a big poofy skirt, pink with a white underskirt as well. You paired it with a white belt, a pair of go-go boots that Julie had gifted you, and a bow sitting off to the side of your short hair, feathered back for the occasion. Just perfect, you concluded, and perfectly matched to your classy, fashionable friends!!! Sally’s outfit was out of this world. She had glitzy striped pants with frills going down the side, and the poofiest blouse you’d ever seen. Next to her, dragging Frank on to the dance floor, was Julie. She was absolutely dolled up, taking every advantage that this party gave her. You didn’t think her hair could get bigger before, but seeing it curled up into a beehive proved you wrong. No amount of science would be able to figure out how she got it to stay in place with all that crazy dancing. Frank had barely changed up his own outfit, merely opting to swap out his dress shirt with one with shorter sleeves for the heat, and leaving his bowtie at home– you weren’t sure what you preferred! You watched as Julie popped his collar, causing the two girls to start to giggle madly. Poppy’s usual shawl had been switched with one made of a beautiful lace, and the pearl necklace she’d included added that touch of grace and maturity you expected from her. Howdy had a short-sleeved dress shirt on, burgundy with little white flowers on it, and you had to admit he looked so charming with his hair slicked back like that. Barnaby might’ve been your favourite of all of them, you took one look at the vest he was wearing and wheezed out a laugh. It was the EXACT same as his usual vest, but with layered frills for days. It was probably to match Wally’s outfit, an expertly starched white dress shirt, and striped pants with the same layered frills on the ends of the legs. They looked adorable apart, but together it was almost too much for you! That left Eddie Dear, who had apparently only left to finish his evening rounds for the mail, returning a little shocked to find that everyone else had dressed up so fancy. Julie had a solution, however, discarding his cap and bag and setting a flower crown on his head. He looked absolutely delighted by it. [♫] Jailhouse Rock - Elvis Presley “Well don’t you just look cute as a button,” You almost couldn’t hear Wally’s suave tones over the music, but the compliment made you light up. “Th-thank you, Mr. Darling!!! I was a little worried I’d never get the chance to wear something like this,” You admitted with a laugh. He settled in next to you, and set a plate of snacks down beside the record player, “Ha ha ha. Who would’ve thought a little spit and polish would make everyone so happy?” He wondered aloud, “I thought you could use some company. You looked awfully lonely over here.” “Who could be lonely when they’ve got the king around?” You ask with a cheery laugh before lifting and taking a bite of one of the sandwiches he’d brought, following it with an appreciative ‘Mmm!’. Wally started looking around, checking behind your chair and frantically checking behind the two of you. It takes a few moments before you realise he’s looking for the King, and you nearly choke on your bite when it comes to you.

You manage to swallow it, and reach over, lifting up the record sleeve and pointing at the picture on the cover. Realisation floods the puppet’s face, followed swiftly by a blush across his cheeks. How cute… You hand him the sleeve to examine further, returning your attention to the sandwich he’d so kindly brought for you. Wally checks the sleeve over thoroughly, making sure that this ‘king’ wasn’t some strange intruder he had to be wary of. When he was satisfied of the lack of sentience, he finally took a good look at Elvis himself. He sure had excellent taste in hair, that was for sure. It was weird, though… Why was there a big lipgloss mark on The King’s cheek? You seemed to be so protective of your record collection… He felt a weird feeling shoot through his heart, and shoved it along with the record sleeve away, turning his focus on the rainbow monster that had scurried to the tableside. “Are you ready for phase two, Buttercup?” She asked, slamming a hand on to the table. The record skipped, and it only took one sour look from you to get her to apologise, giving the record player a gentle pat. “Ready and waiting, Captain!” You give her a lazy salute, and are given a determined nod from her before she hurries back to her station. You hear another monotone laugh from beside you, and peer back towards Wally. “Buttercup?” “... Its my code name,” Your cheeks feel red hot, and you reach up instinctively to cover them. He laughs again, and you swear you hear him mumble ‘Adorable.’... But that just can’t be right. Ugh, you can’t afford to be distracted now, no matter how sweet his compliments were!!! You take in a deep breath, and take note of where everyone is on the dance floor. It was time for phase two. Group one had Honey and the Captain herding the target to the center of the dance floor; distracting him with hijinks and pranks and lightening his usual dour mood. They were right on track, and you make a mental note to compliment them on their excellent espionage. Group two was doing even better! Pigeon had lured the bait into the perfect spot, the two of them bounding to the beat almost next to the bonfire, and Howdy gave you a nod from where he stood, ready to swoop in. “Just.. A second… More…” You mumble to yourself, your trigger happy hand sitting above the needle. You’d know where to move on the record even if you were blind and deaf; the trap was only the most beautiful song that the King had made, and you’d get this to go off without a hitch. You’d promised her, after all. Wally squints at you, and only just manages to start asking you what on earth you’re up to when you see it; the signal. Frank’s back is turned to you, and Julie gives you a spastic wave. Not the most subtle, but y’know, it worked. The record scratches. The music stops. Everyone stops dead in their tracks. The Bait and the Target look around with concerned expressions, and Howdy dives from his hiding spot. [♫] Can’t help falling in love - Elvis Presley The music starts back up. The piano is soft. Dancers pair up as if it was planned– even though it totally wasn’t, you swear. Sally grabs Julie, squeezing her girlfriend close and leaving Frank floundering. Poppy is scooped by Howdy in a very, very subtle move that leaves Eddie flushed. You’re on the edge of your seat, squeezing the tablecloth anxiously in your hands. Eddie seems to realise whats happened first, and with a nervous laugh, he turns to Frank, offering a hand. But… Frank hesitates. Your heart stops, and without thinking, you’re gripping Wally’s shirt and sinking back in your chair. Oh, you didn’t think of this happening. What if he blows it? What if he gets mad? Oh, you can’t watch. But you also can’t look away. You feel Wally’s other hand rest on your head, not petting or rubbing, but just resting. Even that kind gesture couldn’t pull you from this train wreck. “OOPS!” Julie to the rescue! She shoves Frank hard with her hip, the puppet stumbling forwards into Eddie’s arms. Yes!! The whole neighbourhood watches with baited breath. Eddie laughs heartily, and takes that as a yes, starting to move backwards to get Frank back on his feet, and leading him in the dance. You can’t contain your excited wiggle. Yes! Mission accomplished!! Julie and Sally each shoot you a wink, and you give them two big thumbs up. Wally is practically in stitches next to you, and wipes a tear from his eye,

“Is this what her big plan was?” He asked, peering over at you quizzically. You laugh, and nod in response. Wally scooches his chair closer to listen as you explain the plan quietly to him. You lean a little closer to him, your arms brushing against each other as you watch the fruits of your labour. The two of them look to be having a serious conversation under their breaths, both with blush tinged cheeks, and tiny smiles across their faces. Absolutely flawless. You take in a deep, calming breath. Wally smells like apples, naturally, along with distinct undertones of… licorice? Haha, weird. It suits him, strangely enough. You wonder briefly what you smell like. Probably latex gloves? How disappointing. You wish that there was a nice smell that late nights at the observatory could give you, aside from graphite and notebook pages. “Weird,” You mumble under your breath, eliciting a questioning noise from Wally. “Oh. Well, the lights can make it hard to see the stars, but… Ah, it must be a new moon. Silly me.” Wally stiffens next to you, but you don’t have time to question it before you’re scooped up unwillingly into another puppets arms. [♫] A Big Hunk O’ Love - Elvis Presley “C’mere, you!” Barnaby sets you gingerly on one of his arms, lifting you out to the dance floor and the giggles erupt from you, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold them back with the nervous hands over your face. “You didn’t think you’d get to just sit there all night, did’ja??? Time to boogie!” His laugh was deep and you could feel it through his arm, him not even bothering to put you down before he started shaking his booty to the new song. You can’t! It’d be too embarrassing! You can’t see them, but there are definitely eyes on you. No… Noooo! The boogie, alas, was too infectious for your weak heart, and you felt the wiggles overtake you in Barnaby’s arms. Your shoulder dance seems to be the secret key to him putting you down, and he gives you courage in the form of a hand held and a big grin on his face. Can’t say no to that face, or the king’s bouncy tones, for very long at all. Before you realise what's happening, you’re swinging to the music, and the idea of embarrassing yourself has floated somewhere into the upper atmosphere. Maybe you’d find that fear again one night while stargazing, floating through the stars where no one can hear it. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● Wally relaxes through the next few songs, leaning back in his folding chair and taking the occasional unseen bite from the remaining sandwich on the plate. Barnaby was right, of course, he was going to be sore in the morning. Maybe for a few mornings after that, too. Something about the reckless abandon with which you took to the dance floor, though… He couldn’t take his eyes off it for more than a moment. You look so, SO unbelievably silly. Like you’d practiced these spastic wiggles a million times before. He leaned forwards, setting his head dreamily in his hands. Ha ha ha… Was that an air guitar he saw? “Absolutely… Adorable.” He drolls, and his brain takes a quick halt. Adorable. It wasn’t the first time he’d said this about you, not even tonight. And it's not like he didn’t compliment his other friends… A pang shook through his chest, and he clutched the front of his shirt… No, something about this was different… And something about your questioning gaze earlier… This was oh, so dangerous for him. So why hadn’t he stopped you yet? There were countless ways, methods he’d used before, methods he’d use again… Maybe you just needed… More distraction. Right; that was the problem. Well, that much he could do without arousing too much suspicion. He unbuttoned his top button, and smoothed his perfect hair, and stood up. If there was one thing Wally Darling could do, it was dance. With a pop of his collar, he strode on, ready to show these kids a thing or two. ●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・● [♫] Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley You’d been tossed between a few eager partners at this point, including but not limited to: A dance with Julie in which you’d mostly just shook your hair, a brief exchange with Eddie Dear, who’d thanked you under his breath while staring across at a certain someone, and a wild dance with Poppy who shook her feathers in ways you hadn’t even imagined before. This latest one was graced with Howdy, and you’d made a comment about how you needed to run an experiment to see if your hypothesis was correct; more limbs DEFINITELY made for more fun in a dance partner! You had him almost completely hysterical when something stole his attention away. Apparently it was someone cutting in, and you’re shocked when one of your arms is pulled upwards, giving you a spin and a dip. Wally Darling grins down at you, and you melt in an instant. Whoa. He gives one of his slow, droning laughs and pulls you back up, leading you with both of your arms now, swaying you quickly back and forth with the bouncing melody. It was as if he was shaped perfectly by the gods to swing it to Elvis. He switches from a slower portion of the song, swaying back and forth with you, to effortlessly spinning you out and then back in, your hand landing smack dab in the middle of his chest. You felt like your brain was going to pop. He lands the finishing blow perfectly, and as the song ends, he bonks his forehead against your own, staring in to your eyes briefly before stepping back. He pats you on the shoulder and moves on to his next victim; leaving you standing there as if nothing had ever happened. Your hands fly up to hide your red hot face. Uuuugh! You deserve a good sit down after that. (A/N: I was asked to tag @elegantkidfansoul with the update! If you’d also like to be tagged, feel free to let me know! ^v^ This update was a little long, but it was so fun to write eeee!!!)